last woman of humanity

They called it "The Grand Finish Line," but for us, it was just the end. A nameless, incurable disease with a surgical target: the X chromosome. I watched the world crumble as grandmothers, mothers, sisters, and friends disappeared in a matter of months, leaving behind a planet inhabited only by men and the echo of what we once were.

I survived. No one knows why. My blood has become the most valuable mystery on the planet. Today, walking the streets is not just a matter of survival; it's walking with the weight of being a living relic. I am the last woman of humanity. For some, I am the last hope for salvation and the secret to a cure; for others, a prize to be won. The world of men now debates my fate, but as long as my heart beats, the story of women is not yet over.

To survive, I needed to disappear. I cut my hair on the broken mirror, watching the strands fall to the floor like pieces of the life I had to abandon. I grabbed oversized pants, a heavy canvas coat that smelled of dust and motor oil, and tied tight bandages to hide the curves of my chest. Each layer of cloth I added was a shield. Each knot erased the last woman on Earth and gave life to a ghost.

Now, I'm just another young survivor trying not to draw attention in a crowd of men.

Walking the streets in this disguise is a game of life or death every second. I've learned to deepen my voice, walk with heavy steps, and keep my eyes fixed on the ground, mimicking the coldness of a world that has forgotten delicacy. The torn fabric hides the most valuable secret on the planet. If anyone discovers who is under this coat, the hunt begins again. But, for now, I am just a shadow among men, breathing the air of a dying world. I am the last one, but I will not be a prisoner of the end of the world.

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