Chapter Text
Narrator shifted half wake in his bed. He dreamed about Stanley. Stanley sitting with him in the zend room. They were looking at the lights, remembering happy memories they shared. Narrator unconsciously shifted to his side in his sleep. Stanley turned to him. He mentioned something about being happy to be there with him. He said he hoped that nothing would be there to force them apart. Narrator smiled at him. He held his hand and bumped shoulders with him. Then he glanced past Stanley and saw something. Something in the distance. Suddenly the colorful lights disappeared. Narrator felt Stanley’s grip be forced away from him in the dark. He called for his name. No response. He called again. No response. He called agi-
Narrator woke up from his dream. He sat up on his mattress. He looked around the room. His room. He couldn’t see anything farther than a few feet in front of him. Narrator pulled his blanket off of him. He felt like his guts were ripping themselves apart. He was hungry.
Narrator felt around in the dark of night. He had never felt hungry ever since he turned off his need for eating. Why was he hungry now? Narrator managed to crawl to the end of his mattress. Thanks to the mattress being on the floor, he didn’t need to stand up just to get on the ground. As a matter of a fact, Narrator has probably never been required to eat. He always just left that setting off.
Finally, Narrator felt out where the corner at the foot of his bed was. He felt around some more until he found a box. A flat box, square box. A pizza box. He opened it to see the outline of a single slice of pizza. He grabbed it, ignoring the smell. As he brought it close to his mouth, he could see the outline of something off on it but he didn’t question it, thinking it was a topping of sorts. He chewed it slowly, still not being used to eating. He ate the slice on the floor. When he finished, he tossed the crust back into the box and placed said box back in the corner.
He leaned up against the wall, being taunted by his own delusions. There has been something tormenting Narrator ever since that day, something that resembles him but will never be him . A mockery of him . It looked mildly like a human; a familiar human. It appeared to be floating off the floor by one or two feet. It had basic office worker attire; a dress shirt, dress pants and office shoes. The only thing that kept it from looking fully human was the fact that it was too skinny to be healthy, its arms were a few inches longer than they should be and it was fully pitch black.
It blended into the dark background and looked 2D. The different shapes on it melted together, making it hard to tell what goes where. The only non black thing on it was its eye. One of its eyes was covered by more blobs of blackness but its exposed eye sat wide. It looks like it had just seen horrors beyond comprehension as it stared at Narrator. Its pupil shook slightly as it judged him from the far corner.
“Fuck off.” Narrator mumbled. But it continued to stare at him. “I said get the fuck away from me!” He called out. But it didn’t even flinch. He groaned, accepting that it won’t leave anytime soon. Then, Narrator started to feel his stomach turn. He felt like he was going to throw up. He coughed up something fuzzy. He started to think the worst. He gagged again as he crawled over to the trash basket under his desk. He hunched over it as he vomited his guts up.
When he finished throwing up, Narrator leaned up against his desk. He felt dizzy and gross. He whipped his mouth as he started to regain his balance. He felt his way back to his mattress. He crawled under his blanket. He glanced around his room one final time. He still couldn’t see much but he could tell that it was gone. This comforted him. Narrator closed his eyes. He drifted back into the familiar loveliness of sleep.
When he woke up in his dream, he was welcomed and laid on the floor of a more empty version of his office. He lifted up his hand above his face. His skin was paper white. He didn’t have his scars anymore and he was wearing a yellow pull over. “Narrator” smiled. He didn’t have to go by “Narrator” in his dream world; that name brought back too many memories. Hyacinth sat up and giggled warmly. He always preferred a reality where he had control, and if the only way he could keep that was by dreaming, then so be it.