The Last One

I stared one last time at how the photograph fit perfectly in the light wooden frame. A
younger me stared back, a smile on his face as he stood beside the most stunningly beautiful
woman I have ever met in my life. I quickly took the picture of the frame as my eyes began to
sparkle with tears again, handing it over to the impatient man behind the counter. I clutched the
single piece of paper all that I had left tightly across my chest as the man placed something
light in my hands. Two silver coins glinted under the sunlight. I quickly walked away before I
could shed any more tears.
I remembered that incident how useless I was as I watched hopelessly the torment Eliza
endured by herself behind the raging fire that devoured our house. Now I had nothing, myself
streaked with ash as I used all my might to dig beneath the pile of cinders that toppled down
only to find the photograph, but no Eliza. I walked wearily as I approached the bakery, and
pawned the two silver coins. The baker glared at me, tossing me a piece of bread the size of my
palm.
Walking down the cobbled streets of Paris, I felt like a drunken man. I had nowhere to go, no
house, no belongings, barely surviving with my fragile arms, weak legs and the piece of bread.
The thing that dreaded me most was that I am a man without Eliza, and no matter how hard I
cried, Eliza will never be back.
People gazed at me with disgust. It was too hard to bear, the pain in my heart that struck
me out of my breath and forced me to hide away my tears. I could not imagine why this has to
happen, what sin have I committed that I should be punished so severely, that even Eliza should
bore this much suffering. All that I could do to take away even a fragment of my distraught was
to simply satisfy my hunger with the tiny pieces of my bread; crumb by crumb, placing them in
my mouth as I savoured them very preciously.
Rain thundered down hard on my shoulders soon enough, my whole body drenched as I
struggled to protect my photograph and bread from being soaked. I scrambled towards a large
tree in the middle of the park, as I carefully placed my treasures beneath its wide leaves that
sheltered them from the rain. I did not cry anymore I cant my soul pierced too deeply that my
feelings ached from the tragedy. All that I could do was to stare at the sky and watch the clouds
cry for me.
The sky went dark as I walked down the pavement, the bright orange lamps along the street
radiating warmth around my body which felt like a weary corpse. The town went back to
slumber, shops closed, houses shut. I leaned back to a brick wall, exhausted, my eyelids
beginning to get heavy, when suddenly, a noise woke me up.
She was a little girl, her dress ragged, her stature frail and weak, her eyes no longer
reflecting life but a dull, empty and distant past. She was alone, her whole body shivering as she
sat beside me. Her gaze never left my hand, clutching the remains of the piece of bread. Whats
your name? I asked. It was too late once she opened her mouth, the word she spoke ringing
inside my head, surprising me that I cannot move my mouth frozen in place.
Eliza, she said.
I took out the photograph, partially damaged from the downpour. There she is, still smiling
at me, beautiful as always, as if Eliza herself is telling me what to do. I looked at the poor child,

still staring at the bread, which only covers the size of my finger. I gave it to her wholeheartedly,
and she smiled as she took it down in one bite, her face shining with gratitude. I stared at the
photograph, not wanting to let go.
Because even if I dont have the strength to see the sun tomorrow, the sun had shone the
brightest on me today