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This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427.
Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room #427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard," said The Narrator. Stanley, however, was not paying attention. Instead, he was focused on when the starting cutsence would be over so he could possibly convince The Narrator to let him sleep for a change.
"Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee #427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others may have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job."
'He never shuts up, does he?' thought a extremely annoyed Stanley.
"And Stanley was happy."
'Here we go.'
"And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley; something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he had realized not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say 'hi'. Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office."
Stanley didn't move.
[Narrator?] Stanley signed, to no avail.
[Hello? You still there?] Still, there was no response from The Narrator.
Promptly giving up, Stanley laid his head on the cool, wooden office desk and shut his eyes, slowly falling into a dreamful bliss, unlike the parable. It wasn't very noticeable at first. In fact, Stanley wasn't sure if The Narrator had somehow disabled sleeping: like he did with other things about Stanley (and humans in general) that annoyed him. Though, sleep soon began to take him more and more. Gradually, he felt himself getting excrutiatingly tired to where he couldn’t keep his eyes open, even if he wanted to.
'Peace, at last,' thought Stanley. Finally, he experienced was he believed to be his last coherent thought before sleep and-
"STANLEY!" screamed The Narrator.
Stanley slowly looked up at the ceiling, where he assumed The Narrator was observing him from, and sighed.
[Yes?]
"What are you doing?"
Stanley paused. [Trying to sleep.]
"Stanley, there's no time to sleep, we still have an entire story to complete!"
[We always have a story to complete,] signed Stanley, clearly agitated.
"Maybe if you actually asked once in a while, you could, but it doesn't matter anymore because you didn't." The Narrator scoffed.
Stanley rolled his eyes in return. [Well, I tried.]
"When?"
[After the cutsence, I spent like 5 minutes trying and failing to get your attention, so I did it anyways. Why do you care anyways when I do or I don't sleep? We're stuck here, nothings going to change while I'm resting.]
"Because, Stanley, we have a story! Without my extraordinary storytelling, we wouldn't have anything to start with!" exclaimed The Narrator, bouncing his leg with excitement.
[Maybe nothing would be better than the same thing.] Stanley put his head back down on the desk.
"Stanley? What are you doing?"
[...]
"Stanley?"
[...]
"Fine, if you won't get up yourself, then I'll make you." The Narrator stood up from his office chair.
Stanley heard heavy footsteps over the speakers, presumably from The Narrator, until a creaking sound was heard and the steps stopped. Admittedly, Stanley was worried. True, he didn't believe that The Narrator had it in him to come down to the parable, but Stanley knew that he could. Then again, what would The Narrator do anyways? Assuming that The Narrator didn't have a physical form, which Stanley couldn't confirm, would he just yell at him? 'Though, if he did have a physical form,' thought Stanley, 'then he could do a lot more than just yell at me a little closer."
Just then, Stanley heard someome walk through the door.
"You're right about that, Stanley." Stanley looked at what he was atleast 90% sure was The Narrator in shock. The man in front of him was somewhat human, but definitely not all the way. For example, the man's brown hair with streaks of yellow and grey sprinkled in didn't surprise him. Nor did the yellow and black sweater vest he wore over a white button up with light-colored khakis, along with black, pointed shoes. That was normal enough. However, what was not normal about british man now walking next to him was the yellow tendrils in the shape of The Adventure Line™ sticking out of his lower back, adjacent with the bright yellow eyes that stared back at him.
"Stanley."
#427 quickly came out of his trance.
"I don't know what's gotten into you recently, but we have a narrative to accomplish and I'd really appreciate it if you would move along."
[...]
"And since it's clear that you won't be moving anytime soon otherwise, you're coming with me." The Narrator stated, grabbing Stanley by the hand and started out the door.
Stanley stumbled behind him, trying his best not to zone out again with the thoughts of The Narrator swarming his head. Meanwhile, The Narrator rambled on and on about what was meant to be happening, atleast in his opinion. Eventually, the two of them passed the meeting room and Stanley, out of habit, walked straight into the broom closet, pulling The Narrator with him.
"No! Stanley, we aren't doing this again. You've already gotten us of track by trying to 'sleep', which you clearly don't need to begin with since you've gone this long without it, and now you're trying to drag me in this shabby little broom closet!"
Stanley however, much to The Narrator's annoyance, ignored him, pulling him into the closet and slamming the door.
You think you're tired of this, think about me! I spend every single fucking day in this shithol-]
"Vulgarity, Stanley! Think about the ratings!"
[I don't give a shit about the ratings. My life is absolute shit, and every single fucking time I try and make it any better, you always get in the fucking way! Well, guess what? Not this time. This once, I'm going to do things my way to hopefully distract myself from the shitty labyrinth of a story that I'm trapped in! I'm done with this!] signed Stanley as angrily as he possibly could, slamming his back against the wall" before sliding down onto the floor and grounding himself.
