His hands slammed into the worn wooden table bringing the attention of the pub to his very bold figure where he put a foot onto the seat his fire-ry eyes glancing to his friends.
"To the revolution!"
"Our glory!"
John glanced at Alexander a small smile dancing on his lips just the look of Alexander made his heart leap out his chest, it was this feeling of getting your heart ripped out then placed back in every time he'd smile, glance or even speak.
He truly loved this man... obviously that was wrong.
Weird.
John looked down at his hands hearing bombs go off around him,
"LAURENS!" Yelled his comrade seeing a British officer push his sword straight through him, piercing his skin , blood leaking from the wound the solider had inflicted.
"Get Lauren's to the infirmary" spoke another, john felt himself fall to the ground the sky was the only thing he could,
The sky always looked like a painting, a beautiful painting at that...his last thoughts his only thoughts was...
'Is Alexander happy? is he doing well?'
"On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a sword fight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3000 men for the first all-black military regiment
His dream of freedom for these men dies with him." Eliza read out the letter that was sent from john Lauren's father, Alexanders eyes widened a little at the thought his hands grasp onto his quill...
writing couldn't fix this... nothing could fix this...john...
He opened his draw seeing Eliza walk out to give him some time alone to think things through.
The draw was filled with there letters he plucked one out reading over it, a small smile went on to his face, a single tear escaping the brim of his eyelid dripping off his chin and onto the floor.
"I love you, my dear friend." He mumbled folding the worn piece of paper back up sliding it back in the draw.
A clean piece of paper lay on his desk, his quill in his hand he began to write a letter.
To John, although he knew he was gone...he needed to write this... he needed to feel that small guilt free moment, one last moment of feeling as if John was going to reply, going to tell him all about how he was going to fight against slavery, how he was going to win the war, how- how... how he wasn't going to die...
'My dearest john,
From your alexander...'
