The World Was Wide Enough (Hamilton One-Shot)

The World Was Wide Enough

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory

Is this where it gets me, on my feet, several feet ahead of me?

I see it coming, do I run or fire my gun or let it be?

......

Legacy. What is a legacy?

It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.

....

America, you great unfinished symphony, you sent for me

You let me make a difference

A place where even orphan immigrants

Can leave their fingerprints and rise up

......

I catch a glimpse of the other side

...

Laurens leads a soldiers' chorus on the other side

...

My son is on the other side

...

He's with my mother on the other side

...

Washington is watching from the other side

......

Raise a glass to freedom...

~~~

Hamilton's pistol is aimed at the sky. Mine is aimed toward his ribs. Before I can change my mind, I pull the trigger.

"WAIT!" I call out as if to stop the bullet in mid-air, but it was too late.

The bullet makes impact, I can tell. Alexander, my friend, falls to the ground. Instantly, I try to run to him. I want to make contact one last time. I want to apologize to him. There are so many things running through my mind.

I move my legs, but people are holding me back. I fight to see my friend. I try so hard. Harder and harder, but it is no use.

No. I must see him one last time. I have to. I am not going to throw away my shot, just like he never threw away his.

"Hamilton!" I cry out. "Alex...I'm sorry. I didn't...didn't want this."

I watch his body being carried to a barge most likely on its way to New York. I don't want to watch. I turn away and cover my face.

I quit fighting. It is too late. Hamilton is dead, or will be soon if not already. Anything I say to him...will not be heard.

I need a drink.

~~~

A glass of Sam Adams in my trembling hand, I think of nothing but Hamilton. I have this feeling...a feeling that Alex never planned to harm me. He was a man of honor.

I am not.

As tears fall from my eyes, I gulp down the alcohol, the liquid burning the back of my throat. I cannot believe the crime that I have committed; and all for what?

Because he voted for Jefferson instead of me?

Because I was jealous of him?

Because he kept me away from the room where it happens?

"Why?" I ask myself. I throw the empty glass against the wall of my office, glass smashing into a million tiny pieces. "WHY, BURR, WHY!?"

I cry as if my life depends on it. I cry along with the wails in the street. New York City mourns over his death. I mourn over his death.