She awoke to a dreary site of windows with invisible bars, the same bars that had kept her in line, kept her doing what they told her she should do. The imperceptible barriers that didn't really exist.

The chains that she couldn't see around her ankles, ditzy obligations placed upon her by others who resented their own chains, gave a great tug, lifting her out of her bed and into the hallway, into the bathroom where she fulfilled her daily schedule. Then back to her bedroom, dreaded anticipation of where she was going once her morning tasks were complete forcing her feet to slow, to stop just before her window and stare out past the invisible bars. Outside, the bluey-gray morning was just beginning to dawn, and no lifesign, no faint signal of movement, gave any suggestion that she was not the last remaining, not the last to see the sunrise.

And that is the same question she has asked herself a million times over in the short span of her lifetime; if she is not the last remaining, if perhaps she has always been the last, always been the only, to see these things and experience these wonders. The vague theory of soliquism is not a new one, nor indeed an unfamiliar or unwelcome one.