It was a serving spoon, the one the cafeteria lady used to pass out generous portions to the varieties of boys and girls, called in table order through the line before her every day. She always made him a large plate, wrapped and stored aside, the paper would be soggy when he got it so the plastic wrap held it all together.
“This is gonna suck.” With a rough estimate of where his heart was, he jabbed the spoon into his chest and scooped it out like it was steaming, chunky ice cream. Never one to waste resources, he dropped it into a plastic bag to give to the dog. The next day, he limped outside with a wad of towelling sticking out of his chest, the dog ran over, did a circle, arced the funny hunch of an animal in an uncompromising position, and made a wet pile of excrement, full of bloody remnant so he could pick it up and throw it in the trash can full of decomposing dog shit. Later, it would become earth and have an opportunity to be beautiful which was good enough for him to carry on.