You are probably thinking that this story will have a morale along the lines of how one can not live with out feeling and that life was with out meaning until there was a true sense of being, and yadda yadda yadda. Well you are a smart one, but that is not what is going to happen. And try to stop interrupting with your profound thoughts.
The robot was entwined with the existing. Laughing not really getting it. Understanding it, ( it was exceptionally sharp) but not see the significance. Crying, but not understanding why.
No deep complex thoughts. They were instantaneous. Like a computer, you type something in and there it was. Everything was that way.
It was nice enough. How horrible could a person like that be? Well I don�t know either. But it was adequately pleasant. Not many friends. But enough to be normal. Always normal. But no one who was too close. You can�t get close to a robot.
A monotone job. Going to work every day at 9 o�clock, coming home at 5 in the evening. This is how life was. Always normal. Get up go to work, come home and then go to bed. Living in a nice apartment. (Although living is not the correct word, but occupying would fits.) Well off. Not rich but plenty of money for one person who never needs to spend money above the basics. The American dream. Always normal.
One day this robot died. It looked like any other death human. An autopsy was done. All there and in the right place. They never would have guess that this was no human at all. I wish that I could say that it was a monster or an alien from another planet or even an actual robot. But alas it was not. It was a human. It was made up of all the human elements. Always normal. On the out side and inside it was just like you. But it was not. There is no more than circuitry and impulses.
This story ends as many others do (always normal). The End.