The Last Day
The Story Spark was – Food. The writing prompt I took was “Describe what your perfect last meal would be on this earth.”
Okay, it is my last day on earth. The warden came to my cell and explained the procedure.
My choice of minister would come to my cell and read with me whichever passage of whatever bible my belief system adheres to.
This would be followed by my last meal. The choice was up to me.
On completion of the meal, my sentence would be carried out, and I would no longer be on earth.
I am sorry, I ever got into this position. Had I listened to the rational me, I never would have accepted the task they wanted me to do. Who knew that if caught, there would be consequences?
But the die had been cast. I really didn’t have much choice. So here I am.
Decisions, decisions…what to choose?
When the warden asked me about my faith, I claimed that I was a practicing Secular Humanist – meaning I worshiped people and their obligations to each other and humanity. Therefore, I asked that a child be my reader. I wasn’t given any age restrictions, and a child was certainly a part of my faith. Twelve sounded like a good age for them to be.
Now came the passage I wanted them to read. Well, as I’m a humanist, so, I asked for a Wikipedia reading. Wikipedia, being an encyclopedia that has been created by and for everyone, why not? Regarding the passage, I requested the entire thing. Within its words, there is meaning and messages for all.
The warden wondered if that was legally allowed. The answer he received was that “Last Wishes” are legally binding; therefore, my request had to be granted.
Since 12-year-olds have limited waking hours, it took a long time to complete that request.
Now came the question of my last meal. What did I want it to be? I was quick with that answer. My choice for my last meal was an All-You-Can-Eat buffet.
I knew of a specialty restaurant that had such a meal that was open 24/7.
There is a rule that says all you-can-eat has to be eaten in one sitting. That worked for me. It never stated that sitting had to take place in the restaurant, and since the meal was supposed to be delivered to my cell, I wasn’t going anywhere. I just had to keep eating.
Needless to say, the warden had his hands tied. There was nothing he could do.
Let’s just say a bit of time passed. The country was spending a lot of money providing my food to that restaurant. Congress had to intervene to change some of the laws, for fear that others might try the same scheme. Though laws and restrictions were passed, I was grandfathered into the old rules, which now applied only to me.
Eventually, I had had enough of the cell I was living in. I finished that final dessert, chocolate mousse with hand-whipped cream, if you are interested, and prepared to take the consequences.
And wouldn’t you know it, no one could recall what my crime was to begin with. And without that knowledge, they couldn’t pronounce the final words that would send me on my way. So I was released.
Bummer, I might have enjoyed that trip to Outer Space. There is no point in my trying to get a legal license now. I weigh too much to be admitted into the program.
