Moral Story

Old man telling stories – 100% Moral stories


The old man telling stories

There was at one time an Old Man named Franz. Franz lived alone in the littlest house in the route back of his area. He is just a 50-year-old man. Franz was a cranky elderly person because of the new demise of his better half. He was mad and discourteous to the neighbours and made everybody he came into contact with him exceptionally irritated.

Franz wasn’t generally similar to this, however. At one time, he was cheerful, he had all that he could need. He had a mindful family with children and fabulous children and a spouse who were all nearby with one another. However, his children and terrific children are full-grown and need nothing to do with him. The entirety of this was disturbing to him and was making him crazy.

Old man telling stories

At some point, Franz ventured outside to get his mail which was only sluggishly at his entryway, so he hungover to get it and fell. Franz was crying and asking to leave this alone the finish of his misery so he could find a sense of contentment, yet he knew somewhere down in his heart he would never find a sense of contentment without his better half.

Franz throughout the following hour cried constantly and cried, gradually slipping into a sleep from which he would not return. As he shut his eyes which could never open again, it started to rain. His eyes at last shut and the crying had boiled down to a low breath. With his last breath, he said “Thank you… Monica.” He at that point, a couple of moments later, stayed strong without any issues.

He peered down considering how he had this strength, just to see his body setting down. He saw his hands and they were only an illustrated white fog with little distinguishing highlights. He was in stun. He had acknowledged he had passed. He gazed upward gradually, feeling an ameliorating inclination anticipating his consideration.

He admired see one more hazy figure, gradually materializing as a straightforward short figure, grinning at him. He had no clue about what its identity was. At that point, the shirt sort held out its hand and let out the very recognizable laugh of Monica. Franz tumbled to his spooky knees and began crying. Monica took his hands and in a whispery voice “How about we dance in the downpour like we used to.”

Taking his hands and pulling him up to his feet. Gazing toward him, she pulled him down and kissed his lips which just felt like friction based electricity, however, he felt the energy and love falling off of her. Franz said, “It truly is you.” Then they strolled to the road and clasped hands as they moved in the downpour, grinning, singing, and giggling for the remainder of endlessness.  Bald Old Man

The old man telling stories

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