The Narrator said nothing, instead just silently staring at him. While Stanley did feel some initial regret after what he said, the more that The Narrator stared at him, the more regret he felt.
...
.....
"Y-you don't mean that, do you?"
Stanley, without moving his head, looked up. Stanley began shaking.
"I mean, I know you've never loved the narrative as I have, but I didn't think that you were so...unhappy." The Narrator cautiously walked towards Stanley.
"I didn't mean to make you feel that way, Stanley. I just, I-" The Narrator stopped, reailzing that he truly didn't have a reason for all that he's done to Stanley.
What was he meant to say anyways? That after all these years of never letting Stanley do anything but the story, after all these years of never treating Stanley like a person and more like a puppet, he was just meant to bring up the story again? That's not a reason, that's not even close.
Stanley looked up at him expectedly.
"I-I don't have a reason." The Narrator mumbled, fidgeting with his ring.
...
[Please, just go.]
"But Stanley, I can make it up to you, I can-"
[Go.]
Reluctantly, The Narrator stepped out of the broom closet, closing the door silently behind him. On the contrary, Stanley was not as calm. In reality, Stanley was now sobbing into his knees, a wave of emotion overcoming him; more than just anger at The Narrator. Obviously, part of it was the resentment he had for The Narrator after decades of doing absolutely nothing but being The Narrator's plaything, with The Narrator never treating him like a person. Though, he was also upset at The Narrator for leaving him along all those years when he could have come down atleast once or twice. After The Narrator could no longer deny that he could come down to the parable from his office, he still didn't. As an alternative, he'd just make up an excuse on why he couldn't. It's not like Stanley thought he deserved it, after all in his mind (along with what he thinks is The Narrator's mind) he's just a boring office worker. No hobbies, no family, no friends, only him alone for eternity. Still, Stanley mourned over what could've been the start of something, anything. All he wanted was somebody to cry with, to laugh with, to experience with. Just someone. They didn't even have to be close, Stanley didn't care. As long as in the end he had someone, anyone, then it would be okay. Even then, he'd never have it. Not if everything kept going like this, anyways.
While Stanley couldn't think straight as his mind jumped around, there was one thing that kept appearing in his mind besides The Narrator. The bucket. Sure, it couldn't truly be considered a friend, but it still left that feeling, did it not? Even if he didn't have The Narrator, he had the bucket, which also so happened to be another thing The Narrator looked down on him for. It's not his fault, though, that the one thing in this world that didn't pain him in some way was the bucket. Pathetic, sure, but not his fault.
Stanley looked up from his knees to see The Narrator looking back at him.
"I know you said to leave, but I couldn't help but notice that you've been in here for well, 30 minutes?"
Stanley blinked back tears. Had it really been that long?
"I'm not sure if you want it, but I brought you some water," said The Narrator hesitantly. He slowly walked up to Stanley, setting the glass down beside him.
...
[I'm sorry.]
"What?"
[I didn't mean to lash out at you like that. I really do care about the story, it's just tiring. I didn't mean it and I'm sorry,] he signed back at the older man, beginning to cry again.
"Stanley, it's not your fault, it's mine. You deserve a break, you deserve to be treated like the person that you are. I know we've had our ups and downs, but I want you to know that from here on out I'll be here for you. For real this time."
Sobbing, Stanley practically jumped into The Narrator's arms and accidentally tackling him to the floor, finally feeling "human" touch after so many years.
"Stanley, I love you, I really do, but if we're going to do this, could we move off the floor?" suggested The Narrator, slightly giggling.
[Do we have to?] signed Stanley, sitting up on top of The Narrator so he could see his hands; his head down.
"We don't have to if you don't want to, but I can tell you for certain that the floor isn't a very comfortable or sanitary place, especially long term."
[Fine.]
"Come here, love," said The Narrator, sliding out from underneath Stanley and picking him up, bridal style; carrying him out the door.
THEENDISNEVERTHEENDISNEVERTHEENDISNEVER
The two slowly opened their eyes with Stanley being shocked to find that instead of "waking up" in his office, he was sitting on the couch of the employee lounge next to The Narrator, who was even more shocked to find out how cold and empty a reset truly felt. Almost instantly, Stanley rewrapped his arms around The Narrator, pulling him close and burying his head into the other's neck, still crying softly. The Narrator, somewhat surprised (though, not at all against it) put his hands on Stanley's waist, pulling him closer. The two of them stayed like that for hours, though it only felt like a few minutes, both dreading the upcoming reset they both knew had to happen. Though, for now anyways, Stanley had gotten his wish and not just with anyone, but The Narrator. His Narrator.