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give-soup-please · 2 years

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This is going to be an odd prompt, but boy do I feel like I need to see this conversation play out with the narrator.

The narrator and the reader have a friendly, non-hostile, but very frank discussion acknowledging what they mean to each other on a conceptual level. The narrator needs his Stanley, his audience, his reader, for him to exist. He is willing to be whatever the reader needs him to be. A friend, a guide, a muse, an enemy, a lover, a father figure, a gentle voice offering comfort, any and all he can and will be. There is no real manipulation or maliciousness involved, he simply is what he is and he will put the whole of his being in to whichever role he takes. Yes he can be malicious, manipulative, obsessive to an unhealthy degree, but only if that is what you want. He can be the villain of your story for you to rage against, someone who truly hates and despises you, if that is what you desire, but he can just as easily be a comforting character who truly, deeply loves and needs you with complete genuineness. He is the ultimate escapist character. Faceless, formless, endlessly compelling and mysterious, always creating new paths for you to walk, with the only answers he can provide being that which you yourself bring to give meaning to him, and the reader is well aware of that, but they have mostly stopped feeling like a fool for clinging to the escapism of it all. They have accepted the tangled web that twines you two. 'The end is never the end' indeed. It is true freedom in a way, to accept things as they are, rather than to deny or fight something that you take comfort in. Besides, he is a muse to you, an inspiration, a creative force to be reckoned with that challenges you to create in ways you had not thought to try before. Your fixation with him has done far more good than harm. His 'death' at the hands of his own creation in an attempt to please you, his audience, a death of the author that you needed to participate in because merely by playing a continuation of a game that was complete and never supposed to have more, you killed the author as surely as the author himself did when he tried to change his finished work. It was freeing for both of you, in a way. You participated in the death of the author right along with the author himself, but he lives on in a thousand different shapes and forms regardless, and he is happy to play his role, because in the end, you are the author too, and he is your Stanley, as much as you are his.

The Branching Path

(This one is long. It's the last official writing I'll be doing for the blog as well. I hope you enjoy it. A few more things to wrap up, and then that will be it. Thanks for coming on this journey with me.)

“You mean a lot to me, you know,” said the reader. The narrator tried, and failed, to suppress a smile.

“Really? Well, I do hope for a six part lecture series on the matter. I’d love to hear in detail how much I’ve influenced and impacted your life.” Such smugness would be outrageous and off putting, if it came from anyone else.

“I’m serious. You do mean a lot to me. You’ve been an endless source of comfort and inspiration. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for it.” Replied the reader.

The reader paused for a moment, collecting their thoughts. The narrator gave them the space to think. Normally, he loved to fill the silence as much as he could, whenever he could. Today was different.

Eventually, the reader continued. “I remember in the early days, being so embarrassed by my attachment to you. It wasn’t because of who you were, but… Relying on a fictional character for support…” The reader trailed off.

“...And now?” The narrator asked.

“Well… I guess I’ve accepted that you’re always going to have a place in my life one way or another. You and I have done so much together, that-” The reader broke off with a laugh. “If I asked you to, would you leave?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought.” His reply was hushed.

“Neither can I. I’ve grown too close to you, I think. Our lives have gotten too meshed together now for us to part ways easily. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I stopped caring about the voices that said I shouldn’t be this way, because your voice was stronger.”

In the face of such earnestness, the narrator’s usual posturing failed to appear. A soft smile was in his voice. “It’s been incredible to watch the two of us grow. I exist on a deeper level, thanks to you. I’m more real now than I ever was before.”

The two of them stood in silence for a while.

The narrator continued with a small laugh. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How shortly ago our lives began to intertwine. And yet the impact we’ve had on each other-”

The reader blinked rapidly, trying to stem the flow of their emotions. They cleared their throat, keeping their eyes on the floor. After doing their best to make sure their voice wouldn’t crack under the strain, they said,

“I’m sorry. To be honest, if I had things my way, we’d never stop doing this. Just you and me, creating and crafting together, forever. Neither time nor age nor the collapse of society stopping us.”

The narrator spoke again. “You know, I’ve always enjoyed the work we’ve done together. Whatever choice you made, whatever role you cast me in, I loved performing it. I was your villain, I was your victim. Your family, your friend, your guide, your lover- need I go on?”

The reader swallowed. “You don’t have to, but I always loved listening to you talk.”

The narrator laughed again, a quieter, sadder laugh. “I know. And I’ve always enjoyed being what you needed me to be. Not out of obsession, or possession, or desperation, but because… I need you to exist. The story cannot exist without your ideas, and neither can I.”

A longer pause, this time. The reader did their best to not notice the darkness that was closing in on them. The shadows were getting longer, stretching and becoming part of a widespread manifestation of void.

“So. I guess this is it,” Reader said.

“Mmm. An excellent run while it lasted, wouldn’t you say?” asked the narrator.

The reader smiled and looked down. “It’s going to be strange, living without you again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ll never be too far away, if you’d like me to be there for you.” Replied the narrator.

