The Last Supper
The old man had been walking most of the day, picking up the cast-offs people had thrown out. Pieces of pot metal, and tins and such to sell to Ol' Gunther. Gunt for short, who owned the junkyard at the edge of town. It didn't bring much, but it was enough to buy a little pork belly to make for supper.
Henry headed home after his purchase, whistling softly as he watched the sun slowly start to fade.
Home, was an abandoned shanty from the coal mining days, almost unlivable but it was a roof over his head.
He took the package of pork belly in the house and went out to the porch to get a few pieces of kindling for the wood stove.
Tonight, he had just enough coffee for this meal and the morning. However, it would make a great accompaniment for the pork.
Henry took the battered skillet down from the nail on the wall and fried up his bounty. Boy, it sure smelled good! His mouth watered and his stomach growled in agreement.
While the pork sizzled and the coffee came to a boil, he thought about his Sarah. She'd been gone now for almost three years. He remembered her sweet smile; how her melodious voice filled the old place. What he wouldn't give to see her again.
Henry sat down in her old rocker with his meal, savoring every delicious morsel until he had devoured it all. He licked his lips and sipped on the coffee, reminiscing about her until he dozed off.
The next day when Henry didn't show up at the junkyard like he usually did, Ol' Gunt went to check on him. When he opened the door, there sat Henry in the old rocker, a smile still on his face.
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