This Is How It Goes

This is how you broke my heart and killed me

"It's over. Everything is over." A small sigh. "We can't go on. Not anymore. Not like this. I'm sorry, but the Empire is dead. I can't support you anymore, you are free." A small whimper, all that escaped of a muffled sob. "N-No, don't. Please, you can't! D-Don't leave me!"  Another sigh, deeper and heavier than before. "Please... I don't want to be alone again. Please." The younger man pleaded, desperate and scared. "I'm sorry Matthew, but I really can't afford to look after you. And besides, your people call for freedom." With that, the conversation was over; the shorter man strode off, some other, more important business to attend to.
"But I'm not my people..."

This is how we cry

A wreath lay in the mud, dirtied and forgotten. No one came to the cemetery anymore, its gates had rusted shut aeons ago, the grounds were a true urban jungle. There was movement, faint in the darkness; a figure appeared, spectre-like in the rain, naught but a shadow in the gloom. It approached a grave, derelict and abandoned, the name long worn away, but still an air of sadness seemed to linger. There was a light sigh, for those not listening, it could've been naught but a breath of wind. Thin fingers, pale and trembling, brushed over the headstone, "I'm sorry it had to end like this." The rain fell, hard and fast, turning the ground to a river of mud; the wreath, ignored and unloved, floated away, abandoning the grave upon which it had rested. The stranger sighed once more, turning from his yearly pilgrimage, leaving just as silently as he had arrived. Not 'til next year would another living soul set foot in that graveyard.

This is how the dead forget

What do you see, in the darkness behind your eyes? What twisted visions appear to you? Do you dream in feelings, are sensations converted to light, in your broken eyes? Do you see every taste? Every smell? Or maybe you dream in blood. I know I do, and you, you are so much like me. You long to feel blood on your hands, you want to kill, you NEED to kill. You do it just to remind yourself you're alive, don't you? That's what I do. I know you want to. But, now you must die so that others may live. Think of it as... Self-sacrifice, yes, that's a good way of describing it. Self-sacrifice. It makes you sound more... Heroic. Though, you are far from heroic. You keep the world in such fear of you. And that's hardly heroic, now is it?

This how it ends.

He was back now, in that deserted cemetery, kneeling before the ancient grave, a new wreath in hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do any of it. I was just so alone." He sighted heavily; it wasn't raining that night, which, at least was one small mercy. A small smile graced his lips, and a sigh fell from his mouth. The graveyard stilled, as if waiting for his next words, "It's over, I suppose, there's nothing left I ought to do. There is no one left to abandon me, not even you. But now, there is simply no one. I expect that's my fault, I expect one would declare I have descended into madness. But this is as sane as I've ever felt." Another slight pause, heavy with sorrow and regret. It was broken by a light, gentle laugh. He shook his head some; a small regretful smile decorated his lips.
"This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper."