Chapter 5 - On life, Let's Plays, and apples

Slowbeef had long since grown tired of the way his life had been. It felt to him almost as if he were simply strapped tightly into a ride at an amusement park, and the day-to-day was but plethora upon plethora of diversified scenery for him to glance at and forget at a moment's notice. His life hadn't been all bad, but it appeared that the brief, fleeting glimpses of happiness given unto him on those days where meet up with Diabetus or spend the day with his fiancé had been growing fewer and farther between; his life had grown so utterly narrow that he could count the days.

Slowbeef was lost in an ocean rocking and wavering far beyond his control, and he had only recently begun to notice and accept this unerring truth.

He got up and out of his bed - early, and alone. Through the cascading coat and blur of his rapidly ailing vision, he could just barely see the time of day; it was only 2:30 at the moment. Slowbeef knew that he would never be able to get back to sleep at this point, and he didn't want to face that dream once more anyways. He set out towards the bathroom. He did not bother dressing, for the previous night had seen him come home a mere several hours before the present time of this writing, and he had simply fallen into slumber at once. His short journey down the hallway outside his bedroom felt like an odyssey, as he couldn't help but remember the dream that had woken him in the first place.

The words and feelings of those around him affected him, and the impact clearly showed upon his subconscious, correlatively. He knew that people, especially those communicating anonymously over the internet would always overreact and volley doctrines of hate (targeted both at him and at each other), but even the people that he was on (relatively) good terms seemed to overestimate his stoicist tolerance as he had such shown in the past. The truth of the matter was, Slowbeef was a nicer guy than most people thought, and more than he would give himself credit for - the diatribe of malice he faced had worn him down so thoroughly as to leave him a fleeting shadow where man once stood before their eyes.

But yes, it was his dreams, indeed, that really tore at him these days. It was there where the image that the internet had falsely endeavored and endeared to him came unto an absolution, at least within the reaches of the mind of the man himself. He dreamed of all kind and color of blood spilling over his hands, as he could only watch from behind cold eyes as he saw murder, manipulation, and atrocity committed time after time with the very same hands. This scenario shook him to the core as it played out through his psyche, but what disturbed him even more was the blurring. Just as he could see less and less of the world around him without manufactured aid to his vision, he was beginning to tell fact and fiction, dream and reality less and less apart in his day to day life.

Slowbeef was not an unintelligent man, no. He also was not an effusive man, to say the least. He had spent no great deal of thought on the matter, but he drew a blank slate in his internal artifice every day - well, he wasn't so good at drawing, either, he supposed. There was simply no way implicit to him to find the strength to come forward with a matter in this manner - not so late in the game, so to speak. How exactly does one tell their loved ones "I'm dreaming of murder as I sleep next to you at night"? One could hardly point the finger at him, even if he really was making a horrible mistake in doing so.

He made it into the bathroom, and took one last, long look into the mirror at himself. Well, that isn't an entirely accurate statement. Slowbeef wasn't exactly a model, of course, but he certainly wasn't ugly, by definition of the average person. But what he saw in that mirror wasn't himself, but his actions. Leaning in closer and closer, he found every sin he's ever committed, ever person he's ever wronged, all faults possessed by himself. It was how he felt, not how he looked, and he certainly felt like the ugliest person on the planet at that very moment.

Others try to tell the depressed to "look on the bright side of things", but they fail to understand that this is often an impossibility, plainly put. It's not a road down to Hell, but a spiraling, snaring staircase, and the man in question was too far down already to be able to look up and see the light pour in at all at this point. In fact, it was as if such demands were in jest, taunting and belittling.

Slowbeef washed his face and felt vigored to trek downstairs, to the kitchen. An action he was loathe to - another cog in this ridiculous self-destructive "routine" he had followed for at least a year now, but he figured that it didn't matter at this point. He was more than glad to cease smoking, but realized far too late that it was simply alcohol shifting more and more into focus within his daily life. He didn't have the energy to fight it; especially not today. He got himself a drink and tried as hard as he could to forget about it, to little avail. He rapidly grew frustrated, at himself, his relations, at the world, as time passed and he still had to sit there, poisoning himself further. He looked around the room in a desperate attempt to find some way to pass the time, be it seconds. He held his head in his hands for several moments as he thought of those sleepless nights in the very same room, holding staring contests against the knife strewn about in front of him. This morning, he had something in particular planned, and was able to shut it out of his mind, a fact that pleased him as he got ready and left the house.

It was here where he wanted to be, silly as it sounded. Truthfully, it even sounded ridiculous to himself, but still. He came once again to the acclaimed Jersey Shore. He took out his phone for a just a second - June 25 2012, at 4:53 A.M.

Slowbeef knew that he had to be frank here, or else he would never have the nerve to accomplish what he had set out to do. Yes, he did indeed set out to kill himself on this day. It sounded ridiculous to hear himself think it, even. Sadness is relative, yes, but why did he have the right to be so down, as opposed to those around him who survive greater misfortune tenfold? Actually, it was probably this manner of internal debate that really depressed him the most.

He knew that this was a ridiculous place to try and commit suicide, but he just really wanted to see it at least once more. Even if he had to travel elsewhere first, he was still glad he came. Looking around, he saw what he had so many times described as beautiful; just as he had the first time beholding the location, just as he had when he proposed. Especially the beauty of the shining, rotating, luminescent cube a ways down.

Wait, what?

He went down to investigate it. His eyes had not fooled him once more. He seriously was bearing witness to such a bizarre object. Well, he hadn't much to lose at this point, especially, so he reached out to touch the spinning glowing shape consequences be damned.

"slobweefnodontstop!1!" a msterious figure yelled and fell

Slowbeef looked around in confusion, hand outreached, inches away from the strange contraption. He failed to find the strange, poorly spoken voice until he looked straight up-

"PROTON SOWRD!" protonjon yelled and sliced the cube in half befrore shooting it a couple dozend times and cutting it a couple more times and then smadhing it whith his foot and heabutting it some more.

slwbeoffe looked around really confused and kinda scared as the beautifaul turned to white nad picksels and the place faded like it was a computer simmulation and well i guess it was one i guess.

evertything turned to dark and slobweff looked and up awoke to where he was before he touched the cube (not the one from the simmulation, the one from before all of that in the last chapter remmeber?") he was still in the dark room and diabetus was still there. the cube was still fukd up becaues proton.

"protonjon where have you been you i thought you siddappeared to go romhack- wiat donw go!"

but he had already used his protonboots to jump out of the pit after thrwoing a protonwarphole don for the m to escape with.

slowbeef was sad both from protonjon and the weird simmulation but woke up daibetus and they went into the warphole to look for porotonjon go meet their destany.

"damn that protonjon guys better than i thougt, he broke my magicube..." chip cheezume said

"I DONTGIVE A FUK GO KILL SLOBWEEF DAMMIT" the myseterious man barked to him like a doggy and not a cute one either. I guess it was like a pit bull or somethin but puppies are really cute so i guess a grown one.

chip cheezum