Albert had always derived immense pleasure from the simple things in life. Every night, after enjoying one of his wife’s fabulous home cooked meals he could be found sitting on the back porch sipping a beer and puffing on a cigarette.
Unfortunately 40 years of smoking had taken its toll and Albert now found himself at deaths door. The cancer was discovered only two months ago but was well advanced and had taken its toll quickly. Albert had been bed ridden for the past month and now he felt his time had come, he could feel himself drifting off to that endless sleep.
Albert could feel his last breath approaching, when suddenly he became aware of the smell of his wife’s chocolate chip muffins, they were his favorites.
‘She must be baking them for me,’ he thought as he searched for just a few more breaths. Ignoring the bright white light that was suddenly appearing before him he turned toward the bedroom door,
‘ I can’t go yet,’ he yelled, to no-one in particular,‘if I am to die tonight I want at least one more of those muffins before I go.’
The white light subsided, hovering there as if tapping its celestial fingers on the table - impatient.
Albert ignored it and summoning his last ounces of strength he dragged himself to the edge of the bed, after much effort he managed to sit up. The smell was stronger now, wafting through the air, beckoning to him. He tried to stand, however, being bedridden had weakened his legs and he collapsed in a heap on the shag pile, a brief memory of shagging flashed through his mind, but no time for that now, he was on a mission.
The light above him began to brighten again, eager to finish the task,
‘ No!,’ Albert cried, as he began dragging himself toward the door.
Trying to out run a divine light with no legs was no easy task but Albert’s mind was made up, he was not going without one of those muffins.
Arriving at the bedroom door with adrenalin pumping, blood had started to circulate back to his lower extremities, that shagging memory once again floated through his mind but Albert ignored it. He reached up and grabbed the door knob, with all his might he dragged himself to his feet, the white light behind him was growing larger, almost filling the room and he thought for a moment that he heard a voice calling his name.
He was now perched in the door way, eyeing the two metres he had to cover in order to make it to the banister at the top of the stairs. Using up one of his last breaths, he held it and took his first feeble step toward the source of his desire. Three steps, one stumble and a final lunge got him there; He was now standing at the top of the stairs, wishing like hell he had built a single story house.
The white light had now filled his room, but had made no attempt to follow him further, ‘maybe it’s given up on me,’ he thought as he surveyed the harrowing journey that lay before him.
He had no time to spare, he could hear his wife busying herself in the kitchen and the smell of the muffins was now so strong he could almost see it, Albert took another huge breath and began the descent. The first step Albert took was also his last, the remainder of the journey to the bottom of the stairs consisted of a tumble, a long slide, two somersaults, and a huge thud but he made it, all be it, worse for wear.
Blood trickled down his forehead, he had a badly twisted left ankle and a cracked rib, with the adrenalin still flowing and only one leg left working – he leapt to his foot.
Steadying himself on the banister he hopped to the kitchen door, no light pursued him, his last wish would be granted.
Albert stood in the doorway, perched on one leg, one arm nursing his cracked ribs, the other grasping the door jam. Albert looked at his wife but all thoughts of shagging had now passed, laid out before him were row upon row of his favorite choc chip muffins.
As Albert made his first move for the kitchen table he hopped onto the family cat Biggles, Biggles reacted by digging his claws into Albert’s good ankle sending him crashing to the linoleum.
There was no reaction from Albert’s wife, she was wearing head phones from the walkman her grandson had given her and had Shania Twains – Man I feel Like a Woman cranked up to full volume.
Albert pressed on, slithering across the cold linoleum floor to the kitchen table where he managed to kneel up. They were finally within reach, Albert steadied himself for a moment and gave thanks for being granted his last request.
Then just as he started to reach for object of his desire, his wife smacked him on the back of the hand with her wooden spoon,
‘Fuck off,’ she said, ‘they’re for the funeral.’
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