Hamilton Whump

My... my stomache hurts... (Poly! In progress, this is Jamilburr.)

I first met Alexanger Hamilton right after the end of the Revolutionary War.

I mean, cute guy.
Nice face, hair eyes. Sparky personality.

Angry. His blood was probably 80% espresso.

And I learned to hate his fucking guts.
(Politically, at least.)

I could have fucking killed him some days.
I could have fucked him some days.
O could have killed myself because of him somedays, reliving the days when my arms were covered in fresh scabs and the floor spotted with dark red blood.

But I never expected to love him.
I never expected to want to kiss him so badly after I came home from work every night to my house that I could have thrown up.

That I did throw up.

Every day.

Until he died.

And if throwing up emerald rose petals covered in blood every day was scary, disheartening, and angsty,

Puking up an entire rose stained only by blood that looked like coffee grounds was a stab to my heart.

I know what puking up coffee grounds looking blood means.

I'm bleeding inside.
In my stomache.

It was so random though.

Until two days more of choking and gagging on my own blood, feeling life drain from me, and not seeing Alex when I finally heard the news.

He was dead.

My love was dead.

And Aaron Burr shot him.

My vice president.

Shot him.

Almost as soon as the news boy told me I coughed.

And my coughs grew warmer with red.
Deep red.
Almost... black.

I could see him.

My vision cut out almost too soon.

.

.

I loved him.

That's why I raised my gun at the sky.

Because I loved Aaron Burr more than anything in my life.

His tears came when he saw them.

When I lay in the dirt of Weehawken, bleeding, coughing.

Coughing purple rose petals covered in blood.

He didn't understand.

He never got to know I loved him so much I died for him.

But sometimes the person you'd take the bullets for is behind the trigger.

I met him so long ago...

But he never looked at me...

And even as I was put on a stretcher, a boat, a river, crying, gazing at him still with all the love I ever felt, he still didn't understand.

My love...

My light...

And the smoking gun.
What a sight.