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  • Writer's pictureJeff Eaker

The last one.



When all the rest are gone—

if I'm the last one—

will you be happy when it’s just me?


Will you parade me around as a sign of your victory when I’m the only one left?


When you've managed to finally rid your Earth of all my kind...

how will the world be different when everyone like me is gone?


Will there be no more sadness?

No more pain and suffering?


I would gladly give my life to rid the world of all its pain and suffering.

If that is the case, tell me now and I will save you the trouble of slitting my throat.


And then, finally, there will be none of my kind left.

And you would be happy?

In this new world, would there be no grief?

No sadness?

No fighting?

Killing?


When there are none of my kind left, what if nothing changes?

What will you do then?

When all of us are gone, what if the world is still the same complicated and difficult place?

With the same old problems.

The same old stones.

The same sadness and loneliness.


Someone new to blame will have to be found.

Who will it be?

Them?

Those people?

The ones over there?


Who will decide?


Who has the power to say who lives and dies?

Who is right and wrong?

Who should exist and who shouldn’t?


I believed that no one had that right.

I believed in love thy neighbor.

I believed in thou shalt not kill.

So did everyone else like me.

But they are all gone now.

And the world is still the same.

So someone else will have to go.


What if they choose you?

And everyone like you?

What will you do then?

Who will you turn to when you are the last one?

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