A man was driving home from work. This person was a very lonely man. His family had left him, his friends had moved on, and he couldn't hold a relationship for more than two days. He worked at a minimum-wage job, and he hated it. This man had no special skills, and was hopeless at this point of his life. Even so, he tried his best to keep a happy-ish attitude, despite his problems.
It was very hard to do, considering his worth of life.
This thought brought him down to a more appropriate mood. While his mood changed, he bowed his head in despair. And doing this, he made a horrible mistake. He didn't see the car coming towards him.
There was a white flash, and then nothing.
Images ran through his sight. Not just images, memories. At one point he was looking out into his neighborhood from his porch. Another vision showed him at a beach. In between these visions, flashes of random people filled his sight. These all faded to black, then a ball of light appeared in the center of his vision. The man tried moving towards it, finding then that he couldn't move. This worried him.
After watching the bright sphere for a few seconds, his vision turned to a horrifying mask, attached to a machine that had more masks. Behind the strange contraption was a void of creepy statues. A minute of silence passed, staring at the mask, unable to look away.
"Welcome to death." It suddenly said. The machine span, and a new mask was now in front.
"Please verbalize all responses on the the monitor provided for you." It spoke with a female voice.
There was a way for him to communicate? Even though he couldn't move? He tried asking a question, one that had popped into his mind once he had gotten here.
"Where am I?" His voice sounded strange, like he was talking through a speaker. Maybe that was how he could speak. The machine turned again to another mask.
"You have died." The machine responded. "I am your interviewer. This is your job interview. We will hold you here until an occupation suited for you is found."
If he could, the man would have widened his eyes. He had DIED?! Was this Hell? The man started to panic.
"I-I-I-want to go b-back-! I don't want to- I-I don't want to be d-dead!" His voice repeated and glitched itself, as if it breaks under emotion.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, but its not my decision. I am only the interviewer." The mask said, emotionless.
"Who's decision is it?" The man asked.
"They decided it."
The way the interviewer had said it, unnerved the man.
"Wh-who are th-they?" He asked, voice glitching.
The Interviewer looked up, staring at something above the man. After staring at it for a few seconds, it answered. "It is a pointless question."
The man was now terrified. If he was dead, then he didn't want to spend his afterlife here! Being unable to move, and staring at this creepy monstrosity. He started to protest at the situation.
"I-I-I-d-d-on't want to- I w-want to- b-be dea- go ba-ack- I don't want a job- p-please let me le-eave-!" His voice glitched even more, reacting to the fear.
"You don't understand." The machine span again to a different mask. "We must begin."
At that, the man gave up. He couldn't do anything more than talk, anyway. The first question was asked.
"Who is.. Erica Moore?"
The question caught the man by surprise. Tears started building up at the mention of the name. Broken-hearted, he answered.
"She was my daughter.."
"Did Erica Moore commit suicide on November 10th, 2013?"
Tears started spilling from his eyes. The machine was clearly out to get him now. He tried to change the subject.
"I d-do n-not want t-to talk about my daught-ter."
"Please answer the question." The man snapped at this.
"I S-SAID I D-D-DO NOT WANT TO T-TALK ABOUT M-MY DAUGHTER!"
"Please answer the question." The man was now full-blown crying now, painful memories resurfacing. Trying to escape them, he answered the question in a panic.
"I didn't know what was going to happen- I should have said something to her- please don't ask me any more questions about my daughter- I WANT TO LEAVE NOW!"
The mask changed to the female voiced one. "I have disabled open response format. Please use only 'yes' or 'no' responses. Did Erica Moore commit suicide on November 10th, 2013?" The man tried to speak, to say anything but the answer, but nothing came out.
"..."
The machine spun to a creepier mask. "I am sending a small amount of pain into your nervous system. The pain will increase until you answer me. Did Erica Moore commit suicide on November 10th, 2013?"
The man felt a small pinch. After a few seconds, the pinch started to grow in intensity. Every second of silence made the pain grow larger. Still trying to change the subject, the man started saying random things into the microphone, as if the voice glitching was part of him.
"Idon'twanttopleaseletmeleaveIdon'twantajobIwanttoleaveno-!" The pain at this point was becoming unbearable. He wanted it to stop."YESIdonotwantto-YES-YES-YES-YES-YES-YES-YES-!"
The mask looked up. "Did you leave Erica Moore unattended after you had an argument with her?"
"IshouldhavesaidIdidn'tknowwhatwasgoingtoIsaidIwanttolea-YES."
"Do you still blame yourself for her death?"
