The other nations of the world have left. Today, the United States fleets are leaving. The last ship to leave is the one in my sector, sitting in my town square.

     We are the most overcrowded slum known to mankind. (Or should I say "were"?) Or so it felts. We were given one ship; at first, we weren't going to get one at all. But we begged and pleaded and petitioned, and finally the government gave in and let us have a ship.

     Only it was small. And there wasn't a lot of room.

     I don't think I was the only one left behind on a dying Earth that day; I'm certain there were others, crying out, but all alone across the face of this cursed place.

     But I only met one--myself.

     I was once in a car accident. It mangled my leg so bad that I could only limp very slowly. We couldn't afford the technology needed to replace my leg with a bionic one. 

     So when everyone loaded up, and they said that someone wasn't going to be able to fit...I knew, right away, that it was going to be me.

     At first, I pleaded with them. "I can stay in an escape pod!" 

     "They're already crammed with people!" someone pointed out.

     "Can't someone get rid of some personal belongings to let me on?! I'm human, too, you know!" I screamed.

     "All we have are the food we'll need, the tools we'll need, and the clothes on our backs," someone else sadly answered.

     I couldn't believe they would do this to me. There had to be room somewhere.

     "Why should I stay?" I demanded.

     "Well, you're..." one began.

     "Last to board," an old an interrupted, saving me from that one word that had followed me all my life: crippled.

     "Women and children first--and I'm both!" I snapped, furious now. I was ready to fight my way in if I had to.

     Finally, they said the word I hated so much. "Y-you're crippled. You'll slow us down on the planet. You won't be able to farm, and we'll have trouble feeding ourselves as it is."

     I let out a sob of anguish, horror, and rage. And then I ran at the ship. They shut the doors. I don't remember much after that--banging on the door, the roar of engines, dust in my face. 

     And then the silence. The sudden, cursed silence.

     And the aloneness.

     I curled up in a ball and cried.

I watched them go, my voice hoarse from calling for them to stop, to come back. They didn't. Instead the sped off, growing smaller and smaller until I could no longer see them. My hand fell down next to my side, my hand brushing against my leg. I felt the dried mud from when I had tripped. I scraped at it absentmindedly. 

      "Why?" I asked myself. "I know that they thought a solar storm was coming, but why would they leave?" 

       I sank down into the grass and cried. Yeah, I'm a wimp. I'm not good at being by myself. I ran my hand through my hair as tears flowed freely down my face. 

      "Why?" 

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    It's been five years since they left, and there never was a solar storm. They never came back. There never was anything there. Except me.