January 2, 2018

The last orange pulsing ember of hope strangled to white frozen death. Lifeless crooked sticks marred the smooth blue chill outside the mesh of his cell. The moon gazed with cold indifference. No sneer. No frown. Cold indifference. Metal click and slide of tray. His dinner had arrived. The thick slab of roast beef was cooked medium rare. He preferred well done. The generous serving of mashed potatoes swam in gravy. He preferred butter. The peas were not lima beans. Final insult. The fat wedge of glistening cherry pie had always been his second favorite. He preferred lemon meringue. He wept a final tear and died.

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