Falling Stars, Like Water Droplets

I always imagined I'd have a heroic death, the kind of ending that resulted from standing against oppression, from reckless bravery under the scrutiny of a long-armed rifle. Something with fanfare and cannons, tolling bells, people crying and a sky full of raining petals.

Yet it was silent when I died, with nothing but God and the shooting stars overhead to witness my last breath.

What a life it must've been, as I faded as unnoticed as I had lived.