Your character is the only person left in the world who practices his/her trade. After they’re gone, the trade/skill/job/profession will be no more.
The Last One
Wrinkly fingers brushed over the cold wood of the desk. He pulled the hand back to his face and blew the dust from the pale skin. His account was too empty for the repair; he would have to clean the apartment himself.
He sighed, sat straight and pressed the button. The camera and projector jumped to life. He moved the keyboard and controller each to their place.
A moment later the face appeared. Claire. A happy face with a tired expression.
A tune that I remember. A flock of pigeons that we fed. The sheets that we last used together. They call you in my head. Shampoo – the soft hair on your skin. A pillow – your head, hard and warm against my shoulder. My bed – the angry eyes; the open mouth with which you screamed at me. I’m sorry. I hope you’re well. I hope you’re happy. I hope that, a year from now, or five, or ten, you can forget me. I hope that, ten years from now, you won’t hate me anymore.
The scent woke me up. Gentle, warm, soft, arousing. Almond. Almond and something else, a fruit or a flower.
A glimmer of light came from under the door.
I was nervous, then confused. Somebody was in my apartment, but why that smell? Why such an erotic scent?
Quietly I pulled the jeans over my stiff legs. The scent was slowly fading away. I picked the broom from behind my wardrobe and tiptoed to the door. The door handle moved without a noise. The door opened, I stepped outside. The corridor was dark, only a glimmer of light came from the kitchen.
I slowly moved there and froze.
A woman. A thick but translucent white. Her eyes on the empty space in front of me. Screaming without a sound. A black hole opened in her stomach. Her face slowly deformed. She fell. The moment her body touched the ground she was gone. Continue reading →