Time

There’s a stain on the fork, clouded metal on the second prong to the left. Perhaps she should be focused on finishing her meal, but there’s a stain and her eyes just can’t seem to leave it.

She could care less of what the meal was. It was of little importance to her despite it being her last meal. Last. The name itself was so depressing that she didn’t want to focus on it. Instead, she looked to the stain on her fork and tasted sand when she swallowed her fourth bite.

She had requested that her last meal be a simple thing- steamed vegetables and a single cut of meat. In a way, it reminded her of her childhood, of her mother who by all accounts was not a good cook. Perhaps it would have tasted great if she could taste anything at all, but she can’t so she chews slowly and brings it down with water all while under the scrutiny of the guards and the warden.

The warden sits in front of her, eating the same meal as her, with a look of slight boredom hidden underneath an amicable outer nature. It’s tradition in the prison for the warden to eat together with a death row prisoner during their final meal. Something about how good company could sooth an anxious soul or maybe it was one last act of kindness and hospitality towards a person who was going to die.

The plate in front of the warden is almost finished while she herself had only gotten a small portion done. The guards want to rush her. She can tell these things after spending so long studying them, but they don’t because it would be rude to a person who was going to die soon.

Let them wait, she thinks. I’ve got all the time in the world.