ZeroHour
ho3 ho3 ho3
- Joined
- 22 Mar 2004
- Messages
- 1,118
An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering theagonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of hisfavorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs.
Hegathered 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, hecrawled downstairs. With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen.
Where if not for death'sagony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there,spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literallyhundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled 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?
Musteringone great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing onhis knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondroustaste of the cookie was already in his mouth,seemingly bringing himback to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to acookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with aspatula by his wife......
"Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."
Hegathered 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, hecrawled downstairs. With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen.
Where if not for death'sagony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there,spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literallyhundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled 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?
Musteringone great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing onhis knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondroustaste of the cookie was already in his mouth,seemingly bringing himback to life. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to acookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with aspatula by his wife......
"Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."
