Alexander.
Alexander.
Can you speak?
Say something for me.
Alex...
Alexander Hamilton's world was in ruins. Everything was destroyed, and by a goddamn hurricane no less.
Everyone was dead, and he was alive. Damaged, but still alive.
He still wouldn't talk though.
The doctors and nurses who had wheeled him into the hospital were convinced that he couldn't. A shame. They whispered. To live but to never be able to speak again. Alexander could. He just didn't want to. Not to these Americans, who didn't come to help when he was starving on the streets. Who didn't help when his mother had died.
A few doctors persisted though. They were convinced that his silence was mental, not physical. He respected these doctors, but he still wouldn't speak to them. He wouldn't speak to anyone who spoke in English. He wouldn't speak to any doctors or nurses, or Red Cross workers in that matter.
Instead he spoke to the patients. He spoke to them when the nurses and doctors left to operate, when they were completely alone. He actually became quite the storyteller to them. He gave them a small piece of peace, and they gave him the chance to speak that he so desperately needed.
It became a partnership of sorts.
But then again, he couldn't speak to them too much either. As he had asked, they didn't tell anyone about his sudden ability to speak. But the medicine they took took a toll on them, and Alexander suddenly realised that anything could come out once they went under it's influence.
So he had eventually stopped talking to them as well.
He shut everyone out, and watched. He watched as his neighbours died. He watched as new patients were wheeled in, only to die in the dead of night. He watched as the doctors studied him like he was an equasion, and how they shared their findings with others.
He watched as she had taken his bag. It's okay Alex. I'm only disinfecting it. At the time, he didn't think much of it. A hospital needed to be clean, right? But after two weeks, he decided that something was wrong. He hadn't gotten his bag back, and the nurses and doctors had taken a sudden interest in him again.
The truth had hit him hard. The nurse had taken the bag to disinfect it. She had opened it. She had emptied it, and his notebook had opened up. She had read it. She knew everything.
She had read every single thing he had ever written.
And she must have told everyone else as well. So, he had no choice. He began to talk again, little by little, and then again only to tell them to go away. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to do anything. And the doctors seemed to be fine with that.
As long as he wasn't at risk of dying at any moment, they were fine.
The truth hurt, but he accepted it.
They didn't care about him at all.
So Alexander shut them out again. He closed all of his doors, and locked the windows. He didn't talk to anyone. He didn't look at anyone. He didn't even think about anyone.
Alexander Hamilton decided to just... watch.
And the doctors decided to double his dose.
He felt like he was just noticing everything again, from the patients to the actual ward.
The makeshift hospital the workers had put him was small, small and secluded, but the radio that had been placed near his bed told him everything he needed to know. He knew who was dead. He knew who had lived. He knew just how bad the hurricane had been.
He wanted to write about it. But the workers... they had taken his bag? He thought so, but he couldn't really remember. The medicine... It made him forget. He didn't like that. He didn't like not knowing what was going on. It also made him fall asleep, and the nurses didn't like that. They were constantly beside him, telling him to do this or to tell them that.
He reeeaaaalllly wanted to sleep.
But she wouldn't let him.
A nurse, from the island thankfully, was constantly at his side, and tried to get him to talk and chat all day long. She... She was the one who had taken his bag! He had tried to look at it, to see what she was doing with it. He had almost fainted when he saw that she was parading it around, showing the Americans what he had written.
Didn't he already go through this?
Didn't she know that it was labelled Private for a reason?
Did you write this Alexander? Did you? He didn't like the Americans. They asked too many questions, and they always said them sweetly, like they actually thought that he couldn't tell that it was fake. They were pitying him. He didn't like that. He was just a sick teenager from a poor island to them, and nothing more.
An American doctor, Ms. Amelia Barnes, was the only one who wasn't like that. She respected him. She was actually talking to a tall man at the moment, who was looking down the children and teenagers sadly. Alexander knew he was an army man. He knew the type.
"Alexander? We're just going to give you some more medicine right now, 'kay?" Alexander nodded stiffly at the nurse as she gave him the medicine. She was an American worker, from the Red Cross he heard. He didn't want to talk to her.
He didn't want to talk at all.
"You can relax now, if you like. We just need to talk to you later. 'Kay?" Another nod. He took the small pill that the doctors had given him, and popped it into his drink. He watched as it fizzled into nothingness, just like his future. He knew that it would help him sleep. He didn't drink it.
He didn't want to sleep either.
He just wanted to be better.
The doses of medicine were wearing off little by little, but his fever and ribs seemed to be getting worse. Well, actually, his ribs were getting better. It was the fever that wouldn't break.
The doctors were afraid that it would be the fever that finished him off.
Alexander wasn't too sure if they were relieved or scared about that.
The dose had almost weared off now, although the stuff the nurse had given him, for his fever, seemed to be kicking in. He felt like someone was putting a blanket over him. Over his brain. He had just enough sense left to screw his eyes shut.
Dr. Barnes and the man were at his bed now, flipping through his notes and journal. "Alexander Hamilton. He's been here for three weeks, with broken ribs and a fever. Refuses to talk to anybody that speaks English. A shame really. He writes so eloquently."
The man nodded absent-mindedly as he continued reading through the journal. "Wow. His writing is... astonishing. How old is he again?"
"He's fifteen years old. Seems a lot younger, doesn't he?" The doctor said sadly, putting his file down. "He might not make it through the night."
"What? Is it the fever or..."
"Fever. His body is exceptionally weak at the moment. And with people around here not being the healthiest anyways... I don't know. No one does. And it's not like we have all the equipment in the world. We can't get enough medicine and helpers out here. No one seems willing enough George." Amelia said before sitting in the seat beside the bed. He ignored her invitation to sit beside her.
They stood in silence for a while, and Alexander stayed deathly still. He wanted to know his chances. He wanted to know if he would die, and if he did, if his doctor would care.
It would be nice if someone would.
"Is he the one, General? I mean, he fits your description perfectly. And there's not a lot of fifteen year old boys with the surname 'Hamilton' on Nevis." The doctor asked, still staring at the boy in the bed.
Alexander couldn't trust himself to even breathe. Who the hell was this man?
Alexander could feel the General nod. "I promised. I'm a man of my word, and Martha is perfectly fine with it."
"She must be some woman."
Alexander could feel the pain in his doctor's voice. The man, the General, could too. "I'm sorry Amelia but... you know-"
"It wasn't meant to be."
"Exactly. I'm so sorry. I'll be back tomorrow to finalize the details." He heard the man leave, and Dr. Barnes stomp off.
He only let out his breath when the lights were turned off.
He wasn't too sure if he was more scared of dying or who that man was.
-:-
Ah, so. Hamilton is my latest obsession. This is... whatever it is. But Jesus, I swear I have a plot and everything. So stick around... IF YOU DARE! Mwahahaha. Jokes.
Anyways, REVIEW and FOLLOW and tell me what you want to see.