Classact
11-20-2007, 08:21 AM
An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering
the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the
aroma of his favourite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting
up the stairs. He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted
himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly
made his way out of the bedroom,and with even greater
effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled
downstairs. With laboured breath, he leaned against the
doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's
agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven,
for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table
were literally hundreds of his favourite anisette sprinkle
cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic
love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to
it that he left this world a happy man? Mustering one great
final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his
knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the
wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth,
seemingly bringing him back to life. His aged and withered
hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table,
when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife...
"Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."
the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the
aroma of his favourite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting
up the stairs. He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted
himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly
made his way out of the bedroom,and with even greater
effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled
downstairs. With laboured breath, he leaned against the
doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's
agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven,
for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table
were literally hundreds of his favourite anisette sprinkle
cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic
love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to
it that he left this world a happy man? Mustering one great
final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his
knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the
wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth,
seemingly bringing him back to life. His aged and withered
hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table,
when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife...
"Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."