PG: The Fall of an Empire- August 6th 1806
The worst had happened. The army could not hold back Bonaparte's troops any longer. They were severely outnumbered, and the little boy at the head of them was tired, and growing weak.
They all somehow knew that the growing Holy Roman Empire would soon be no more. Every one of them could feel it. The boy was faltering, his arms becoming laden as it seemed to become harder and harder to lift his once proud flag. The little push broom strapped to his back grew heavier with every step, but still he pushed on.
Meanwhile, at the castle that he once called his home, his boss, Emperor Francis I of Austria donned his ceremonial robes. The crown, the symbol of his leadership, was placed on his head for what would be the last time. The solid gold weighed on his neck, which creaked with the years of holding it aloft.
His subjects waited just outside, anticipation thickening the late summer air.
It was time.
The Emperor marched to the balcony doors, swallowing a