literature

The Spring and Summer After -1-

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The snows of winter were melting and the grass, though very much dead, was starting to show beneath the formerly frigid covers of the previous months. Stanley opened his eyes and lay in bed, feeling and savoring the feeling of simply being in a bed. Turning over he looked out the windows at the yards of empty frost covered land. Stanley had a sort of aversion to the white stuff, especially when it just went on for seemingly forever, unless it was broken by something. Footprints, the woods that stretched beyond the horizon, a sidewalk. Anything to reassure him that yes, he was outside, he was really outside the confines of steel and concrete that had once been his office space and his prison.

That he was free.

When the blank witness of the outside was undisturbed for as far as he could see, a sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't dispel. It would remind him too much of the white nothingness that he'd seen far too many times outside the windows of the office as he trudged through the halls more times than he'd ever had liked to. He had escaped in the autumn months, in the midsts of the trees shedding their colorful leaves as a farewell to the life filled seasons before it and a greeting to the cold dullness of winter and rest that would come after. Seeing those leaves, this indication of life at all, had been enough to make Stanley giddy, a deep peace filling him as if he had won, truly won, a prize worth more than all the material wealth in the world.

This happiness was soon replaced with a constant feel of pensiveness as Stanley waited to hear The Narrator's voice booming through his head, or doors to open. He feared that he had not escaped at all and in truth was still trapped in the office and all this was a cruel joke on the behalf of The Narrator. As fall changed into winter Stanley had not heard the voice nor been confronted with doors or hallways that forced him to choose, the former employee felt self assured with the fact that none of what he'd been worried about had actually happened. After that, Stanley's life was peaceful.

Stanley's stomach demanded that he get out of bed and feed it. Rolling off the mattress and leaving the warmth of last night on behind him, the cold floor greeted Stanley, reminding him that it was indeed winter. In case he had somehow forgotten or neglected to look outside.

Shuffling downstairs he rummaged through his modest but well packed kitchen in search of something to eat. Fixing himself something he sat down at his table with both food and coffee cup in hand. Flipping on the television, he listened absentmindedly. He didn't particularly want to watch anything but he didn't want to sit in complete silence.

The news lady appeared and Stanley paid particular attention to her. She was quite pretty in Stanley's opinion. The woman had a nice figure and lovely eyes. Stanley imagined that smelled like flowers or maybe the news. He had no idea what kind of smell 'the news' had but he imagined that she'd smell like it. Stanley would never admit it, but he had on more than one occasion imagined talking to her, making her laugh and winning her love.

This line of thought brought his mind over to a certain mannequin wife, the disappointment of finding nothing more than a shell of person. The Narrator's laugh echoed through his head, mocking him for thinking someone would even consider loving him much less marrying him. The sense of helplessness he felt when The Narrator stopped him from running away. Even if he had made it past the wall, where would he had gone? It was a lost cause, he'd been trapped the moment he picked up the phone.

Stanley was dragged out from that memory by the jarring sound of an annoyingly cheesy car commercial. While he was disappointed that he had spaced out through the anchorwoman's segment he was grateful that he'd come out of it and only wished he'd come out of it sooner.

As much as he hated to admit it, the flashback, and to a certain extent the Narrator, had made something clear to Stanley. He was very much alone with no friends or family to call his own. He didn't even know if had a family to begin with. Maybe he really was just a character made from nothing to serve as a mere plaything for an omnipotent entity.

He couldn't allow himself to be held back by the memories of what had been. To do so would mean The Narrator still held power over him even if he were free. In which, he never was free, was he?

Getting up from the table to put his dishes in the sink, Stanley decided that what he needed was to get outside. Nowadays, Stanley didn't like staying indoors for too long. Maybe he'd just take a stroll, see what the small part of Earth he called home had to offer. Maybe something interesting would happen, maybe he'd make a friend.
The sequel to Fresh Snow no one asked for. (Sequel to Fresh Snow, takes place several months after) Stanley is a free man, living his life for himself with no one to tell him what to do or chastising him for not doing so. When a man comes into town speaking of voices and endings, Stanley finds himself unable to walk away. Befriending your paranoid coworker is one thing, coming to terms with the sadistic voice that did this to the two of you is another and Juggling the two is yet another thing. Stanley may have left the office but the office has come to him.
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