Rich dark gravy with creamy mashed potatoes

I inhale the scent of the meat. Normally my mouth would be watering at the sight alone.

Rich dark gravy encases the piece of meat.

This meal my mom used to make me should make me feel safe.

It smells just like home - they really tried to make my last meal well.

My stomach clenches, not because I'm hungry but because I'll die.

I take a bite. A piece of tender meat, a bit buttery mashed potatoes.

The gravy drops down my fork.

It just tastes so fucking bland.

Was my crime worth it?

Was my crime worth dying for?

I guess at the time it didn't matter - I guess now I shouldn't bother to think about it.

I feel like throwing up.

As if eating a good meal makes death less scary.

What a joke.

Another bite, another taste just another number.

I don't even chew

I just swallow.