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Deep down, they both knew this was how it was going to end. The only difference?
Only one accepted it.
So when it came time for Stanley to get into the escape pod (with the Bucket tucked under his arm), he turned to his Narrator. Stanley, his protagonist, looked back with a hopeful grin.
[I’ll see you on the other side?]
Now, the Narrator never wanted to tell Stanley that he had to be left behind, that there was no way for him to leave the world that was programmed for him (at least, not yet). The Narrator was never planning on telling anyone who left before him: Employee 432, the Curator, Mariella, and especially Stanley. He couldn’t bear the thought of himself being the reason Stanley would keep himself trapped. So, he came to his conclusion on his own.
But now, the Narrator was faced with a decision of his own. The Narrator walked into a room with two open doors, the left one labeled “Tell Stanley the Truth and Potentially Hold Him Back From His Happy Ending” and the right labeled “Lie to Stanley with this being the Last Thing You Ever Say to Him.”
The Narrator now gets where Stanley is coming from.
The Narrator had already filled Stanley’s head with his lies and hurtful words in the past; he couldn’t lie to him again, not after everything they’ve been through together and all the trust they had built up. And especially not after all the pure, unadulterated love the Narrator had managed to conjure up for this simplistic, ordinary, amazing man. Truly, that was the reason the Narrator was doing this. All he ever wanted was for Stanley to be happy, and if that didn’t involve the Narrator, so be it. So, he went through the door on his left.
After taking a deep breath and building the courage to look Stanley in the eyes, the Narrator told his protagonist the truth.
“Stanley, I can’t go with you.”
He watched Stanley’s eyebrows furrow and his once hopeful smile turn into a frown of confusion, as the brunet now turned fully towards his Narrator.
[What do you mean you can’t go with me?] Now starting to grasp what the Narrator was trying to say, a look of shock, betrayal, anger, and despair filed onto his face all at once.To stop himself from crying, the Narrator once again took a deep breath, closed his eyes, walked forward, and took Stanley’s hands in his, the Bucket being left inside the pod. (The recipient gripped tight.)
“I’m sorry. I know we agreed to talk everything through after everything that happened in the Memory Zone. But Stanley, we both know that I have to stay here with the Parable.” As soon as Stanley looked like he was about to say something, the Narrator cut him off, wetness pooling in his amber eyes.
“Stanley, please, for once in your life, don’t be difficult. For once, please just follow the directions I give you. If you stay here, you might miss your one chance at freedom and you—I—can’t have that. I would never forgive myself if I let that happen to you. Stanley, I love you-“
“Stop.” A raspy, unfamiliar voice spoke up loudly against the Narrator’s effectively shutting both of them up. The Narrator looked up with shock and terror at the only other man in the room, correctly identifying the voice as one belonging to Stanley; never before had the protagonist’s voice ever been heard. The writer took his glasses off, wet splotches now dawning his trembling cheeks. Stanley’s own face mirrored his friend’s own.
“This isn’t fair, Narry,” Stanley raised his voice, every syllable getting louder, shoulders trembling as he went on. “We were supposed to do this together. We were supposed to escape together. We were supposed to—“ Only now did Stanley start choking on his sobs, not being able to keep himself steady. Possessed with the fear of never being able to do this with Stanley again, the Narrator drew back his hands to raise them to Stanley’s cheeks, smearing away the invasive tears as best he could. Despite everything that had just recently transpired, the Narrator gave a reassuring but trembling smile (and Stanley would be lying if he said it didn’t help). Stanley could only grip his own trembling hands to his Narrator’s in response, finally being stable enough to speak again.
“We were supposed to be together forever, Narry,” Stanley choked out, now thoroughly dumbfounding the Narrator, who soon got the point. “You were supposed to tell me you love me everyday. This isn’t supposed to be the last time. This shouldn’t be the last time,” Stanley wailed out, practically crying the last sentence, now melting into his companion’s touch. Not being able to compose himself any longer, the Narrator started crying and sobbing in tandem, voice breaking as he voiced his next words.
“I know it's not fair, Stanley. I know it isn’t. When has this game of ours ever been fair?” The Narrator chuckled sadly through his tears, Stanley now mirroring his own movements. “But you are right about one thing. This isn’t the last time we will be meeting,” he softly spoke, Stanley looking up into his softening gaze. “I will find a way out of here one day, if it is the last thing I do. I promise.”
Stanley, never the one for words, didn’t have a verbal response. Instead, he opted for wrapping his arms around his Narrator, gripping tightly on anything his hands could find, and, although it took a few moments, his Narrator responded in kind.
“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you,” Stanley whispered endlessly into the Narrator’s neck where he had tucked his head, kissing the spot mercilessly. The Narrator let out a noise akin to a mix of a sigh and a gasp, fresh tears now brimming in his eyes. With no fair warning (but really, who could blame him), the Narrator pulled Stanley into a loving kiss. No words had to be said, just the interlocking and mingling of lips on lips, and the soft touch of hands in hair and hands on skin.
With a sad click of their lips, the Narrator fully pulled himself away from his protagonist, his first and best friend and the man he loves most. With all the courage and passion and love he could muster, the Narrator pushed Stanley back into the escape pod.
The last thing Stanley saw through blurry eyes was his Narrator mouthing,
“The end is never the end—”
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