𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 [𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚢]

14-Stanley

Waking up in his apartment was something he may never get used to. The Parable had always been bright. His room was dark. The Parable was as if there were no temperature at all; not warm, but not cold either. Just... temperature. His room was slightly too cold, and the thin blanket was of no help.

Too tired to actually sit up and stand up off of his bed, he elected to slide down to the floor. He lay there in the dark on the itchy brown carpet. There was a certain numbness that came with waking up. He tiredly ran a hand through his greasy hair. He did suppose he technically hadn't showered in two weeks. Or several millennia. Depends on how you want to look at it.

He stood up, the familiar ache setting into his bones. He stumbled over to the wardrobe, opening the reddish brown wood doors. He blinked, trying to adjust to the lightheadedness he felt from standing up as quickly as he did. He looked within the wardrobe; which contained several dress shirts hanging on top and some jeans neatly folded below. There were a couple drawers down at the bottom; which likely also held clothing.

He picked out a few articles of clothing, not really caring about what. He stumbled to the bedroom door, holding the clothing in the crook of his arm. If he hit his head on the edge of the door frame as he walked through the half open door or not was for him to know and for you to... not know.

He went across the hallway to the only door in the apartment he still had yet to open; hoping it'd be the bathroom. Thankfully, it was. It was small, cramped even. The sink was directly by the door, the toilet to the left with maybe half a foot between the two. There was a bath/shower combo flush with the left wall. The tub was far too small for a bath, but he didn't like baths anyway (He thinks). Behind the door, there was a rack where two towels hung. He twisted the handle all the way on, waiting for the water to heat up before moving the handle back to the spot he knew would give the perfect temperature (He still has no clue how he knows).

He took his shower, savoring the warmth of the water. He's not entirely sure how long he spent, but it was a good while. His fingers had begun to wrinkle by the time he chose to get out. He dried off using one of the towels behind the door and got dressed; hoping that he'd be comfortable enough in what he chose (they'd been his clothes; why would he have stuff he's not comfortable with in his wardrobe?).

He stared at his reflection in the mirror as beads of water dripped down the edges of his hair. He brushed his hand against the stubble growing on his face. Did he have any razors anywhere, and did he trust his achy bones enough to shave? After looking through the cabinet below the sink, the answer to the first question was yes, but the second was definitely not.

Which was an issue, because he hated the way the hair on his face felt.

He'd just have to suffer.

He ran a comb through his hair, attempting to get all the tangles out of his still-wet hair. It was difficult; but he managed it. He stood there, still gazing at his reflection. He was only pulled away from his thoughts by the familiar pang of hunger wringing in his gut.

Time to see if he actually liked cheerios.

He left the bathroom and walked to the kitchen, grabbing the cheerios he'd purchased, before realizing he'd forgotten to get milk whilst he was out. Drats. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, deciding to eat it dry since he currently had no other options. He took the bowl to the living room; deciding to keep studying that ASL book whilst he ate.

An hour or so later, there was a knock at the door. Right. Mariella said she'd be coming back. He sighed, standing up to look through the peephole of the door. If it wasn't her, or if she wasn't alone, he wasn't letting them in.

Thankfully, though, it was just the blonde. No sign of the brightly colored teal hair, or the obnoxiously tall one's dark curls. He breathed a sigh of relief, unlocking the door to let her in. His tired eyes met her excitable and kind eyes. He wished he remembered their friendship.

"Good morning, Stan!" He winced both at the volume of her voice and the nickname. He wasn't fond of it. He gestured for her to come inside. He walked back over the couch, picking at his dry cereal some more (It was taking a while to get through; it's so dry.) while Mariella closed the door and followed behind him.

"So... how've you been?" She asked awkwardly. He gave a deadpanned look between Mariella and his dry cheerios. "Right. Not great." She decided.

He held his palm a bit away from his forehead in an open B handshape, moving from left to right as he closed it into an A handshape. He then held the same hand away from himself and made a squeezing motion; the sign for [Forgot] and the sign for [Milk].

"Ah. Forgetting to get milk would be an issue." She said, moving to sit next to Stanley on the couch. While Stanley wasn't the most comfortable with this choice, he didn't have the energy to try to stop her.

"...Can you please tell me more about what happened in your parable?" She asked, looking at Stanley desperately. "I... want to know if there's a reason you can't remember us..."

Stanley sighed dramatically, putting his hand next to his ear in a Y handshape. The universal sign for a phone, even if someone didn't know sign. He then stood up to go get his phone from his bedroom. He grabbed his phone, trying to guess his password as he walked back

4270? 0427? Uh... 6969?? 8888??

Mariella must have seen the frustration on his face. "You alright?"

[Forgot numbers.] He signed after sliding the phone into his pocket.

"Oh! It's just your birthday." She informed him, as if he knew his birthday. He glared at her.

[Forgot.] He signed, the movement sharp and harsh.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." She anxiously tapped her wrists together, before continuing. "0223. Your birthday is February 23rd."

Stanley retrieved his phone back from his pocket and put the numbers into his phone, the home screen unlocking. Right smack dab in the middle of the page, was a TTS app. Obviously, considering he was reportedly mute even before The Parable.

Right, what was he needing to tell her about?

The Parable. Yes. That.

[WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW EXACTLY] The robotic voice of the text to speech app spoke.

"...Just, tell me what you can, I guess. Things that stick out. Maybe Curi- The Curator can help, since she was also stuck there." Mariella said. A familiar teasing smile played at his lips as her words slipped, clearly wanting to use a nickname for The Curator.

[I WILL START FROM THE BEGINNING. FROM WHAT I REMEMBER.] The monotone said for him, as he began to rapidly type an extremely long paragraph about The Narrator's story. The first bit was... muddled. Both due to the player's control over him and due to the extreme amount of time he'd spent in The Parable. Honestly, The Player hadn't bothered them in such a long time he'd nearly forgotten they were ever there until he was instructed to recount the events.

Mariella seemed to grow anxious as he continued to type. Understandable, considering he was nearing the character limit and was only about half way through the story. He reached the end of what he could write, breathing a heavy sigh of relief as he scrolled back to the top of his many words to allow her to hear them.

"Wow, okay, that was... a lot." She'd put plainly after he'd finished the whole thing. Stanley nodded solemnly.