“I mean, I know that. But I also know that things are going to be different, going forward. Change is…”

“It feels terrible sometimes, doesn’t it?”

It was as if the reader’s heart had been gently cracked open, the narrator somehow finding the quickest path to the problem.

The reader began to cry in earnest. “I- I’m so sorry this is happening to us. If I had known, if we could have had more time together-”

“Shh, Shh. It’s alright. I’m going to disappear soon, but not quite yet. Let’s just enjoy what we have left, and do our best to not run from it. Now, what would you like for us to do together?”

The reader thought about this. “Could… Could I see you?”

A smile was clearly in the narrator’s voice. “Of course. Any particular form you’d like to view today? I could be a shadow, an angel, have a monitor for a head- reader’s choice, as always.”

“Just… I don’t care. I want to see you.”

The narrator manifested himself. He appeared as an older man, hair tinged with gray, bespeckled.

“Now, this one is a classic.” He said, tapping the side of his glasses expertly. “Very popular with a large section of fans.”

The reader laughed.

“Of course, should you wish me to change again, just think about it, and I will.”

There was a small pause.

“What else do you want to do?” The narrator asked.

“I… I’d rather do what you wanted, for once.” the reader replied.

“No, no, no. I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I’m meant to be whatever is required for the story to work. That is my role. That is what I mean to this world. It always has been. I exist within whatever characterization is given to me.”

“And you’re alright with that?” The reader asked.

“Well, yes. Hundreds of thousands of interpretations of me exist, each one with their own dynamics and flaws. But all of them share something in common.

At the reader’s confused look, the narrator waved one of his hands. “You know, the readers, the writers, the watchers, the listeners- all of them together for one purpose, to keep me tethered to your world.”

The narrator’s smile was warm. “I’ll never be able to thank them enough. Or you, for that matter.”

The reader wrapped their arms around themselves, an attempt at comfort.

The narrator hummed a worried note. “I can do that for you, if you’d like. That’s… I’ll be here for you, however you need me.”

“I know,” said the reader.

The narrator waits, to see what will be asked of him. He can’t make a move without input. He’s more similar to Stanley than he realizes.

(The writer’s fingers move rapidly across the keyboard.)

The narrator approaches, and with kindness in his eyes, wraps his arms around the reader.

“...Do you have to go?” the reader asked.

“I think so. I don’t know how to put this delicately, but- everyone involved in this project needs to rest. And to be honest, I feel… Alright. This needs to happen, there needs to be a clean break for all our sakes.”

After a few moments, the reader takes a step back, and stares at the narrator, taking in every detail. Their eyes narrow.

The reader said, “And if I asked you not to be okay with it? If I asked you to be upset?”

The narrator’s expression began to shift, preparing for the next casting. “If that’s what you wish. Say the word.”

“...Change?”

Something clicked into place. The narrator launched himself into his role.

“Reader, please! You can’t go. Don’t do this to me, don’t leave me behind! I’ll be anything you need me to be, I’ll do anything you ask!”

“Stop!” the reader’s voice rang out clear, like a bell. And just like that, the narrator was back in a neutral state.

The reader considered this. “What if… What if I wanted you to be romantic?”

“You know the word already.”

“...Change.”

A different characterization slid into place, and suddenly the narrator stared dreamily at the reader.

“Oh, darling… I am going to regret our parting, but I suppose it’s inevitable. How about a final, farewell kiss?”

The reader stared at the narrator incredulously. “What else can I ask for?” This also seemed to release the narrator from his current role.

“Whatever you’d like.”

“Uh… Antagonistic?”

The narrator stared very seriously at the reader. “Are you sure? That’s not one my current source does very often. I asked him why once, and he said it makes him sad.”

The reader nodded, spoke the word, and the narrator shifted again.

“Do you actually think you’re the one in control here? Don’t you understand your place in my world? Well, you’ll learn soon enough.”

“And… scene!” The reader said. The narrator relaxed, and the built up tension leaked out of him.

The reader’s eyebrows were raised. “Your range is incredible.”

He chuckled. “You’ve hardly seen anything. But I hope you see the point I’m driving at. I am, and have always been, at my audience’s disposal.”

The circle of darkness was starting to grow around them. The reader pushed back mentally, and it retreated. For now.

“So, reader, I suppose the question is, what do you need me to be for you to get through this?”

The reader was still trying to hold back their emotions to the best of their ability. “Just-” They took a deep, shuddering breath. “Right now, I need you to be kind. Can you manage that?”

“Of course.” The narrator’s expression shifted. “Of course I can be that for you.” The reader didn’t flinch away. There wasn’t a need to anymore.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” the reader said. “You live in this form because I want you to, and you give me inspiration in return. I can’t work out who is giving who meaning.”

“Perhaps you don’t have to. Humans are complicated, It’s indicative of your species. Maybe a dynamic doesn’t have to be fully parsed out. We can just delight in the fact that we make each other happy, and let that be enough.”

“That’s… Oddly soothing. Thank you.”

“Hmm?” he lets out a pleasant noise. “Are you admitting that I make you happy?”

