| rdfs:comment | - One by one, the women file in, wearing their tantalizing diaphanous gowns. They hold all types of food, which is as culturally diverse as they are. Some type of Asian woman sits on my left, while a large black girl begins rubbing my shoulders. They tell me to eat, to be healthy, to be happy. And I try, at least. I remember it being easier at first, and how I used to fill my stomach with fruit and bread and meat, and then fill my arms with each one of them. I'm the last man alive, and I'm only for breeding purposes.
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| abstract | - One by one, the women file in, wearing their tantalizing diaphanous gowns. They hold all types of food, which is as culturally diverse as they are. Some type of Asian woman sits on my left, while a large black girl begins rubbing my shoulders. They tell me to eat, to be healthy, to be happy. And I try, at least. I remember it being easier at first, and how I used to fill my stomach with fruit and bread and meat, and then fill my arms with each one of them. I can’t remember the last time I saw another man. Day after day, it’s just these women, each one more beautiful and kind than the last. What’s worse is how happy they all seem. They all smile at me, while they lay me down and take from me what they want. At one time I was more than glad to oblige them, imagining myself to be the luckiest man in the world. But eventually, I had to realize that I was the only man in the world. I'm sure there are others, somewhere, but I'm never allowed to see them. In fact, I'm barely even allowed to see the sky outside. It’s a different world out there now. There are fewer buildings, and more flowers. Every tree seems to be overflowing with fruit, nothing like you would’ve seen before. And of course there are the women walking around, smiling nonstop at one another. A lot of them speak English, I think. I don’t exactly talk to them much, because the words uttered while rolling around in bed are few and short. I try to strike up a conversation, and they just smile like sharks. I’ve gotten more women pregnant than I can count. I never had kids back in my old life, and now I’ve probably got tons. Hundreds of girls, I'm sure. I don’t want to think about what they’re doing to all the boys. Maybe one of them will get lucky and take over my place once I'm too old for this, knowing each of his sisters briefly and intimately, one by one. Even if I’ll never know him, I feel sorry for my only son. This isn’t what I’d want for anyone. I'm not sure how much longer I can do this before going insane. I’d kill just to see a football game, or to talk about old-fashioned guy stuff again. I don’t remember the last time I heard a car, or drank a beer. They probably don’t even exist anymore. This world belongs to the women. I'm the last man alive, and I'm only for breeding purposes.
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