Day 119: 5 Minute Freewrite: Thursday - Prompt: fried chicken

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The elderly gray-haired man ate his dinner slowly, savoring every bite. The meal was special to him and it brought back memories of his childhood, of his Momma humming sweet soulish tunes from her past life when she performed on stage in New Orleans clubs and flop houses. He had asked for homemade fried chicken and had carefully detailed how to soak the chicken overnight in a bowl of buttermilk, about how to spice the breading ingredients just the way that he remembered Momma doing it, and how to slow fry it in an iron skillet using lard. The real potatoes on the side were to be mashed, not whipped like they did in the cafeteria. It was to have a good measure of butter, some milk, salt and an extra amount of black pepper. It was to be topped with gravy made from the leftover grease and drippings from the chicken using plain flour and fresh whole milk. For his other side item, he wanted fresh shelled field peas seasoned with fatback. For bread, he had asked for two cathead buttermilk biscuits and iced sweet tea to drink.

The meal took over an hour to consume, and the man licked his fingers clean. Then he was brought a healthy slice of apple pie and a cup of strong black perked coffee, not that drip stuff that he was forced to drink here. Twenty minutes later the man leaned back and asked for a refill on the coffee. He sipped slowly and stared off into the distance, the memories of Momma faded into the background as he reviewed his life after leaving home. It had been a turbulent life filled with violence, drugs, and dark deals in back allies. He had been in this place for thirty years, the last ten on death row. This would be his last cup of coffee, and then he would smoke his last cigarettes. When the cigarettes were done it would be time to go and take his last breath. Momma had been gone for twenty years, her funeral had been the last time that he had been allowed out of prison. He hoped that she would be waiting on him, but he feared that the only thing that would be waiting on him were the faces of those that he had killed, many beaten to death by his powerful fists. They were not powerful now, and even if they were they couldn't save him from his destiny.

He sat the cup on the floor, why he didn't know, it just seemed right. As the guards led him away he glanced back at the lone object on the floor, that is what he was now, an empty cup drained of any good and left behind. I want to see Momma he said softly, What was that Eugene asked the guard? Nothing he said, I was just making one last request of God.

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**Disclaimer: I often use the freewrite prompt to tell a story instead of doing a pure freewrite, so they sometimes take longer than 5 minutes and usually have some editing. But I try to do my story straight through at one sitting without any unnecessary breaks.
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Photo by Javier Molina. Good Free Photos

Old' Steem by the wonderful @snook
Footer by the fabulous: @topkpop
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Prompt: fried chicken

Set your timer for 5 minutes.
Start writing
Use the hashtag #freewrite
Publish your piece (include a link to this post if you wish)
Copy and paste your URL into the comment section of the prompt post.
Or, if you don't want to publish your freewrite, just copy and paste as a comment under the prompt post.
If you don't know what a freewrite is, here is a link to the introduction post.

Introduction to freewrite

Thank you @mariannewest