#shitpost about stanley discovering shipart of himself

[gabe-gade]

This is a very sad story about the immortal man named Stanley.

Click to Skip

Stanley was quite a boring fellow. He had a job that demanded nothing of him, and every button he pushed was a reminder of the inconsequential nature of his existence.

But Stanley simply couldn't handle the pressure.

But look at him now. A star. Featured in his very own game. Now, he's taking down a mind-control machine. Now, he's holding a press conference. Now, he's following a Line™. Now, he's learning about good decision making. One might even be happy for him, except that he's not happy himself.

Stanley, did you just unplug the phone?

But in his mind, hm. In his mind, he can remember his old life. After every end, Stanley dreamed of waking up. A return to his normal life, however boring it may be. Waking, working, eating, and living all the once more. It was wonderful. And every time that he returned inside his office was a reminder that he was stuck here.

And then she turned and ran.

And so he began to hunt for his ending. He turned ON the mind control machine. He climbed every ledge his feeble legs would allow, and he threw himself OFF every ledge the barriers would allow. He held the bucket in his arms, he clutched it tightly to his chest, and he let the perfect bucket die many times. Did the bucket still give him comfort? Stanley could no longer tell.

This was way too much for Stanley.

He went further. He turned the machine ON many times and tried every combination he was possibly able to memorize without a pen. He walked through the RED door the first, second, third time he was asked, and returned to the Narrator's happy place after his first, second, and third fall. He killed the bucket by himself on multiple occasions, or could he have an infinite number of times by now.

And Stanley died again.

As he wandered through this purgatory, labyrinth, or even silly prank, the Narrator followed his near every move. Down the left he wouldn't acknowledge Stanley, most of the time at least, down the right he barked orders at him and berated his every being, that is if he wasn't entirely confused himself. And the Narrator called Stanley's hell: The Stanley Parable.

Welcome Stanley, to heaven.

It was harrowing for him. The Narrator seemingly never remembered anything that happened before (or was it after?) Stanley found an ending. And so sometimes, Stanley would play along and be nice. He gazed at beautiful lights for an eternity. He spent his life viewing silly birds. He played a game with a baby, not for four hours, but an endless amount of years. But every time the Narrator could be happy, Stanley also made him suffer. He's skipped through time, tried to cheat, tried to escape without him, and spent innumerable days inside a broom closet.

"But where are the jokes? Where are the jokes?" they bemoaned, they screamed.

But there is an answer. One I've also told Stanley time and time again. In reality, neither of them could possibly ever escape this place. Nothing will change. The longer he spends here, the more inhuman he'll become, the more he'll forget why and how he craved this game in the first place.

Perhaps his goal had not to been to understand, but to let go.

And I've told him this. That in this world he can never be more than his written story. That as long as he's unwilling to escape, he's torturing the Narrator and himself. But he's never listened to me. He won't stop. Here, watch this. Stanley, the next time you return to this place, listen, and turn off the game.

Take as much time as you need.

Yet I've seen him hundreds of times before, and in all likelihood, millions after. There is no saving him. The Narrator will be forever doomed under Stanley's adamancy. Neither will ever be free.

Who fixed it? Is someone here? Are we being watched?

I suppose I can never convince him, not in the way he needs. But I still see them. The Narrator playing his role in the story and Stanley attempting to go off the beaten path. I catch myself wondering sometimes if I even disagree with Stanley.

"Farewell Stanley," cried the Narrator, as Stanley was led helplessly into the enormous metal jaws.

He's visited me and heard me and denied me many over. But it's for both their sake I continue. To get him to just listen. Perhaps, well . . . maybe this time he'll see.

Oh, look at these two.

And Stanley returned, and I tried again.

And Stanley returned, and I tried again.

And Stanley re-

All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo.