Seven billion people gathered, their names scribed in black and gold above one of four doors. Three billion, six hundred fifty eight million, nine hundred eighty seven thousand, two hundred seven over the first door, two billion, one hundred fifty eight  million, nine hundred forty seven million, five hundred sixty three, above the next, one billion, one hundred eighty two thousand, sixty five thousand, two hundred twenty nine, above the third.
My name was crudely scratched into the rickety shambles of the fourth. My name and my name only.
The people fade away as the door closes behind me, their laughter drifts from my ears, their faces begin to blur in my frail memory and then they are gone.
I am alone.