She sat at her polished wooden table by the window, softly sipping her tea out of the exquisitely crafted china teacup. Her chair was comfortable, with the cushion that she liked and all she had to do was ask if she needed another scone or some more honey. The day was unusually pleasant. The sun had come out after a long, cold winter. The birds chirped in the trees and the cool breeze caught in her hair, which slowly began to tangle from the perfection it had been in. There was perfection in everything around her, from the scratch-less surface of her table to the carpets of thick pile that covered the wooden floors. A handsome man smiled at her through the picture frame that decorated the corner table. She had loved him since the day they had met and could not imagine her life without him. He had been kind to her, provided her with everything she needed and never given her any reason to complain. Her life, in every way possible, was perfect.
She sat by the window every evening, drinking her tea. She looked at little boys jumping in the puddles as their mothers led them by the hand. She saw young women scurrying to work in their cheap dresses and shabby shoes. Some days she could see young couples kissing in the street in a moment of passion. Sometimes a stray dog would sniff around the street, probably looking for something to eat. She wondered about the lives of these people, so devoid of the perfection that she had become so accustomed to. She wondered what made the poor, unmarried, skinny girls smile, and she wondered why that little man who wore the torn jacket always whistled while he walked. What did all these people find in their lives that left a song in their heart, even though they did not have the perfect home, the perfect husband, the perfect life. She scoffed to herself, perhaps they just did not know what it meant to have what they had never had. It was time to return to her perfect life, leave those poor bastards in the street to go on with their lives, what did she care. She called out to the girl to help wheel her back into her bed.
She sat by the window every evening, drinking her tea. She looked at little boys jumping in the puddles as their mothers led them by the hand. She saw young women scurrying to work in their cheap dresses and shabby shoes. Some days she could see young couples kissing in the street in a moment of passion. Sometimes a stray dog would sniff around the street, probably looking for something to eat. She wondered about the lives of these people, so devoid of the perfection that she had become so accustomed to. She wondered what made the poor, unmarried, skinny girls smile, and she wondered why that little man who wore the torn jacket always whistled while he walked. What did all these people find in their lives that left a song in their heart, even though they did not have the perfect home, the perfect husband, the perfect life. She scoffed to herself, perhaps they just did not know what it meant to have what they had never had. It was time to return to her perfect life, leave those poor bastards in the street to go on with their lives, what did she care. She called out to the girl to help wheel her back into her bed.
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