I never liked being chosen last. Having to watch everyone stand up before me, determined faces, with a hint of relief, as they stepped up to their fate. I spent my entire life having to be last. Last to be chosen during games. Last to be chosen in relationships. It seemed as though that was my destiny from the very beginning, as I was even born last.

“Grant,” the suited man called next, and the guy next to me stood up. 

“Hoffman.” The next guy stood up.

I sighed, wishing my name would be called sooner. But I knew better. Unwashed clothes clung to my starving body, once well-groomed and fit, now nothing but carved bones. The names kept being called, and I kept watching. 

When they called my name, I took my own drawn-out breath. The time had finally come, and maybe this time, death would choose me first. I stepped onto the podium, where a noose was fitted snug around my neck. 

“You know why you were the last, don’t you?” The suited man asked me plainly. 

“I’ve been last my entire life. I never expected this time to be any different.” 

The suited man snickered. “You were the watcher, were you not? Now you got to watch them all die. One by one, in front of your eyes. We even noticed you last during the raid. The Watcher, you called yourself when we slapped the cuffs on ya, like it absolved you of any crime, but yours is the worst of them all. Didn’t even know how to do that? Did ya?” Then, he threw back his head in howled laughter. 

It took me a while to die, as the man loosened the noose to draw it out. Everyone had been given mercy, except for me. Everyone had died first, except for me. They left me hanging for days, thinking I was dead, but really, I was just paralyzed. 

My eyes were the last to go.