Concluding Your Story

1: Death doesn't discriminate

Angelica ran down the hallway, with Eliza close at her heels, holding on to her wrist as to not be left behind. They rushed in a frenzied panic, praying to God that they were not to late. Why, why, why did Alexander have to be so rash with his decisions?  Eliza bitterly thought. Last time, it cost him his son, and now, it was his own life. Had he not learned from his mistakes? What would it take for him to just slow down and breathe? Eliza shuddered, for the thought that he might not be breathing invaded her mind. 

A man opened a door near the end of the hallway. Upon seeing the two frantic sisters, he beckoned them to the door. They pushed pass him, and bolted into the room, bursting through the door with a loud slam. The room held a large bed at the center, where Alexander lay under the thin white sheets. He lifted his head slightly, although it was apparent that the action strained him. The women hurriedly rushed to his side. Three chairs had been placed in the room, and Eliza sat her self down on the chair next to Alexander, while Angelica remained standing on the other end of the bed. 

Eliza gently brushed her hand through her husband's hair, and he gave her a sheepish grin. Now is not the time for being a hopeless charmer, her thoughts nagged. However, she noticed that the expression held the slightest glimmers of fear, and those incredibly intelligent and gorgeous eyes of his were saddened, pained, and yet somewhat calm.

Angelica stared at Alexander. His figure had become paler, and his breaths seemed difficult to take in. She wanted to slap off his facade of acceptance. She wanted to bawl and cry and scream at him for hurting his family all over again. She just blinked back the tears that threatened to come, and stared helplessly at him.

Eliza covered her mouth, muffling her sobbing, and catching her falling tears. Alexander quickly reached out to hold her other hand, and quickly began to rub circles onto the back of  it.He quietly shushed her, and pushed the hair out of her face. He whispered quietly into her ear as his wife's crying got louder and louder. 

"Why didn't you shoot?" Eliza miserably asked, "Out of all of the times you took action, why couldn't you today?"

"It was Burr. I didn't want to be branded as the one to have killed him. Besides, I didn't think he had it in him to shoot me. That's not what he's like," Alex responded. He sighed, and began to grumble on about opinions and beliefs, and how Aaron Burr was a complete prick who would waste his life waiting for something to happen.

Eliza found herself feeling lighter, almost as if she might manage a smile. It was almost as if nothing had happened, Alexander was perfectly fine, sitting down to talk to her, and he hadn't changed, endlessly presenting his thoughts out to the world (usually complaints about his colleagues), either through his pen or his voice. And yet, she noticed that Alex  rushed out his words, slurring them, but desperately trying to put out coherent words before he lost the ability to do so. 

A sniffle from Angelica caught the dying man's attention, as he reached out and held her hand, while soothingly going on with whatever it was he had to say. Angelica nodded, continuing to contain her anguish. Eliza rested her head on the back of the chair, knowing that her husband would have a lot to say; he wasn't going anywhere just yet.

After an hour of sitting in the room, with a visit from a friend in between, the door burst open once again, with the small figures of seven of their children standing at the door frame, shuffling their feet, and looking at the floor with teary eyes.

"My children," Alexander croaked, and they sprang towards him, huddling around the bed, crying for their father.

"I'm not dead yet, there's no need to mourn so soon," he said, while  holding on to their youngest son, Phillip's, hand and brushing it against his cheek. The boy stared, confused at what was going on. His father smiled at him, then glanced at all of his other children.