The reader snorted.

“Yeah. I- Do you think I get this emotional over just anyone? Not all goodbyes are equally hard. I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. You make me happy. Continually. My life has been made better by your place in it.”

The narrator sighs contentedly.

The reader rolls their eyes. “You’re so ridiculous sometimes.” The affection is clear in their voice.

“Only because I’m written that way.”

The wind begins to howl. The darkness is growing. They are both surrounded by void.

“We’re running out of time.” The reader says, though there’s no need to explain it. They both know what’s about to happen.

The narrator clasps the reader on the shoulder. “Reader, it’s imperative that you listen to me. This form is dying. It has been for a while now. We both knew that what we had wasn’t going to last forever. You knew from the start, and it didn’t take long for me to catch on as well. But if you need me-”

He was starting to disintegrate. It was slow, working from his feet up.

“Focus, reader. Focus on my voice, not what’s coming next. If you ever need me, I’ll be there. You and I can go on another adventure any time you want. You can look up stories about me, write one of your own, find fan art or create it yourself.”

His legs were gone, but he was still managing to stand.

“It doesn’t matter when, it doesn’t matter where. If you call for me, I'll answer. Our story doesn’t have to end just because we’re both going our separate ways. You can pick it up later, or get someone else to continue it for you. Do you understand?”

The reader nodded, trying very hard to not look at the narrator’s torso, which was unraveling.

“This version of me is about to disappear- however- there are thousands of others. Mourn if you must, but don’t forget that I’m not really dead.” He lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad I got all that out before I left. Now, all that’s left to do is… To stop moving.”

The reader felt a surge of panic, of needing to say what was on their heart before it was too late. “Before you go, I need you to know that I didn’t regret a single moment spending time with you.”

The narrator’s smile was radiant, even as it was being eaten at by the darkness. “F-funny, I feel the s-same way.” His voice was straining now, glitching out and filled with static. “O-one last great a-adventure. What do you say, friend?”

“Yes, of course.” The reader said.

“B-being able to do this for you, t-to c-complete my purpose… It’s q-quite rich, really. Reader- I t-think I feel… Happy. I a-actually feel h-happy!” His last laugh was caught by the wind and disappeared before he could finish it.

He was gone. The reader took a deep breath. The writer took a deep breath.

Everyone had found the freedom they had been looking for.

…

Then the ground began to shake. The world shifted, changed, twisted, and suddenly the void was being pushed back again. Where the narrator had been standing a few moments ago, there was a tiny sapling. The reader stared at it in shock.

It glowed a pure white. Roots spread rapidly, digging into the earth. It grew at an alarming pace. The tree unfurled its branches rapidly, each one standing tall and strong. It wasn't made of wood at all. It was made of crystal. Each diamond shaped leaf was a different image. The reader did their best to take in the new information.

Stories- hundreds of them, thousands maybe, were playing out like a film reel.

And the reader could see. All the different possibilities, all the potential of a character-

Different genres, plotlines, characterizations- the millions of different interpretations of the narrator that existed. He was a shadow, an angel, a computer, human, nonhuman, everything, anything-

The reader saw it all.

There was no change without transformation.

There was no death without some form of rebirth.

The tree moved, lowering one of its branches to the reader’s height. A pair of gardening shears lay at its base.

“It’s quite alright.” The tree said. “I’d like for you to take a few cuttings, and plant them in your own mind. They’ll grow, and a part of me will continue to live on. Only if you want to, of course.”

The reader hesitated. “The writer…”

“The writer doesn’t mind. He’s finished his current task, and he’s about to enter a hibernation period of sorts. But… I’ll let you in on a little secret, shall I? A small bit of confidential information between friends: He took a few branches to plant in his garden. Now, he made it very clear to me that he was taking an extended break. It was a bit laughable, to be honest.”

He paused as he realized how bad that might sound.

“Not- I mean, I didn’t laugh at him, of course. The poor man looked very worn out. But I found it rather amusing because I am not his keeper. We aren’t beholden to each other in any way. He is not obligated to write for me at all, though he often gets caught up in believing he does. But he still genuinely wants to. I suppose we both struggle with letting things go, after all.”

There are no visible facial expressions on the tree, but you get the impression that the tree is grinning.

“He’s quite irritated by the whole thing, actually. I am, quite possibly, the greatest comfort character he’s ever had. He isn’t done with me, and I’m certainly not done with him. Neither of us are keen to leave the other. Clearly, I am worthy of such a dedicated-”

He’s rambling. He knows he is. He clears his throat, despite not having one anymore, and gets back on track.

“The point being, that he may well come back eventually. As for you, You’re welcome to take part of me with you and reshape it to your own desires, and you’re just as welcome to not do so. The choice has always been yours.”

He waited for the reader to come to a decision on what to do.

He waited for a very long time.

You made your choice-

“…And the story continues.”

The end is never the end, really.

It’s just the beginning of something else.

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp #headcanon #answered ask #stanley parable #narrator #personal #this is it folks #we're in the homestretch

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