The last-ever shot rang out. Fired from the last loaded handgun. Fired by the last loyal soldier. 

The last-ever shot had hit its target, the soldiers own temple. 

The last loyal soldier felt nothing, death was instant. 

The last-ever projectile, a 9mm, entered the cranium, and the nerves shut down. It penetrated through to the frontal lobe. Tissue macerated and swelled. The projectile travelled its trench straight through the skull. Shattered bone and loose matter spread across the open field. 

The last thought of the last loyal solider was of their family, a flash of memory, a photo from a better day. The last loyal solider now rested upon the crimson dirt, joining the others, whose flags no longer wave in the wind. There are no more lands. No more winds. 

The last ever shot rang out, then no other sounds were ever made again.