Ruin - A Short Story

So, I didn't have anything planned, but I did have a short story which I'd written over break.  I hope y'all don't mind; I'm just trying right now to make sure everything links to what it's supposed to.  Here goes:

A mirthless smile creased your face in familiar lines, as you gazed at the city. You relished the sense of belonging, while preserving a total disconnect. The lights from the skyscrapers sang to you. But you ignored their beckoning. Or did you? Perhaps their call turned you forever against them and forced you to this. With ease, that's how tons of concrete and twisted metal fall. Screams are music, laughter pain. The siren's song of sky-scoring structures and sinuous streets has brought you to this utter destruction of all the people hold dear. Ah, the people. They have shunned you to this day. No, not openly, but you hear the constant whispers, see the covert glances, feel the shuddering fear. Power scares them. It intoxicates you. When your college friends went out and partied, you sat secure in the knowledge that you could determine their destinies with the flick of a finger, the wave of a hand. But power is not motive! Why are you doing this? What did this city say to your heart in those moments? Or was it what its people did not say? Power and ability is not license. You have no right to destroy lives the way he destroyed yours. Remember that day. Think long and hard upon it. You are wishing - forcing! - that day upon hundreds of beings that have never done you wrong. And you have the power, now, to stop it. What will you do with that power today? Certainly, sparing these lives would be powerful: a great show of ability. Wouldn't it? You may have power, but you do not have sole control of life and death. You never have, and you never will. Kill if you must, but the very act of slaughter will ensure your own death. Ah. That is it. I see it in your empty eyes at last - fear. Fear of death, the one thing over which you lack power. A fitting punishment, then. You stare out at the city? Well, it stares back at you, and judges you! Yes, judges you. And the instrument of its judgment has come to end your power. Die? You shall. For all that pleading, common sense offered, you remained power hungry. You never smiled again. You slept in the peace and quiet of the death you dreaded, and I awoke in the anger of my hatred, slept in the disquiet of my guilt, and finally burned in the thirst of my soul. The city you hated stood, until I destroyed it. And now, I have the power you dreamed of, and the guilt I tried to make you feel. Through it all, I have counted my moves carefully, never tipping my hand. Nevertheless, your fear is mine. Your reality is now mine. He comes, young, idealistic, virtuous. I stand, old, hardened, guilty. And the judgment he will pass on me will ring through the ages as the judgment I passed upon you. I almost imagine a smile on your face. You knew this, as I now know it. And I will pass your judgment on to him. We laugh in death's face, for we know despair. I shall face him here. It seems appropriate. You will not mind if I use your words. He comes. I go. The world turns yet. And a mirthless smile creases my face in familiar lines as I gaze over smoking ruins.