Schadenfreude
“Gotta get this done,” He thought to himself. His feet hurt. To Him, completing the daily chores assigned to Him was the epitome of his experience. He had no need for outside things, his work was satisfactory.
He came home to his wife, and was immediately reminded of the lingering burden of other people. That their consciousnesses had an effect on Him, and that He, in turn, could influence their experiences with his actions. This was a foreign concept to Him, and one He did not care to dwell on for fear of overwhelming Himself.
“How was work, honey?” His wife asked in an attempt to maintain some sort of normalcy in their relationship.
“Oh, nothing much,” He responded, half-listening to Her question, half-fantasizing about being back at work. Quite a lot happened, in fact. Mrs. Henderson came through the register today, bringing him that oft-desired glimpse of joy in his otherwise disparaging life. He would never tell Her about that, though. She would suspect something, the conniving bitch. Always imposing on His happiness. Always expecting something more than He could offer. Always, never stopping to wonder how He felt about the situation.
As they sat around the dinner table, He stared at His plate with reluctance. The vegetables laying there looked at least a week old, and if She would just come by the store….but of course, She refused to be seen in the same environment as Him.
They loved each other.
