Chris Redfield was feeling particularly hungry for a sandwich.

He walked over to his fridge and opened the door, feeling the weight of the metal deep in his arms. He surveyed the contents: Sourdough, Comté, and Dijon. Seemed palatable enough.

Chris delicately took the chopping board from its place, stroking the soft, yet firm wood. He breathed in its sweet aroma and allowed the scent to fill his nostrils. Gingerly, he lay it on the kitchen counter and went to collect a knife.

He began with the bread. He unwrapped the bread from its thin, translucent packaging. He slipped in a rough hand and lightly stroked the slightly hardened crusts. He travelled towards the centre. The moisture of the fresh sourdough felt spongy beneath his fingers, begging to be eaten. Not yet, he thought slyly. All good things required some waiting, some anticipation. He put the bread on the chopping board where it eagerly awaited him.

Chris removed the waxy, brown paper from the Comté. Its surface was oily – clearly the cheese was burning with the desire to be spread. He pushed on the block with firm pressure and slowly started slicing the hard cheese, the thin slices able to melt easily. The grimy, slick coated his hands, and he grasped the freshly cut slices of cheese. And then they, too, were lying on the bread.

Next: the Dijon mustard. Chris grasped the glass jar and twisted at the cap, exposing the contents of the bottle to himself. He heard the squeal of the jar’s gentle resistance. He put two fingers in the jar and scooped out some of the salty paste. He brought his fingers to his lips and slowly licked them, savouring the flavourful wine of the mustard. He stared back at the bread, a taunting gleam in his eye. He took a knife and smeared the bread with more creamy mustard. He took a moment to admire his handiwork. The seeds were sprawled across the smooth body of the cheese, the uncovered sandwich lying before him.

He put the last slice of bread on top and put the sandwich into the toaster oven. He watched the sandwich as it was warming for him, watching the cheese writhe and breathing in its aroma. Suddenly, a loud ding sounded from the toaster oven.

And with that, the sandwich was ready. Chris took a large piece in his mouth, the flavour of the seeds exploding after a few short chews. Chris thought he had never felt so good in his life. He thought of Jill, and that perhaps she too might enjoy the fruits of his labour.