The last

One.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 30th, 3010

I thoroughly enjoy old books - despite them being pretty unrealistic. When I was around the age of twelve, I dreamed of a perfect boyfriend who'd get me out of trouble and be my one true love, but, alas all men died out a while ago. Only women. I would say I'm surprised that we haven't just gotten into a huge cat-fight and killed each other, but my mother would most probably crawl out of her grave just to tan my hide.

You see, somebody distantly related to us fought in the war of the sexes as a feminist and my late mother had felt that it was her duty to reinforce all of the pro-woman propaganda that was spread during the war.

I have always found it odd that the feminist movement was meant to be about the equal rights of men and women and how we dealt with it was a mass slaughtering of them. Does that mean that women's lives don't matter either?

There's really no need for propaganda anymore - there aren't any men to skin, so what's really the point?

But according to my obviously historically accurate books, guys can be sweet.

Right now, I'm at a restaurant on a 'blind' date (a stupid concept, if I do say so myself). My best friend, Dyani, strongly believes that I have to marry a beautiful lady and live happily ever after.

The reality: I'm just not attracted to any of the girls she shoves my way.

I appreciate the simple beauty that resides in everything, I just find that I can't be attracted to girls.

Lisanna, the girl I'm with, just went to the bathroom. I think she's annoyed about me writing in my journal, but I don't really care. This is my way of letting people down easy.

Dyani constantly ponders on why I can't date anybody and she has settled upon the idea of 'commitment issues'.

But that isn't the problem. In fact, there is no problem - there are plenty of women without partners!

I haven't paid poor Lisanna any attention, so perhaps I should be friendly. She seems like a nice girl.

I look up to see her walking back to our table. She sits on the edge of her seat and puts her hand out, frowning at me sternly.

I give her a high-five and beam.

Your attempts of mothering me fail, child.

She blushes beneath her makeup and smiles shyly at me.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you. The journal is for work."

"It's fine... Where do you work?" She perks up at the sudden attention.

"I work for the government. News department. I am also training people within the army sector."

You wouldn't believe how many of the things our police are called out for are to do with clothes. It's usually shoplifting clothes but, on occasion, it's a 'fashion emergency'. Police attend fashion emergencies. Yes, they're all ridiculous. Three in every ten calls are about makeup or clothes.

"Have you done any of those-"

"Practice missions? Yes. In fact, I have one tomorrow."

"Sounds interesting. Have you ever seen-"

The waitress puts down two beautiful dishes displaying colourful food.

The waitress winks at me and walks off, her hips swaying.

"Hey! Are you looking at that damn waitress?! We're on a date!" Lisanna scrunches up her face angrily.

"It's not like I'm asking for her number." I roll my eyes. Girls overreact.

"Ugh! You don't like me!" She wails.

"Not in the right way." I sigh.

"I can't handle how rude you are - I'm out of here!" She storms off.

"Goodbye." I call after her. I rub my eyes lazily.

She probably just didn't want to use her credits.

I come here so often that I'm good friends with all of the staff. Hence why the waitress, also known as Kylie, winked at me. It was to wish me luck.

Also, I don't have to give credits for my meal.

The bouncer, Daphne, blocks Lisanna's way and explains that she has to pay for her half of the meal because they 'don't accept credits from me'.

Yep, me and these girls are tight. I blow kisses at all of them and make my way out of the door.

The air outside hits me like an unexpected slap: it's extremely cold - way colder than a summer night should be, anyway. I pass the eight dieting restaurants that are still bustling and busy and take a stroll down the alleyway on their right to get to my dull, grey, concrete block of apartments. It looks fairly artsy against the dusky backdrop of the sky. I am about five metres away from the gate when the district's curfew-alarm sounds, signalling that all residents (excluding Trollers) have thirty minutes to get indoors and stay there.

I see Linda, my roommate, fiddling with her pink rose bush. I wave cheerily at her before pushing the heavy metal doors, that lead to the stairwell, open.

I heave myself up the block's hundreds of multicoloured steps. They were graffitied after the war with little images of families that would never be together again by the women who were against the execution of men. My favourite drawing is on the seventy first step (yes, I counted) and is of a family consisting of a mother, a father and two children. The background is a silhouette of a house with a bright explosion behind it. The family have contorted faces and expressions of pure fear.

I never said it was a happy picture that made me cry with joy and depicted serenity on a platter- I said that it was my favourite.

I growl at my uncooperative door. It's always jammed. I usually have to get Susan from downstairs to open it for me.

But I can't today, it's way too late in the night for her to be awake and she's a heavy sleeper.

I run at it, bracing myself for impact, but to my surprise it swings open easily. Did I leave it open? I know it scans one's iris to unlock it, but it wasn't stiff at all. Linda usually uses the fireman's pole, in her room, that takes her to her friends'  flat to avoid some stairs.

I sit on the floor pondering upon whether I locked the door about five minutes before locking it and crawling towards my room.

I notice my violet bedroom-door is slightly ajar despite me ALWAYS closing it. I ignore the gnawing feeling that Linda was in here - she respects my privacy. It couldn't possibly have been her. Well, it is possible - it's just... Not in her nature.

I flop onto my bed lazily, my eyelids heavy with sleep.

I close my eyes after blinking once at my flat, white ceiling with one thing on my mind:

Did they find it?