Chapter Text
Now
This was not the story of a man named Stanley. It had been, once upon a time, but years had gone by since then, and now, Stanley wasn’t part of a story at all.
He was just an average man, living in an average city, working an average job. He woke up, ate breakfast, went to work, answered emails when his boss was around, slacked off with his colleagues when his boss wasn’t. At the end of the work day, he lingered a bit to talk with the receptionists who finished their shifts at the same time as him. Then, he’d go home, or go have a drink with some friends.
Stanley liked his life. Some might call it simple, but these people didn’t know how intricately entwined everything was, how easy it was for a simple choice to spiral into something more. Stanley knew, because he had been observing this—at first—novel concept very closely. The idea of consequences, actions leading to reactions that could cause even more reactions, a never ending chain of consequences that did not simply stop because a higher power said so. Everything kept moving forward, whether he wanted it to or not. And it was fascinating.
But what Stanley liked even more was how full of life the world was. How even someone that you barely met for a few minutes could have an impact on your life, how you could choose with whom you spent your time, how there were so many kinds of relationships, positive or negative.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as optimistic as you,” his colleague and friend Jane said. On that particular day, Stanley received a pile of unexpected additional work because of an error from one of their clients. A few of his colleagues came to express their pity, and left confused after Stanley simply waved it off with a smile, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.
Jane sighed. “See, this is what I don’t get. If I were you, I’d be banging my head against a wall. It will take you hours to go through every document again. And you look almost happy about it!”
‘It’s exciting! It’s an unexpected development!’ Stanley signed.
“Which should make it worse .” Jane pointed out with a raised brow.
Stanley shrugged. He understood that most people didn’t understand his never ending joy in the face of novelty, or his endless curiosity that lead him places most people would not even consider.
Opening doors just because they weren’t locked, climbing fences because it was feasible—which meant he had to try it—saying ‘yes’ to the most absurd propositions or, on the contrary, doing everything he could to go against what someone was saying. Not necessarily because he disagreed, just because he could.
He never really got into trouble for his unorthodox habits, mainly because a surprising amount of people were willing to go along with whatever an average white guy in professional clothes would do if he looked like he knew what he was doing. And, he also quickly learned what was truly off-limits, and what would just earn him a slap on the hand. One serious trip to the hospital was all he needed to realize how fragile his body was if he wasn’t at least somewhat careful. And no one would put him back together if he pushed it just a bit too far.
Not anymore. But he tried not to think about it too much.
And for the most part, Stanley liked his life. Even if there was something lingering, something uncomfortable, deep within him, that would resurface from time to time, like a hole that he could never really fill again.
It almost felt like nostalgia.
When the gnawing became unbearable, he listened to podcasts made by people asserting their opinions like they’re facts, and Stanley’s inability to respond would somehow help. He would feel annoyed or soothed, sometimes fuming or nodding at whatever was said, but whatever his emotion at the moment, there was always a layer of contentment under it.
Stanley never questioned it. He wanted to be satisfied with his present life, not to linger on something that was over and done with. If he ignored it, it would end up going away.
Even if it was still there years after leaving the Parable.
Even if sometimes, his thoughts sounded like a voice he hadn’t heard in years.
10 minutes before the end of the Parable
This should have been the story of a man named Stanley. Because it had always been, as far as Stanley could remember.
Until it wasn’t anymore.
He had walked through the right door, all the way to the maintenance room, and unplugged the ringing telephone. As he had done many times before, and as he’d do many times in the future.
“You’re not Stanley. You’re a real person,” the Narrator said, as he had every time Stanley took this path.
Of course he was a real person. The “Stanley” that should have been here, the ideal protagonist that would follow the Narrator’s beloved story, had never existed. They both knew that, and Stanley liked to think that the Narrator had made peace with it. And even maybe had grown to like this Stanley.
“Almost there! You'll take the door on the left, back to the correct ending, the story will have resolution once again, and you'll be home free in the real world!” Sarcasm was dripping from the Narrator’s voice.
They both knew it wouldn’t lead to any meaningful change, but the Narrator loved rubbing it in Stanley’s face. Stanley always assumed the increase in sarcastic tone for this ending’s monologue came from the fact that the Narrator knew he would have to deal with an unresponsive Stanley by the end of it, waiting for the reset in despair.
The Narrator hated this ending, and while it used to be one of Stanley’s favourite—especially when the Narrator really got on his nerves—the spite of it all had become less enjoyable and morphed more into sadness as he listened to the Narrator trying desperately to urge him to do… anything.
But Stanley was not immune to pettiness. And the Narrator had been grating at him lately, so down the path of the Not Stanley ending they went.
“Really, Stanley, this is quite childish of you. You know how much I hate seeing my story in this state. What was it this time? Was I not considerate enough? Did you dislike the fact that I made the broom closet disappear? This is what we call the consequences of your actions, and it would do you some good to realize that.”
‘If you’d leave the broom closet alone, we wouldn’t be here,’ Stanley signed, half expecting the Narrator to ignore him, as he was wont to do.
“ Really, so it’s my fault that you refuse to cooperate even once in a while? I wouldn’t have to take drastic measures if you didn’t force my hand all the time!”
Stanley rolled his eyes and decided to ignore the voice as it narrated a script he had already heard dozens of times. He simply waited, without really listening, as the Narrator shouted at him in his boss’s fake office, waiting for the reset that would place him above the room before the final reset.
“Speak! Say something to me! Explain yourself! You coward! You- Stanley? ”
Everything went dark. The Narrator’s voice resonated in Stanley’s head. Why did he call out Stanley’s name at the end? It wasn’t part of the script, and Stanley knew the Narrator had been sufficiently pissed off to not go off script. And why did he suddenly sound so unsure? Almost… scared?
When Stanley opened his eyes again, he was not in the parable anymore.