The Stanley Parable One Shots / Short Stories

Guilt (1/2)

TW! FOR THIS ENTIRE STORY:
-mentions of the Zending (suicide)

~Also Stanley and the Narrator get gay here and it's fluffy and cute and they mwa mwa mwa ;)~

Plot Summary: Stanley let's his boredom take control of him and does the Zending 3 times in a row, to come face to face with a woman he doesn't recognise, and she isn't happy with Stanley.

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING
Stanley's eyes shot open. He could still feel the phantom pain in his legs. Stanley had only ever done the Zending once, as the Narrators sadness made Stanley feel guiltier than he ever had before. But, Stanley had done nearly every other ending hundreds of times, and they were all getting boring, so he thought, maybe, he should do it again. And now, here he was. Sitting in his office, and he most certainly did not feel any better than before he had done it. Maybe... he could do it again?
THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING
Nope. But, he supposed, he could get some kind of reaction from the Narrator right? Stanley didn't know why he was so determined to make the Narrator sad. He'd never tried it before, it was the only thing left. That was a good reason, right?
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Ok, ok... one more time?
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Stanley left his office again. Rather than the usual 'All of his co-workers were gone' spiel, Stanley was met by silence. Or, on closer inspection, it seemed like there was whispering, but, it wasn't the Narrators voice, so Stanley must have been imagining it, right? Stanley opened his office door and came face to face with a rather large surprise. His gaze was met by that of an older woman, who seemed to be around the age of the Narrator. Her skin was light, but she wasn't as fair as the Narrator, who looked like he had never left his office in his life. Her hair was in a high bun, and unlike the Narrator's, was fully grey, the same colour as her eyes. Stanly noticed the small microphone wrapping around from her ear to the front of her face. She had rectangular glasses perched on her nose, however, unlike the Narrator's glasses, they were black, and were chained. The chains in question were silver. She was wearing a green double breasted jacket over a black turtleneck and a black pencil skirt, and had a pearl necklace hanging loosely around her neck. On her feet she wore- unsurprisingly- black work shoes. The woman, overall, looked very neat, and had a strict aura around her. She closed the short distance between the two, and Stanley took in the fact that she 1. Looked a bit heavier than him, and 2. Was taller than him and, most likely, the Narrator as well, who was already a few inches taller than Stanley. She has stopped a couple feet away from him and she looked mad. 'Stanley. Could you please explain to me why exactly you thought that killing yourself repeatedly was a good idea?' Ohhh. Stanley did recognise this lady. She was the Curator from the museum. 'Yes, yes, it's me. Now answer my question.'
Stanley didn't have an answer. He didn't exactly have a good reason besides getting a reaction out of the Narrator... 'Oh. I see. So you're telling me that you thought it would be funny to drive a reaction out of him by subjecting him to the imagery of your mangled corpse falling to its death three times in a row?' Stanley stayed silent. He really didn't have an answer. 'Listen Stanley. You're acting childish. More childish than the Narrator, and he acts like a child constantly.'
Stanley agreed. He has been acting like a child, and it was a pathetic. 'Stanley, I'm glad that you understand that what you did was terrible. And, really there's no point in you talking about that to me. I'm not the one you should be apologising to.'

Stanley was now sitting at a mahogany desk. Around him were large bookshelves and a cozy fireplace. The armchair he was sitting on was a warm velvet, and was incredibly comfy. The room overall had a warm, welcoming feel, which Stanley found strange, as it looked similar to his bosses office, and said room had an uncomfortable, threatening aura around it. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that this room was much smaller, or the fact that it belonged to his lovely Narrator, rather than his non-friendly mind-controlling boss. But now was no the time to admire the room. Across from Stanley and behind the desk was his Narrator. He was avoiding eye contact with Stanley, and looked much more interested in whatever was going on with the floor, or the wall, or the ceiling perhaps. His face was a mix of anger and sadness, as if he could not choose which one to feel. The room was silent beside the crackling of the fire, which Stanley realised was made of square particles. Stanley looked back up at his Narrator, as they made eye contact for a brief second before his Narrator looked back down at the floor. Stanley didn't know what to say- well, think, so instead he balled his hand into a fist and passed it across his chest in a clockwise circular motion. The Narrator stared at this for a while, mouth opening and closing at a loss for words. After a few seconds he slowly moved his mouth to say 'No.'