Last Meal

A Story by Nathan Fretz

A prisoner eats his last meal before his execution.

Lawrence had always wondered if they gave knives to prisoners for their last meals. That was one of the reasons he asked for a steak. Apparently, they do, but only plastic ones, like in all the prison dinners. It was good nonetheless, although not a great meal by any means, but then again, no prison food is. He was alone in the cell, as officer Anthony was standing just beyond the door. Unfortunately, Anthony wasn’t very good for a chat. He bit down into the steak, a little overdone, and took a sip from his glass: Water, a lackluster drink, but still one that he preferred.

“I wonder, what do you think you would’ve gotten if you had to pick?” Lawrence asked Anthony between mouthfuls.

“Excuse me?” Anthony’s voice was authoritative and a little snobbish.

“For a last meal, I mean. I suppose that isn’t a question people like you often think about, bu-”

“I wouldn’t get one.” Anthony interrupted him. “Because I wouldn’t break the law.”

“I know, I just mean if you had too, eh?” Lawrence thought to himself that maybe trying to bring up conversation where it wasn’t wanted was a bad idea, but continued anyway.

Anthony didn’t answer. It didn’t really surprise Lawrence; silence was the best method of communication for some people. So, Lawrence just continued his meal. The plastic nature of the knife didn’t allow it to cut through the steak easily, but he liked the extra time. Time, something people always take for granted. He took another bite, and found that he was almost done. What a pity, he thought, and resolved to stop eating, at least for a bit. Not that the food was the reason he was eating anyway; all he wanted to do was to think for a bit more. What is it that will happen after, he couldn’t know, but he did know that for now, he was. When he was a child, he remembered, he thought of death as an inevitable end to all. No reason to prolong it, just to go out big. Now, though, well, he didn’t know; it wasn’t that he was scared of the death, just that he couldn’t fathom any future of death, whether it be afterlife or none at all.

“You done eating?” Anthony interrupted him again, this time in his thoughts.

“I suppose so.” Lawrence got up, and stretched a little.

“I thought about it. Your question. Not sure, but I suppose steak wouldn’t be bad.” Lawrence was quite surprised Anthony put any thought to it. “Well, I’ll get the food. You’ll get your last rites, if you want.”

“Sure, I suppose.” Lawrence didn’t know Father James that well, nor was he Catholic, but he supposed any talking wouldn’t be bad.

Anthony left, leaving Lawrence to his own devices for a little bit. However, tried as he might, he couldn’t think about anything but Anthony’s unusually kind response. Is that how they treat dead men, even criminals? Maybe Anthony only wants to seem authoritative for the other prisoners, and he wasn’t going to impact the reputation.

No sooner had he thought these questions than Anthony returned, with Father James at his side. He then left the cell however, leaving Lawrence alone with the Father.

“So, my son, would you like your last rites?”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Lawrence thought that might have been a little funny, should the rest of the situation be less grim.

“Then why call for me?” Father James looked a little confused, but kept his posture and kind manner.

“Well, I suppose I’d like to ask you something.”

“What is it, son?”

“Before I ask, I’d like you to know, I’m not a very religious man.”

“Where there is life, there is hope.”

Lawrence chuckled. “Well, soon there won’t be either.” He moved a bit, stretching his legs. “But what I want to ask you, is how do they determine who is a good man, up there?”

“Well, they look at the good deeds you’ve done, the bad deeds, and your repentance for those sins.”

“What about me, though? I know what I’ve done was wrong, and I suppose that, given the chance to change, I would. My regret is there, but I don’t know if I truly am a changed man. Given the same opportunity, without the knowledge of punishment, I might do it again. I guess, I am just asking, am I a good man?”

“My son, I cannot answer that question for you. But I can say that, to be a good man and to do good things are different. You could have only done bad things, and yet not be evil, and the other way around. But it is your actions which have the impact, not your person.”It almost looked to Lawrence that Father James had answered these questions a lot. Well, he thought to himself, he is a prison priest, so he probably heard this often. “Anything else, my son?”

“No, nothing else, I suppose.” Father James respectfully bowed his head, and left. As soon as he did, Anthony entered with two more guards, handcuffed him, and led him out. The trip to the execution chamber was a silent one. Lawrence saw the familiar prison walls, which he had spent much of his in. And yet, they had seemed different before now. Originally, their dark, looming walls gave the feeling of dread, and acted as a barrier between him and freedom. Now, though, they didn’t give sadness or anger, but a soft, reflective nostalgia.

He had asked for the electric chair, over lethal injection. It had seemed to be not a minute before they opened the door, revealing the dreaded seat.

A single light shone in the room, as lonely as him, right above the metal chair. The lack of any other light made it seem brighter than it was, and it shone as if by God’s will to lead him to his destination.

They sat him down, and began getting it ready. This was it, the topic of his thoughts since the past week. One of the guards, not Anthony, began tightening his leg straps. He always thought that there would be more people, maybe a bigger room, just different. His other leg got strapped. Maybe he’ll see his family again. Now his arms were strapped. No, he supposed he wouldn’t, as they all went to heaven. Then the mouthpiece. Wait, he didn’t really want to die, he figured. They tightened the bindings. No, he wanted to live, not have his life be over in one flick of the hand. They began to move away from him. There are plenty of men more evil than him unpunished, why must he die? He think he heard somebody say “Any last words?” but he wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry, all of you, for what I’ve done, but is it really in your hands to decide what is to live?” Lawrence finished his last words before a high shock, followed by darkness.