This doesn't belong here. I frankly don't give a crud.

The perfect cheese

Deep in a faraway land, past the rural, rolling hills of Tuscany, a small dilapidated cottage can be found. It’s wooden siding is full of holes, and half rotted off. It’s thatch roof is barely standing. A small stone chimney protrudes from the roof, twisting and turning towards the sky. The cottage’s original owner is long dead, but it is a new home for other animals such as rats and spiders. This cottage is alone. It has been for two hundred years. That time ago, an old man came to the hills. He built the cottage with the very few materials he had. He was alone. He had, indeed, no one. His kids had long since moved away, and his wife had died four years back. When this event happened, he was distraught. He couldn’t think. He settled on running away. He ran far into the hills. This old man was tall and skinny. He had a prominent slouch and his long arms nearly touched the floor as he walked. He had a long, grey beard. His head was very small. His forehead sloped upwards until it met the shiny bald spot at the top of his head. He ate very little, only a bowl of oatmeal each day. But the worst of all, he was alone. He was never happy. He sat on his rocking chair and rocked back and forth, staring out the single window out upon the never changing hills. He was alone.

Then something different happened. One day as the old man was sitting on his chair, he suddenly, out of nowhere, jerked up, out of his chair and hobbled over to his bookshelf. He lifted an old heavy book off of the shelf. The shelf seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the sudden removal of weight. The old book was dusty, some cobwebs swayed in the wind as the book was carted over to a small table in the corner of the house. The old man slammed the book onto the table and threw open the cover. He carefully flipped through the pages until he stopped and slammed his long finger onto the title. It read Bachensteiner Cheese. He gathered the ingredients, One cup of milk, A half cup of heavy cream, a teaspoon of salt, a pinch of parsnip, and- ,he gasped, a single pedal, from a rose. The only rose the old man had was the rose that his wife had given him before she had died. The old man refused to let the rose die, but he sighed. His wife had loved Bachensteiner. He carefully plucked the pedal from the rose and dropped it into the pot. He carefully stirred the pot and put the stirrer on the table. Carefully reading the instructions, he put the pot into his wood stove, and let it cook for twenty three minutes. After that short time he hobbled back to the stove, and took the pot out and rested it on the table, which was now indeed a clutter. He gazed over the the book and stopped dead in his tracks. Let the cheese age for twenty five years. The old man was nearing the end of his insignificant life, and he did not know if he would last twenty five more years, in fact, each day was a welcome surprise.

The explorer slowly opened the door to the rustic old shack. He expected little more than dust mites and cobwebs. He scanned the area of the little house. To his surprise, he found an old and dusty skeleton. It was tall, with long arms that nearly touched the floor. It’s skull sloped upward to meet the smooth point called the top of it’s head. It was sitting in a small rocking chair, long since stopped rocking, and it was staring off into the empty fields. The explorer looked around one more. His eyes rested upon a small pot, sitting on the table. Inside was the most perfect looking delectable cheese you could lay your eyes on. It seemed to glow in all it’s glory. The explorer, not having a fork, reached into the pot and grabbed a small piece. He raised it to his mouth and popped it into his mouth. The small chunk rolled over his taste buds, it was, indeed, the perfect cheese.

P.S. some people may think i did this just for the upvotes. They're meanies :-( But, seriously. I take pride in my writing, and i want people to see it. If you like it, okay, upvote if you like, but I'm not forcing you too, nor do I care.