Death of the Nation

Chapter 1

Have you ever tried to write about a dream? A dream, I don't know, you had after a truly tiring day (cause that's when you see the most amazing and longest dreams) and woke up having the unexplained desire to share it? To tell about it to a friend, to write something about it, or even paint a a picture. But then, the mouth feels numb, unable to proceed to any description, the words and the papers under the desk seem inadequate, all the colors in the world faint.

You start wondering: "How's this even possible?"                                                                  

Is it because a dream doesn't have the sense and coherence of reality?

But still, she remembers this scene excatly like a dream.

The ship cabinet consisted of at least five women. After a week of travelling, the females had lost their entire charm. Their hair was a mess, their dresses dusty. The make-up had melted on their yellow, dry faces days ago, and, as they were on the verge of vomitting, they looked pittying.

Suddenly, a man opened the cabinet's door, having almost all the women inside trying to sit in this uncomfortable, royal way they were supposed to.

"New Yo-" the man started to say, before a figure pumped into him while rushing out of the cabinet. He let out a "what the fuck", before proceed to speaking again.

"New York city' (Don't say a word)

The girl was running through the crowd. She had never, ever seen so many people gathered in a place at once. Her size helped her spinning between the passengers with relative easiness, but not enough to not be noticed. She gained some complaints while she was yelling "sorry, sorry". She had to see it. She had heard so many things about it...

The woman spred her hand and grabbed the gunnel, separating herself from the sea of people. By the moment she took the view, her eyes widened, and her chest flinched, as if her heart stopped for a single moment.

The statue of Liberty.

She rested her head on her palm while admiring the serious-looking woman with the torch. The girl smiled at the sunbeams spreading all across her face. With the other hand, she moved her fingertips across the gunnel like imaginary chords of  violin. She didn't know how to play the violin, she never learned to, at least not in the common way. Just once, in these bars stuck on the waterfront, the biggest sight that Caribbean could offer. The corner of her eye had caught the figure of an extremely thin and drunk man with dark curly hair playing a decayed wooden violin. Of course, the word 'playing" was too much to say. But, between all the smoke mixed with the soaking fog, she noticed three cords, these three subtle, quick moves: three fingers, two-one, two one.

From that moment and on, whenever she was feeling something over the average, the female would unintentionally do that again and again, like a meaningless Mors code.

"three, two-one, two-one"

The woman felt small sweat drops being created over her forehead. She wipped it away and backed out of the gunnel to tie her hair back, when she felt people pumping into her, while heading towards a certain direction.

She gasped at the thought.

They have arrived.

The girl raced, not even trying to sidestep any person on her way. While the wind was waving though her hair, she was hearing people screaming names, attempting to surpass the noice of the harbor. She smiled - none was waiting for her.

In the end, that was a good thing. The female didn't want to surpass the noice of the crowd, but enjoy it. She always had a peculiar love for packed places, anyway.

Suddenly, she felt someone's elbow hitting her, which resulted to her fall on the ground, violently interrupting her thoughts. As she raised her head, her orbs met a familiar figure.

She shot up right away and started yelling, fuck the noice of the harbor:

 -Sir! Sir!

As the man's head remained in its place, she decided to make her remark more noticeable. She cupped her hands and howled:

-SIR!

That's when she got a few people turn their heads in surprise, Aaron Burr, amongst them. Actually, the last one prayed silently in his head that this female maniac waving her hands while screaming wasn't addressing to him.

But all his hopes vanished into thin air when the girl came rushing towards his direction, almost falling on him. She grabbed his wrist trying to catch her breath, and then faced him, her face flushing red because of the run, but with a strange light coming through her eyes, in some way the man couldn't explain. At least with no words.