[ WP ] A revenge speech for something insignificant , or useless to seek revenge for .

She awoke with a groan, muffled by layers of bedding. I sat in a chair next to her prone form. The room was dark, but I could still make out the dewy glint of her eyes as they slowly blinked open. She tried to push the covers away. It was only when she realized that she could not that she finally, truly startled awake. 
 
 I flipped two switches. One was for a strong incandescent light, pointed at her face. The other was for a large fan, pointed at me. 
 
 `` Just how snug *is* a bug in a rug, my pet?'' I sneered with smug satisfaction. The sound of my voice drew her away from panic, if only momentarily, and towards confusion. 
 
 `` David... what? What's happening? Ugh, it's so hot. Why ca n't I... David, did you *staple down the sheets? *'' 
 
 I lifted a glass of ice water to my lips, took a noisy sip, and finished with an overly-dramatic exhalation of satisfaction and refreshment. Backlit as I was, she probably could n't make out the details - hence the need for theatrics. I clinked the ice against the sides of the glass just to make sure she got the message. 
 
 `` It is hot. It is very, very hot. It is uncomfortably hot in this room - and I'm not even underneath the sheets and blankets! I can only imagine how sticky and sweaty you are. How parched you must be. But alas, somebody made their bed, sweetie. Somebody has to lie in it.'' 
 
 I took another slow sip. She was panicking now, but she was too weak and too constrained to translate it into any sort of action. Dehydration was the likely culprit. She struggled lamely, and I waited for her to give up. She did. It was beautiful. 
 
 `` Six months, my love. Six months of minor, sometimes imperceptible adjustments. Six months of chances for you to see - to *feel* - the error of your ways. But no, not once. Not one hint of suspicion. Not one question. So little self-awareness, my pet. I should n't call you that - I'm comparing you to an animal. Animals intuitively understand homeostasis. You do not. I should n't insult the animals so. 
 
 `` If you were able to escape your prison, my... *wife, * you would be able to walk out of the door to our bedroom, into the hallway, and check the temperature. It would read seventy-two degrees - two degrees higher than our bargain, and four degrees higher than any sane person would require while insulated by *more* than their fair share of a king-sized sheet and a king-sized blanket *and* a king-sized comforter. 
 
 `` In point of fact, after six months of labor, the actual temperature in this room is eighty-two degrees, my cold-blooded spouse. *Eighty. Two. Degrees. * And only now, having poured out your body's moisture in your sleep, do you finally realize your folly, your flaw, and your downfall.'' 
 
 I lean in, triumphant. Her bleary eyes burn with hatred, stinging with the last sheen of sweat she'll ever be able to produce unless and until she surrenders completely to my will. I'm sweating, too - uncontrollably, in fact - but then, I have the fan, I have the water, and I have the power. Finally, I have the power. 
 
 `` From now on, my wife, I control the thermostat... and the sheets are *mine. *'' 
 
 `` Fuck you,'' she croaked. 
 
 But she surrendered.
