For the first time in twenty-five years, I lie with a soft pillow under my head. After the extremes of heat and cold, in my tiny isolated room, I am comfortably warm. I have just eaten the most delicious meal; one of my own choosing, after years of near-inedible mush. People move around me, touch me (how I have longed for that touch; the human touch of skin against skin!) and talk in low voices, and are kind. Someone smiles at me.
I hardly feel the scratch of the executioner's needle. Soon I will be at peace.