The Last One

by Rachel Howzell Hall

“I’ve been exposed,” I say, the back of my hand pressed against my forehead. “And every time I have a memory of you, I’m gonna write a sonnet, and one of those sonnets will be a recollection of that time we sat together on a log in the middle of wherever we are. People will cry at the tender urgency of my poetry.”

Vipers are vipers—never turn your back to them even if they’re sleeping, even if they’re dead.

Veril Bairnell the Sapient was right again. Don’t trust anyone to bring you that which makes you whole. They may not want you whole.