The pain was now overwhelming him. He couldn't even find the strength to speak.
"..."
The machine spun to a different mask. It spoke with a less serious tone. "Do you still blame yourself for her death?"
"..."
The machine spun to another mask. "Do. You. Still. Blame. Yourself. For. Her. Death?"
"..."
"Open response enabled."
"Pl-easestopIcan'ttakethisanymore- I cannot do this-I cannot-I-I-I-I-I-I-!" The man was suddenly silenced.
"All response forms have been disabled."
Tears fell from what felt like the man's eyes. A long silence passed, when suddenly a song was played in the background. The man knew this song very well.
"You used to listen to this when you served in the Gulf War. You and your friend, Michael Corman. You blame yourself on his death, too."
"Why do you feel like its something you could have prevented at all?" This question was slightly easier to answer.
"I saw him fall, and I didn't stop running from them... he was my friend, and I let him die."
"Would he have stopped running for you?"
"Yes."
"Why would you want to believe he would have?"
That was a strange question. He tried to think of a response.
"..I know he would have."
"You're idealizing him. You want to feel guilty. You find it comforting. Realistically, you feel he wouldn't."
"That's a lie." The man protested.
"You're getting nervous. You know he wouldn't have." This interviewer was now irritating.
"You didn't know him. You have no right to say that!"
"I can feel it in your voice." That was the last straw.
"What gives you the right to judge m-me?! To think you know how I feel! "
"You think you understand people? You think you know what its like to be a p-p-person, and you know how we work- well, you're wrong-..!" His voice distorted and went down in pitch, only to come back up, just as angry. "You don't know what its like to lose your daughter! I did what was right for my country and I try to live like an honest man and youdon'tknowhwatitsliketobepulledawayfromyourfamily- YOU CAN'T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME!"
The interviewer spun to a new, horrifying mask. It appeared to be two pain-stricken faces, with a large hole in the middle. It spoke with a distortingly low pitched voice.
"SHUT UP." It said. "JUST..SHUT UP." The sight of the new mask made the man scared to speak.
"I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU FOR THINKING THAT LIFE IS AN END THAT CORRESPONDS WITH YOUR ASPIRATIONS AND WISHES. I HATE YOU FOR THINKING YOU'RE UNIQUE. I HATE YOU FOR THINKING YOU'RE THE SUBSTANTIAL PURPOSE IN THE WORLD. I HATE YOU FOR REMINDING ME OF WHAT I USED TO BE."
"WE ALL DIE. WE WERE ALL SENT HERE. WE ALL SURRENDER THE DREAMS WE HAD IN LIFE. AND WE ALL DID WHAT WAS REQUIRED TO SUSTAIN."
"YOU WILL WAIT HERE UNTIL YOU KNOW LONGER REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE, UNTIL YOU ARE NO LONGER SANE ENOUGH TO REMAIN HERE FOR SECONDS, AND THOSE SECONDS FOR ETERNITY. AND THEN THEY WILL REMOLD YOU. AND THEN YOU WILL BE ME."
The machine spun to a different mask. "Your job had been decided."
Seeing the terrifying mask out of the way, the man found the strength to protest. Especially from the last few sentences.
"PleaseId-d-don'twantthejob-Iwanttole-e-eave-!"
"Goodbye!"
'Who am I?' The man thought. 'How long have I been here? Why can't I move? Why..?'
"Waiting period complete." The Interviewer said.
"Hello. You are about to be reborn in a new life. Your name is unknown, but you are called 'The Narrator.' You will teach a person what you have learned here. You will do it in a story. This is your job."
'It is? My name... The Narrator?' The man was confused.
"Enjoy your new job. Get to work."
My name is The Narrator. This is what is left of my story.
I have no memory of my past life, and this is all I remember. I don't even remember who these people are in the interview.
I am writing this all down so I do not forget. So that they won't make me forget... what had happened to me... why I am here.
After I was assigned my name and job, I was following orders. I made a game. I took an innocent stranger and taught him a very difficult lesson. I couldn't do otherwise. I wasn't permitted to. I never hated Stanley. I really do wish for him to be free. But no, I cannot let that happen. I cannot go against my assignment. I can't do that because I'll get fired. I don't even know what would happen if it came to that. My main fear is that..
...they'll take something else away from me.
My memories.. I can't afford to lose any more. I can barely remember anything when the game restarts. "They" put that there, so that I wouldn't plan anything. Right now, I left Stanley in the broom closet, so I have a bit of time here before he gets up again.
