She is alone.

In her opinion, no one really understood what "alone" truly means before now. She has had a lot of time to think about that and about other things like it. Maybe, she thinks, it's her duty to be philosophical, because she is the last of all the people down through time, all the people who have thought and dreamed.

She is the last living person on earth.

The plague started quietly, as catastrophes sometimes do, and by the time people started worrying, it was too late. The disease spread like wildfire and killed in a matter of hours. It could not be contained or treated. The only good thing about it -- if any characteristic of something so devastating can be called "good" -- was that it was relatively painless. Those affected lost their balance and coordination, began to feel drowsy, and fell into a coma from which they would never awaken.

She doesn't know why she's still alive.

Her name is Marie and she's sixteen years old, a junior in high school. She is ordinary looking, with dark brown hair and eyes and skin the color of caramel. There's nothing to set her apart from a million other teenagers, except that they're dead and she's still alive.

She is from Houston, Texas, a muggy city with dingy sidewalks and lots of traffic jams. She's a quiet kid, smart, doesn't talk much. She loves going to baseball games with her dad.

At least she did, when there were baseball games to watch, and when she had a dad.

As best she can remember, the last time she saw another living human being was six days ago, before she fled Houston for the beach. There was still gas in her dad's car, enough to make it thirty miles to the ocean.

Down here the breeze is blowing stiffly in off the water and she can almost forget that the world is ending. The air is fresh and cool, puffy clouds skitter by overhead, and there is no hint of the overwhelming stench that drove her from the city.

It's early morning and the sand feels good between her toes. She has always liked the beach; she used to come here with her mother years ago, before the fatal car accident that took her mother and brother.

The sun is rising out over the ocean, painting the sky bright orange and red. When Marie sees a beautiful sunrise, she always wonders who else is looking at it too. This time she knows the answer: no one.

Medical personnel were wiped out first; everyone else followed rapidly on their heels. As a general rule, teenagers and adults under sixty lasted longer than younger children and the elderly, but everyone succumbed in the end.

Everyone. A list which will soon include Marie.

The dizziness, when it comes, is almost welcome. Marie is a normal human being; she has always been afraid of death, but now, she's more afraid of living. There is nothing left.

She lies on her back in the sand; the sky over her head is vibrantly blue, dotted with tiny clouds. It will probably storm within the next day or two, but there will be no one around to see it.

No one to stand in the rain, arms outstretched, eyes closed and face turned up to the sky. No children to be frightened of the thunder, nor parents to comfort them.

They're all dead.

Marie is beginning to get sleepy; her eyelids are heavy and she feels just like she did when she stayed on the phone all night a couple years ago. Her dad was so mad at her when he found out.

She is the last; she should sing or pray or something. She should make the final farewell for the human race. There's no one to hear, but she knows it's something she should do. She wills her eyelids to stay open and begins to sing.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me..."

Her voice is scratchy and it breaks several times, but she sings the song all the way through. It's funny; she hadn't even realized she knew the words to the entire hymn.

She is so tired; she has to sleep now. It's almost a relief to be able to let go, but before she does, she fixes her eyes on the brilliant blue sky in a lingering farewell glance.

It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful sky she has ever seen.