last woman of humanity

They called it "The Great Finish Line," but for the women it was simply the end. An unnamed, incurable disease with a surgical target decimated the female population in a matter of months, leaving behind a planet inhabited only by men and the echo of what they once were. The world's silence changed tone. The absence of noise was no longer peace, but the weight of half a species silenced. She looked at her own hands and saw in them the endpoint of a lineage billions of years of mothers, daughters, scientists, and dreamers. She survived. No one knew why. Her blood became the most valuable mystery on the planet and the absolute guarantee of the end of humanity, should she fail. The future of human history now had the exact size of her steps and the exact duration of her last breath. She was the last woman on Earth. For some, the last hope of salvation and the secret to a cure; for others, a prize to be seized. The world of men debated her fate, but as long as that survivor's heart beat, the story of women would not end. To survive, she had to disappear. She cut her own hair in front of a broken mirror, watching the strands fall to the floor like pieces of the life she had been forced to abandon. She wore oversized pants, a heavy canvas coat that smelled of dust and motor oil, and tied tight bandages to hide the curves of her chest. Each added layer of cloth acted as a shield. Each knot erased the last woman on Earth and gave life to a ghost. Now, she was just another young survivor trying not to draw attention in the crowd of men. Walking the streets in this disguise became a game of life or death every second. She learned to deepen her voice, to walk with heavy steps, and to keep her eyes fixed on the ground, mimicking the coldness of a world that had forgotten delicacy. The torn fabric hid the most valuable secret on the planet. If anyone discovered who was under that coat, the hunt would begin again. But for now, she remained a shadow among men, breathing the air of a dying world. She was the last one, but she would not be a prisoner of the end of the world.

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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