Whoever "they" are, the interviewer didn't say. The interviewer said it was a pointless question. I didn't think so. I think those are the people who orchestrated this, the people in charge. My boss, I suppose.
Hold on, Stanley stepped out of the broom closet.
"Coming to a staircase, Stanley went upstairs to his boss's office."
Dammit, Stanley. I'm doing something important here. If only I could tell you. If only you could help me. But no, I would be penalized, and that would also be selfish of me. Stanley did nothing, and I was forced to pull him away from his life, just to sustain my new one.
If this is the afterlife, then I'm in my own personal Hell. What did I do to deserve this?
...
Oh shoot, I forgot to say my line. Stanley's looking at the camera.
"Oh- um, sorry, Stanley. I was caught up in my thoughts there for a moment. Let's continue the story."
Stanley looked at the ceiling in interest. 'What was so important that caused The Narrator to screw up?' He wondered. Stanley sat down at his spot and continued looking up.
"Ahem. Where were we, oh here-" The Narrator glanced up from his script when heard Stanley sit down. "Uh, Stanley, what are you doing? Don't you want to get on with the story?" Stanley shook his head. "Well, what the heck do you want, then?" Stanley just tilted his head, like a curious puppy.
"What? What is that supposed to...oh." The Narrator said. "You're wondering what I was thinking back there?" Stanley nodded. Whatever The Narrator had to say would probably be more entertaining than the rest of the game, anyway.
"Well if you must know, I was..." The Narrator trailed off. What was he supposed to say now? He made the mistake of agreeing to tell Stanley of his thoughts, and now he had no clue on what to do.
"..I-I was..." The Narrator stuttered.
Stanley sat there expectingly, waiting for an answer. Oh, The Narrator really screwed up now. Now, Stanley was interested. He couldn't back out now. The Narrator decided he had to lie.
"..I was..um, pondering on.. why.. I don't remember much about past restarts.."
Okay, that was a half-lie.
Stanley narrowed his eyes at the ceiling. The Narrator wouldn't have taken such a long time to speak if he wasn't lying. Stanley crossed his arms.
"W-what? You don't believe me?" Stanley nodded. The Narrator sighed. "Why do you have to be so smart... okay, fine. You got me. I wasn't really thinking about that." Stanley smiled, knowing that he was right.
"But I'm not going to tell you." The Narrator said. Stanley glared at the camera. "I'm sorry. Its for the best. Now, can we please go back to the story? Please?"
Stanley shook his head again. Dammit, why is he so stubborn?
"Stanley, please, just enter the damn code into the keypad and let's move on." Stanley stayed put. He was not going to move from his spot.
The Narrator was starting to get annoyed. "Stanley, I'm serious. Get over it, and just go through the rest of the story. Now." Stanley still wouldn't budge. This now angered The Narrator.
"STANLEY!" The Narrator yelled. "WHA- WHY THE HELL DO YOU WANT TO KNOW SO BADLY OF MY THOUGHTS? WHEN HAVE YOU EVER CARED ABOUT THAT?!" Stanley flinched at the sudden outburst, but continued sitting on the floor. That's it.
"Okay, so you want to know what my thoughts are? Fine, I'll tell you. Don't blame me when you are abandoned in the middle of nowhere.." The Narrator muttered the last part, but Stanley heard it clearly. Stanley was now scared. Maybe he shouldn't have provoked The Narrator. Too late for that.
"I was thinking of- *BEEP BEEP*"
The Narrator was interrupted by a loud alarm that startled Stanley. Stanley's vision turned to the loading screen, while The Narrator stared blankly at the screen, mind completely silent. He couldn't think for a full thirty minutes. After this span of time, he snapped out of it, mind now clear of any recent activity.
'What just happened?' He thought. 'Did the game restart?'
'Oh, well, I better get ready to say my lines...'
The Narrator saw a few papers on the floor. Curious, he picked them up and read them. 'Seems like a bunch of nonsense.." He thought. He threw the papers into a nearby trash can, and turned to the microphone to speak.
[The End.]
[-Is Never The End Is Never The End.]
[Okay, so I guess I have some explaining to do. Well, I'll try the best I can.]
[I was looking through Kevan Brighting's (the voice of The Narrator) twitter, and I saw he had voiced another video. (If you want to see it, go onto the twitter and its the tweet that says: "Here's a new project!") I watched it, and I decided to make it into a prequel for The Stanley Parable. Adding a few details and points of view, of course!]
[Well anyway, what do you think? A change in my usual writing, right?]
[Should I make this into a full story? I need to know if I should just end it here. Then again, the end is never the end..]
[Please review!]