Last Meal

Ernest Perch sat nervously on his bed. The sound of his rapidly, tapping foot echoed throughout his cell. In six hours, he was going to be executed. Executed for a crime he insists he did not commit. Ernest was tried and convicted for raping and brutally killing three teenage girls in the summer of 2008. The prosecutors offered no physical or DNA evidence to tie Ernest to the crimes, but eye-witnesses placed him at the scene of the crimes. Appeal after appeal, and stay of execution after stay of execution, and the day had finally come.

“Perch,” said the guard. “Meal time.”

The bars of the cell slid open. The guard set a tray down on a small table. Ernest’s last meal. A juicy ribeye steak, a baked potato dripping with butter and sour cream, and a slice of chocolate cake. Ernest sat down at the table and stared at his meal. His stomach turned.

“Problem, Perch?” asked the guard.

“I’m not hungry,” said Ernest. “How could anyone eat knowing they are about to die?”

“Last meal, Perch,” said the guard. “It’s now or never.”

Ernest picked up the plastic knife and fork from the tray. He poked at the steak. “Any chance I could get a real knife?” he asked.

“You know I can’t do that,” said the guard.

Ernest just looked at the guard in disbelief. “Worried I am going to kill myself? Could save the taxpayers a lot of money.” The guard smiled.

“Let me see what I can do.” The guard left and Ernest turned back to his food. He just stared at it. The smell alone made him feel like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t imagine taking a bite.

“Perch,” said the guard. Ernest turned and saw the guard holding a steak knife through the bars. “No one finds out about this.”

“I think I can keep a secret for six hours,” said Ernest. He grabbed the knife and started cutting into his steak. The steak was cooked just to his liking; medium-well, with a touch of pink. The juices of the steak soaked his plate. He stabbed a piece with his plastic fork and brought to his mouth, hesitated, and took a bite. The taste was everything he could have imagined, but his nerves were to powerful, and he quickly ran to the toilet, spit out the steak and began to dry heave into the toilet.

Ernest lied down on his bed and looked over at his last meal. He wished he had the stomach for it, especially the chocolate cake. Every year on his birthday his mom would make him her special chocolate cake. It was his favorite thing in the whole world. He didn’t care about presents or parties, just being able to have a slice of his mom’s chocolate cake. And while the cake that sat on the table across from him was not likely to come close to his mom’s, he wanted to relive the memories of his childhood once last time.

He took a few deep breaths and sat back down at the table, picked up the plastic fork, and dug into the cake. As soon as the rich, chocolate frosting hit his tongue, a calm came over him. He began to think of his childhood, his mom, and all the good times they had together. He sat there with a smile on his face, eating bite after bite, until the cake was entirely consumed. Suddenly, the bars of his cell slid open.

“Problem with the food?” asked the guard.

“Not hungry,” said Ernest.

The guard collected up the tray of food and the steak knife.

“For what it’s worth,” said the guard, “you were an ideal prisoner, and it was nice getting to know you.”

The guard exited and Ernest lied back down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could still taste the chocolate cake on his lips. Hours passed, getting closer to midnight, closer to his execution.

“Mr. Perch,” said a voice.

Ernest looked up and saw a priest standing on the other side of the bars of his cell.

“No,” said Ernest. “No priest.”

“Mr. Perch,” said the priest. “I really think that—”

“NO PRIEST!” shouted Ernest.

“I will say a prayer for you,” said the priest, as he walked away.

Ernest lied back down and closed his eyes. His body began shake, he began to sweat, and his heart raced. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be punished for a crime he didn’t commit. His breathing began to heavy.

“I don’t want to die,” he mumbled to himself. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.” He continued to repeat those words to himself until he was able to drift off to sleep.

Hours passed and he was jolted awake.

“Perch!” said the guard. “It’s time.”