The Last Meal

Declan's POV.

The tray scraped across the metal, the grating sound echoing through the cell block like nails on a chalkboard. My stomach clenched, part hunger, part disgust. Two weeks in this hellhole, and I was already done with it. The food wasn’t even worth calling food, but hunger didn’t care about standards. I eyed the sad excuse for a meal: overcooked rice, watery beans, and a piece of bread