Christopher Patten steps up to the podium as I look on from the audience.
The last few years have been tough for me. I'm not sure how much more I can take; how many more countries I can stand to watch as they leave me. Then again, there aren't that many left, anyway...
"Your Royal Highness, Prime Minister, Distinguished Guests, People of HK," he begins.
Why? Was my rule unjust?
"For Hong Kong as a whole, today is cause for celebration, not sorrow. But here and there, perhaps there will be a touch of personal sadness as is true of any departure, a point to which I shall return."
"You're right about that," I mutter. I look over towards Hong Kong, who is watching with his normal, expressionless face. I'm sure he's 'kinda, like' jumping for joy inside.
"History is not just a matter of dates. What makes history is what comes before and what comes after the dates that we all remember. The story of this great city is about the years before this night, and the years of success that will surely follow it."
The years of success...the phrase echoes in my head, becoming harsher each time. The years of success without me.
The years of success in which the British Empire is no more and I will have vanished off the face of this planet.
"Of course, Hong Kong's story is not solely that of the century and a half of British responsibility, though it is the conclusion of that chapter that we mark tonight."
Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by depression. It's time to conclude another chapter. There are only so many chapters to every story and I'm convinced that this is the last one.
"This chapter began with events that, from today's vantage point, at the end of the following century, none of us here would wish or seek to condone."
Heh. You might have just crossed the line there. You could at least show some respect for your own country who's going to cease to exist at midnight.
"But we might note that most of those who live in Hong Kong now do so because of events in our own century which would today have few defenders. All that is a reminder that sometimes we should remember the past the better to forget it."
I'm going to cease to exist. I'm going to die. I'm going to become the past, and you're just giving a speech that is half against your nation's actions and half cryptic.
"What we celebrate this evening is the restless energy, the hard work, the audacity of the men and women who have written Hong Kong's success story. Mostly Chinese men and Chinese women."
You're pausing every two words. Must you drag this speech on? Can I at least enjoy my final moments here without having my umpteenth loss of land rubbed in my face?
I drum my fingers on the armrest impatiently. I can't stand this anymore. It's just too much for even the mighty - once mighty - British Empire to take!
"They were only ordinary in the sense that most of them came here with nothing. They are extraordinary in what they have achieved against the odds."
Hang on. Is this about them or about me? Possibly I'm acting narcissistic, but...
I feel a small boost of self-confidence. I guess I have been rather successful in the past millennium, even starting off from a small island. I have conquered a quarter of the world in my time!
I start building up a feeling of self-worth again. Do I really need to be sad when I've always been so great?
"As British administration ends..."
Reality hits me like a sack full of bricks. That was the past, when I was the British Empire. Now what am I? Nobody wants to be under my rule anymore.
One by one, they've all turned against me. Overwhelmed me. What am I now? A small island. I'm back to square one.
Most of the rest of the speech passes in a blur as I bury myself in self-deprecation. Nothing matters anymore. I'm weak and worthless. I'll return home after this, and nobody will be there to greet me. If anyone even talks to me, it'll be Hong Kong rubbing his freedom in my face, or France teasing me and calling me the black sheep of Europe again, or America laughing at me...
"I said that tonight's celebration will be tinged for some with sadness."
Nowhere near to mine, I think as I feel my eyes watering.
"So it will be for my family and myself and for others who like us will soon depart from this shore."
I'll be departing from this shore much sooner than you...I have to leave this place. I can't let the world see me crying yet again, I have a reputation to keep up!
"I am the 28th governor."
What shred of a reputation do I have left, anyway...
"The last governor."
No. No no no. I want to scream. I can't take this anymore!
A tear runs down my cheek.
Please say the cameras aren't turned towards me, please...
I get to my feet.
It's too much.
Stepping over everyone on my row, a voice inside my head tells me that it's improper to leave in the middle of such an important event, but I'm beyond caring.
I feel eyes on me. Hong Kong's staring at me, I notice in my peripheral vision, although it's blurred with tears.
"You have been kind to us. You have made us as welcome."
After leaving as discreetly as possible (when you're not expected to be leaving) and turning the corner, I break into a run. I run and run, my constant tears leaving two trails down my cheeks. Some fall to the floor, some slide down my neck, some dampen my collar.
Nothing means anything to me anymore but getting out of there and going back to my last refuge, Britain itself. Britain myself.
I run onto the high street, seeing the many residents of Hong Kong gathered by every TV screen showing the speech.
"Now, Hong Kong people are to run Hong Kong."
Is there no escape? Every street I run down, I can hear his voice, from one speaker or another.
"That is the promise."
Damn it all! I intended to leave to avoid this part of the speech but Lady Fate doesn't care, does she?
"And that is the unshakeable destiny."
A cry rings out, a cheer from the city's people. His speech is over. The sound of clapping and whistling from the televisions mixes with the shouting and whooping of the people.
They're happy to be free from me, huh...
I sink to my knees in defeat.
