A/N:Oh hey, I'm alive, oop.
Anyway, I got into Hamilton, and yeah. I wasn't originally planning on writing fan fiction on real life dead guys, but after (accidentally) forming a Hamilsquad on DrawCast, I got a stupid idea and stupidly decided to type something about it.
Anyway, this is just a prologue on how some of these people died, and I did research to make this historically accurate, but apparently how some of these people died is unknown, so I just didn't type anything for those people, or at least just something stupid.
Anyway, I don't own Hamilton, I'm not Lin Manuel Miranda because I can't write original songs, and I wasn't interested in history enough to even think of writing a musical based on dead people.
He could feel the piercing pain of the bullet in his abdomen, the edges of his vision turning black. Using what remained of his energy, he slowly turned his head to the side, looking into the eyes of Elizabeth, his beloved wife. Her beautiful, dark eyes sparkled with tears, which rolled down her cheeks as she stayed by him, her brown hair all over the place.
He gave her a small smile, his breath labored as he felt himself slipping away. She took his hand in hers, though he could barely feel it. Her sad, yet still beautiful face, was the last thing he ever saw, letting himself slip away into the darkness, ready to enter the gates of heaven.
The constant headache he felt ever since his stroke from about two years ago never left him, and certainly didn't leave even as he was dying. He was already a very old man, but he still didn't want to die. If he could run from death, he could, but the stroke had rendered him paralyzed, even though escaping from death was just a figure of speech.
He lay in the bed, helpless, not even at his own home. The only thing enjoyable about death? Freedom from the guilt that haunted him, for taking the life of Alexander Hamilton, though he refused too admit his regret, being a proud man. He struggled to cling to his life, trying not to allow the inevitable to happen, only to fail.
His breathing slowed, until soon, he was no longer.
It started with a sore throat one day, that only grew worse as time progressed. His voice became increasingly hoarse, and breathing became very difficult. Rawlins had taken half a pint of blood from him and even gave him some sort of mixture to ease the pain; it was supposed to ease the pain, but this treatment didn't help at all, only making his state of health worse.
The second doctor, Brown, during inspection, produced a blister on his throat, the pain becoming unbearable. More blood was taken out, the man becoming very light-headed. In the end, with a total of three doctors, his health didn't improve, and he knew he was going to die.
But he wasn't afraid.
If he was going to die, then let it be.
He lay in his bed, surrounded by people he knew and loved: Martha, Craik, Tobias, Christopher, Caroline, Molly, and Charlotte. They stayed by his side until the very end, when he breathed his last breath.
He was scared. No, he was terrified. Only nineteen-years-old, and already having his very first duel. His friend the day before had dueled George Eacker, but both had made it out alive, but who knew how this one would end.
It was stupid, yes, to challenge this man, but he had badmouthed his father, and he wasn't about to let it slide. At the duel, he could feel his palms sweat, gripping tighter on his pistol as he counted the paces.
His head rushed with thoughts as ten slowly began to approach. His father, his mother, his many brothers and sisters. Would he live to see them again?
He turned at ten, his pulse rushing with fear as he faced the man, but neither moved at all. The two stared at each other, a length of time passing as they waited for the other to make a move.
One full minute later, the man decided to act. He lifted his pistol, the younger one following in suit, ready to aim away. However, before he could, Eacker shot. The teen pulled the trigger involuntarily, missing the other completely. The pain in his hip and arm was too much to bear.
He didn't know what happened, everything was a blur. All he knew was that it hurt, and he wanted it to end. The pain seemed to last an eternity as he lay by his mother and father, before allowing death to take him, the pain finally leaving.
Samuel died in his home, but Google won't tell me how, so I'm not typing anything because I might have angry historians in the reviews telling me I wasn't accurate, so yeah, nothing emotional for Sammy, on to Charles Lee's death.
His temperature was rising, but he didn't care. He needed another drink.
He entered the tavern, God knows which one, and ordered something, whatever it was, he didn't care. He sat down, waiting for the bartender to arrive with his drink, but he never got to taste it. He lay his head down in his arms, feeling worse than ever.
His head hurt, his throat burned, he was feeling too warm. Just a small nap, he thought to himself, hoping it would lessen the fever. Unfortunately, he never woke up, and died right there.
Stuck in bed, about a month after collapsing at this funeral, he thought back to what he accomplished. Assisting in the American Revolution, the French Revolution, it was amazing.
He reminisced on small moments during those times, being with his friends, accomplishing many feats. He had done so much, he knew he would at least be remembered for something.
He closed his eyes and let death consume him, a small smile on his face.
Welp, I can't find how Maria Reynolds died either, and I don't want angry reviews for inaccuracy, so onto the next death! Yay! :D
Shot in the side, he fell from his horse onto the ground. Neither he, his men, nor the British troops he fought knew the war had already ended.
As he lay on the ground, his thoughts went to Alexander, the man he had loved, and would never see again. He felt a tear crawl down his cheek, wondering if Alexander would even miss him, as he knew the man was already married. Did he even return his love?
He closed his eyes, the burning pain of the bullet not leaving. He grimaced in the pain, afraid to even move in fear of hurting himself more. He slowly felt death drag him away, fighting against at first, before allowing it to take him, his last thoughts remaining on Alexander.
Wow no one knows how Thomas died so let's go to James Madison's death.
He usually got sick a lot, so this didn't really feel different. Shortness of breath, coughing, lightheadedness, nausea, he's had it all before. He didn't realize, however, how different this was.
He let out another cough, which grew into a coughing fit. It was difficult to catch his breath, his throat and chest beginning to ache. His eyes began to water from the pain as he sat down. He held his head in his hands, attempting to take deep breaths as the world began to spin.
Closing his eyes, he sighed, before letting out another cough. Once he stopped, he took more breaths, before letting out his last one, slipping into the darkness of death.
Theodosia Burr Jr. died in a boat because she was lost at sea, but no one knows what happened. That's it. The end. End of story.
Death was both scary and welcoming. Some thought it would lead to heaven or hell, or just be nothingness, where they would be forgotten after time. However, for these people, that wouldn't happen. Unless resurrection could be considered a heaven or a hell, depending on one's view of 2021.
Well, this was hecking lazy towards the end, probably too inaccurate for the likes of any of you history fanatics, and the story really begins next chapter, which is unfinished, because some of the admins never said what name they want to be called, so I don't know how long it'll take for the next one to be up. Also, if anything is inaccurate, let me know in the reviews or PM me, and I will fix it. :P And yes, I typed this all in one day, which is weird for me.
Oh yeah, to the peeps at the Hamilsquad, 1) Love you guys! and B) We should chat because this will be written and different points of views, and I would like some help with that, since I don't know you guys IRL.
Anyway, if you're bored, the fun should begin next chapter.
