wb :

Never again would he fall in love, he swore to himself quietly over a tankard of ale as the smoke swirled in swaths and the noise crashed and broke over the heads of hunched men. Outside, the cars blared their horns in the lonely light of a corner streetlamp.

The city wept for his tragedy, golden streams of tears from a trillion eyes, trickling into the gaols and gutters of the midnight. It sobbed and gasped for air and tore at its hair, black strands trailing into the rising fires that licked at the clouds.

And then the stars sighed, and went to bed early, and the great eyes in their orbits in the heavens saw, and it was good.

And perhaps it was.

- 6 sentence fiction.