They're happy to be free from me.
My eyes sting from crying, but the tears are ongoing. Even after so many colonies left me, I'm still not used to this feeling...the wretched pain, twisting my insides, making me feel physically ill.
The rain still hasn't stopped. Perfect pathetic fallacy. Also perfect to remind me of one of the first to claim independence.
Shakily, I stand up. Kneeling on the ground isn't going to get me home anytime soon. I break into a run again.
I need to get to the docks.
One street after another, it's all the same. Barely anyone takes notice of the out-of-place British gentleman, running through the streets with tears in his eyes.
I'm breathless by the time I reach the docks. I hadn't prepared myself for that much physical exertion. My breathing is fast and shallow, shaky with crying.
"Mr. Kirkland, sir?"
I look at the man who said this - my boat's captain. Long gone are the days of my mighty ships. Now, I get around on a motorised boat. The thought agonises me further and my voice freezes up in my throat.
"Home?" he simply asks, and I nod, walking onto the boat.
He unties the rope holding the boat there and starts the engine. It splutters into motion as we sail away.
I slide to the ground. There is no way I can bear to look back. Not now, nor ever would I get over this. Not ever.
However, I'm not going to last that long, am I?
I hiccup as I try to speak. Keeping my feelings bottled up inside...I've always considered that the worst thing to do.
"This...this is the end of the British Empire," I muster. "I-I'm going to-I'm g-going to..."
He looks at me pitifully. My eyes meet his and I can see it. He knows my fate.
"I'm going to die," I say.
His expression doesn't change.
"I...am going...to DIE!" I reiterate. "I'm not going to be here tomorrow and you don't even care!"
"You've lived a long life."
I can hear that his voice is hoarse, roughened after years of being at sea, shouting at his crew.
"You're over a millennium old, and you've lived a good life."
"No...no..."
I start to cry again. I don't even know how I'm still able to, but I do. I guess it's raining back home.
It's not raining here, though. We've left Hong Kong behind - I didn't want to die there.
Far behind, in fact. The calm sea surrounds us as the sun is shining on, taunting me with the beauty of the world when I'm so close to leaving it behind.
"You've had so many good experiences - it must've been fun as a pirate, right? And I bet so many days were spent in tranquility, walking through proper English gardens with a cup of tea..."
"So many more were spent in hardship!" I shouted. "I've had to endure so many fights, including two world wars! I have no friends that other people think are real! America is such a...such a bloody git...and it had to rain during that one time, so every time it rains, I remember. And it rains all the bloody time!"
"There must've been someone you loved...?"
I pause. Why does he have to mention this?
"America. Canada. Seychelles. Hong Kong. Many more. I loved them as my children - I raised them..."
"I hate to say this, sir, but...they grew up. Isn't the responsibility of being a parent just too much on top of your responsibilities as a country?"
My next exhalation shudders as I remember all of the pain.
"It was nothing compared to how much I'd wanted them to stay..."
"You must've had some more loves in your time, I mean, you couldn't have raised them alone..."
"You mean France?" I ask, growing irate. "Frog-face? He made every single day I spent with him hell."
"Did you...really love him?"
"That's not important!" I snap. "I-I have loved some people, but it never ends well! It's not just the nations I raised...in fact, it's not just nations. I was married. To Elizabeth I, that is. But...she grew old and died. I cried so much over her grave. The worst thing is that I was never going to grow old, I was never going to forget for the centuries, maybe millennia to come. Even now, though...I don't want to die. There was also Belgium - I swore I'd protect her, and what happened? I ended up in the First World War, for crying out loud!"
"So, your bad memories outnumber your good ones?"
"Probably."
"Therefore you won't have any more if you die?"
I choke in surprise.
"Are you suggesting that I want to die?" I shriek. "I want to live, but, but...I don't know what for, for the sake of living, maybe! I have a duty here, and that is to protect my people...I can't die! If I die, what happens to them?"
I breathe heavily, affected by grief.
"WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM?" I scream.
He doesn't respond.
"I'm not sure, sir," he replies calmly.
The last hour - or hours? I don't know - of the journey passes without conversation. I have no strength left to speak, only to sob. The sorrow drains me, knowing I have nothing left.
We reach my homeland again. We reach square one.
The best place to die is right at home, after all.
I hop off the boat and walk along the coast. I pass many people on holiday by the coast, enjoying their lives. Few care about the loss of another colony. I guess they were sure it was bound to happen. They were right.
I find an empty beach and step down the stairs, my feet treading on blocks of stone followed by pebbles.
The sandy beaches nearby had attracted all of the holiday-goers, leaving the one I stand on deserted and unwanted.
Just like me.
The sea moves in and out, slowly. How many more times would it do that before my death, and how many times after?
I hear stones crunching under my feet as I walk towards the ocean. Deep in thought, I sit down, my toes in the water.
I stare out into the vastness, for the last time, until finally, the clock strikes midnight.
And everything fades to black.