The Viperess
New member
An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony,
he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorit chocolate chip 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 forced him self down the stairs, gripping
the railing with both hands.
With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the
kitchen.
Were it not for death's agony,he would have thought himself already in
heaven.
There, spread out upon newspapers on the kitchen table were literally
hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip
cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one
final act of
heroic love from his devoted wife, seeing to it that
he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself
toward 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.
The aged and withered hand, shaking, made its way to a cookie at the
edge of the table, when it was suddenly
smacked with a spatula by his wife.
"Stay out of those," she said, "they're for the funeral."
he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorit chocolate chip 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 forced him self down the stairs, gripping
the railing with both hands.
With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the
kitchen.
Were it not for death's agony,he would have thought himself already in
heaven.
There, spread out upon newspapers on the kitchen table were literally
hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip
cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one
final act of
heroic love from his devoted wife, seeing to it that
he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself
toward 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.
The aged and withered hand, shaking, made its way to a cookie at the
edge of the table, when it was suddenly
smacked with a spatula by his wife.
"Stay out of those," she said, "they're for the funeral."
