Out of all the meals consumed on death row, most people on the outside only know about the “last meal” requested by the condemned, provided out of some sense of dignity and humanity as window dressing for state-sponsored killing. They imagine lavish meals savored by hardened killers—and the invectives hurled by politicians as they pander to constituents about the extravagant cost.

But the public never hears about the executioner’s meal. I was not sentenced to death until March 18, 1999. Prior to that, as a “safekeeper” at Central Prison awaiting my capital trial in 1998, I experienced two executions. The first being North Carolina’s last use of the gas chamber, though I didn’t know it at the time. I just knew the state was putting people to death. My first execution on death row occurred a mere eight days after I got there. The feeling was different since I had been sentenced to death. It was exponentially heavier. I would feel that enormous weight and grinding pressure thirty-three times before executions stopped in 2006.

We heard talk about the executioner’s meal before on Unit Two, the old death row, but no one saw it. The idea of it spurred vicious imaginings. However, between 2002 and 2006, after death row had been moved to the new Unit Three, we witnessed something no one facing death should: A party the night of the execution.

The most galling part was the sheet cake.