Ten Things One Thing || Aaron Burr

2. Ааrоn Вurr

(A second update in a week? DAMN.)
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Day Two:

Sleep hasn't yet come for me.
Maybe it never will.
I hope it doesn't at this point.

The quill he got me for my birthday still sits on my desk.

It was from the year his son died, even in the midst of his mourning he was a friend to me.
Even in the midst of all his problems he could find time to help me.

Even when I would rather slam the door in his face at midnight he would talk to me kindly the next day.

I ruined him with blackmail on the pamphlet.
He still tried to be civil.

But now here I lay in the darkness of early morning, hours before sunrise, alive.
His body with my bullet in it, three miles from here, cold.

I wonder if he was in too much pain.

I feel a foreign wetness on my cheeks that I recognize eventually as tears.
I felt them when Theodosia passed.
I felt them when Momma and Pops passed.
I didn't understand guilt when I was three.

I wasn't responsible for my wife's passing.

My friend Alex Hamilton's death

Is

All

On

Me.

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"WAIT!"

Month two:
He doesn't consume every thought.

But that doesn't stop people from putting him in my mind.

A glare from a random person on the street.

Even someone dressed in all black.
Just the slightest mention of death and I can only see the silver gun on the ground, smoking from the discharge of a bullet that became not only my legacy, but Alexander's as well.

Legacy.
What is a legacy?

Well apparently I don't get to choose whatever my legacy is.

Because this is it.

Everyone hates me now.
And I hate the people that look at me with a smile and respect for...

Sometimes I still throw up in the middle of the night from panic attacks.

The dreams didn't start until a week ago.

The past month and three weeks of no sleep or black silence as I drift off were no more.

My demons have decided to torment me.
The first night I didn't know I was dreaming as I sat up from my bed in the middle of the war.

Hamilton stood in the tent flap, calling my name for something, and I let him in.

"Hey Mr. Burr. From the other day, I didn't get a chance to say, uh- sorry about the Washington thing-"

"No worries Ham. I got a promotion anyways. Lieutenant Colonel Burr, at your service!"

His freckled face and blue eyes lit up for me.
"Congratulations!

"Thank you, Alexander. Congratulations to you as well, you are now putting your eloquent mind to work!"

He just chuckled and the scene melted away.

He stood in front of me at the first bar we had a drink at.
But he didn't look at me.
I still didn't know I was dreaming.

"Hey, Alex!" I called.

He didn't turn.
"Alex?" I walked to him and put my hand on his shoulder and tried to turn him around.

He was...
Stiff?

And he was talking to someone, so I walked around so I could see both of them and gasped.

It was John Laurens. And both of them were bleeding from the chest and mouth.

They slowly turned to look at me with cold, milked over eyes and clammy skin. John's war coat was torn and dirty, the blood the only bright color left.

Alex's Sunday shirt and black overcoat were scuffed with the same pale dirt of Weehawken.

All I got was a glare from John and a sad grimace from Alexander before time came running back to me and the present came back to my mind and I stared at them as the scene dissolved to my bedroom, tears springing in my eyes.

The next time that happened I didn't know I was dreaming either, but it's been a week now.

It's a different place that Hamilton and I were friends each time.
Then it's always the bar.

Sometimes I see Philip Hamilton and Laurens talking.
Always someone dead.
But I can never hear them.

Year two:

I guess you could say I was adjusting to the lack of winter in Louisiana. At least not the type of winters I'm used to up North.

It's Christmas, and here I am sitting on my front porch with my sleeves rolled up and a pint of beer.

Theodosia couldn't come this year.
She has written me a slew of letters apologizing and sending her love, trying to cheer me up.

Never has she judged me for Alexander.

I for that I am thankful that she is more like her mother than I.

Only one thing ruined this Christmas.

A single letter from Angelica Hamilton. It had showed up three days previous, I didn't know they even knew where I was.
Someone talked.
I'll kill the-

Eh, no, Aaron, bad train of thought.

Dear Mr. Burr,
I came into acquaintance with a certain Theodosia Burr a few days ago, and regardless of everything that has occurred between our families, I would like to come to a peace.
There are... complications between Theo and her husband and I would like to let you know that if you wish to write to her she will be at our residence for a while.
The same address on the envelope.
No harm shall come to her, she really is the sweetest lady.
You are welcome into our home here as long as she is here as well.

Good day,
Angelica Hamilton.

My panic attack had lasted 25 minutes.

What happened with Theo and her husband!?
And the Hamiltons-

I saw the gun on the dirt.

I took another sip of my beer- and another-
And I got lucky that night, I was drunk enough that dreams evaded me for one night.

Part three next week. (Or whenever I feel like updating, but one a week at least.)