A Story Finally Finished || The Stanley Parable

[7] - Breakfast

Narrator POV:

Narrator awoke the next morning, enveloped in a blanket with his chair leaning back. He tried blink the sleep from his eyes, but nothing chose to come into focus. Narrator reached up to his face, but felt no glasses there. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on.. So where could they have gone? Narrator tried to sit up, but was weighed down by something next to him. Stanley. His hair was unkempt and stuck up in all places from his sleep, and his eyes are still clamped shut. But not for much longer.

10 minutes after Narrator woke up, Stanley began to stir. As he woke, he sat up slightly, propping himself up with his arm. Narrator spoke up quietly, "Good morning Stanley. I assume you slept well?" At their words, Stanley jumped, turning to look at where Narrator lay/sat. Oh- Good morning Narrator, I slept well thank you. What about you?
Narrator nodded, "I slept well, thank you Stanley," they replied, "Would you like breakfast? I am practicing my cooking."

Stanley shrugged, Sure! What are you going to make? Narrator stared for a moment, blinked, and realised that he had no clue what he was going to make. "Um.. What do you want me to make..?"
Stanley squinted his eyes in thought. Hmm.. How about a bacon, sausage and egg sandwich? That shouldn't be too hard to make. The older man agreed, and stood up, Stanley following suit, and the pair headed to the kitchen. "Oh," Narrator realised, "Um. Stanley, have you seen my glasses?"

Stan thought for a second before heading out of the kitchen, and into the living room once again, grabbing something off of the table. He returned a minute later, holding Narrators glasses in his palm. "Thank you Stanley." Narrator took their glasses from Stanley's palm, and placed them on his nose, pushing them up with his index finger. He then grabbed an apron from the back of one of the kitchen sliding doors, and wrapped it around his stomach. On it was a simple, cute duck, surrounded by water and a little quote above, 'I'm quacks about cooking!'

The quote was a little dad-joke-esque, having the word 'nuts' replaced by 'quacks' to fit the duck theme. Narrator didn't exactly understand it at first, but then Stanley explained it and he shook his head. Not in a disappointing way or a disapproving way, just a sort of 'Alright then' shake. They bought the apron and carried it home.

Anyways, Narrator began to collect ingredients, and place the bacon into a frying pan, allowing it to cook. They then prepared the eggs in another frying pan, and placed the now cooked bacon onto a plate, and placing it in the oven to keep warm. Narrator added a pinch of salt and pepper to the fried egg, and flipped it twice, ensuring it was cooked on both sides. He then proceeded to fry the sausages, which also did not take very long.

The sandwiches overall took about 10 minutes to cook, and a further 5 to construct. Narrator cut the sausages in half widthways, and placed them on top of the bacon, which was at the bottom. He then placed the eggs on top, and finished it off with a second buttered slice of bread. He cut the sandwiches in half, and placed them onto a plate. Finally, Narrator grabbed the orange juice out of the fridge, pouring two glasses. They placed Stanley's food and drink on the island, before reaching for his own.

Narrator sat down, grabbing the first half of the sandwich, and taking a bite. The salty textures and tastes exploded on his tongue! The fatty bacon to egg ratio was just perfect, and the gorgeous, succulent sausage was just the cherry on the top. Narrator raised his eyebrows as he chewed, surprised at his own cooking. He looked at Stanley, who's reaction was very similar. Although, he put up his thumbs, smiling widely. It's great! You're a great cook!

Narrator felt his face heat up, and his mouth curl upwards slightly into a smile. "Thank you Stanley.." Narrator muttered, and went back to eating. God why do I feel like this? My insides.. they feel all fluttery.. Light even.. Narrator scrunched his eyebrows together as he thought. He shook his head, blocking the thought out for now. He'd come back to it later. As the pair finished their breakfast, Stanley thanked Narrator, and began to tidy the living room whilst Narrator cleaned the kitchen. As Narrator finished, he assisted Stanley in tidying the living room, by hoovering up any crumbs of food that dropped of the floor during the night, and wiping the coffee table clean with some antibacterial wipes.

Not long later, the house was back to its clean state, and Narrator had retreated upstairs to get dressed. He chose out a white shirt, with a mustard yellow tie that had brighter yellow stripes on it, and his grey waistcoat. On his lower half he wore grey trousers and his black socks. If they were to go anywhere, he would put on his black dress shoes.

Narrator strode back down the stairs to find Stanley sat reading a book. Narrators first book, to be precise.

It had been written years ago, before the parable. Narrator would just sit in an office everyday, writing. His book was finished within a month or two. He was given food on a conveyor belt, and an en-suite toilet, as well as a small bed. But, there was no door to the outside world. Narrator could not leave. Until one day where he woke up not in his office but an office block, face to face with The Curator. That was how Narrator came to be.

"Stanley.. Is that.. my first book.?" Narrator muttered, squinting at the cover. It was an empty room, decorated with a yellow light and an interrogation desk. In bold white writing, you could read 'I know everything'. The title of the book.
Stanley nodded, Yep! I just found it on the bookshelf! I really like the book. The plot is really cool and I like your writing style! Narrator felt his face heat up and his heart speed up again, causing him to excuse himself from the room and run back upstairs.

Stanley POV:

Hmm.. Stanley though as he watched Narrator bolt up the stairs. He scrunched his face together in a pouty manner, but confusion and concern filled his body, not sadness. He's never been like that before.. Stanley shrugged off the thought, maybe he forgot something? He continued reading the book, but thoughts danced around his mind like he was at a ball, I hope he's alright though..

1125 Words ✔︎