The Last One

by Rachel Howzell Hall

Then he looks at me as though I’m the last star in the sky before dawn, the last sip of clean water ever. And the world around us stands utterly still.

“Surprise,” I say, smiling. “I’m that bitch.”

Because losing him would mean losing my heart. Who can survive without a heart?

“You make me weak,” he whispers. “You make me burn,” I whisper back.

Eight, nine…eleven soldiers. One me. I like those odds.