On his deathbed barely able to breathe, Edward smelled the aroma of freshly baked brownies. He always had a passion for this confection and thought to himself, "If I could just have one more brownie I could die in peace!"

He called to his wife but his voice was so frail she couldn't hear him. Not getting an answer, he slid out of the bed and onto the floor, then dragged himself across the room and out into the hallway.
Down the hall and down the stairs he slowly moved, crawling hand over hand closer to that heavenly smell. At the bottom of the stairs he pulled himself along painfully—hand over hand closer to that delicious aroma. He continued—through the living room, across the dining room, and finally up into his chair at the dining table. He reached across the table and grabbed the tray of freshly baked brownies.

But as Edward dragged the tray toward himself it made a scraping noise, and suddenly he heard his wife yell from the kitchen, "Don't touch the brownies, they're for the funeral!"