The more John laid on the floor, the more his vision blurred every few moments. Who knew that being dead was so painful and irritating? Keeping down his anger, John raised an eyebrow as he saw some spirits still lingering around the battlefield... did they not know that they could finally leave to where they wanted to?
Sighing, John shakily stood up in his feet to go talk to them, maybe he could finally get some sense of accomplishment, then again, any sort of feeling would make John happy. As he slowly made his way towards the soldiers, he took notice of how parched and skinny they had looked.
Blood coated one's head as a long gash that ran from his eye all they way down to his neck bled and bled--it showed no sign of stopping any time soon. "Erm... hey..." John mentally hit himself for being so awkward, sometimes, he hated how anxious he could get sometimes. Quickly, John fixed himself so he didn't look like too much of a clutz.
"Why are you two just standing around...? Don't you know that you're dead? I mean, you can practically do whatever the hell you'd like." John exaggerated, shaking himself back and forth on his feet slowly as he waited for any sort of response from the two.
One of the soldiers with bleeding, dark eyes that showed bone cackled as he tried to catch his breath, the amount of wheezing that was evident for the poor man made John feel terrible for him.
"Kid, we may be dead but that doesn't mean we can't hang around, have a nice cold beer, ya know?" Yup... John knew that feeling all too well. The bleeding eyes from the soldier almost looked like dark pits, the skull could be seen as many torn piece of flesh curved around the open wound onto his skin.
Honestly, John didn't know what in the fuck was going on with these dead spirits... was he the only semi-normal one around? As soon as John was going to open his mouth to respond, the other soldier interrupted him quickly with: "The name's Clark, the guy with the bleeding eyes, that's Timothy. We're waiting for our spirit animal to come pick us up.
Then, we can finally leave to the good afterlife. Not any of this jumble wumble shit just waiting around. Besides, who needs to be so quick with everything, it's not like we're in any sort of rush." Clark declared, picking his fingernails nervously as he continued on waiting for the think they had called their "spirit" animals.
John could only hope that his spirit animal was turtle. Man would that be the dream. "Spirit animal? So those are real?! Wow, I can't wait to see mi-" John's eagerness was cut short when Timothy added in, "About that... only the most honorable get those. Considering I've never heard or seen one thing about you, I would think you don't get one." Timothy mumbled rudely, Timothy probably could not even tell how rude he was been towards John.
"Sorry to break it to you buddy, but you won't be getting one, not now, not anytime soon. So get rid of the bubble that makes you think you'll get one." Timothy snapped, blinking his bleeding eyes as blood splattered onto his face with every blink and every swift motion with his eyes.
John closed his eyes as little drops of blood landed onto his face. Wiping it off with his freckled hands, John couldn't believe the words coming out of Timothy's mouth. Did everybody really think of him like that? Just as some speck of sand that will soon wash away with the sand?
He couldn't believe a single word that was popping out of the man's mouth. "That can't be true... I'm Hamilton's best friend, his partner in crime. Surely you have heard of me before, as one of the most bravest soldiers? I challenged Charles Lee to a duel for Heaven's sake!" John shouted, stomping his foot. Alright, maybe the jealousy was beginning to get to him, but John would never openly admit to such a fact.
The freckled man was shocked as he saw the two soldiers nod their head. "Mhm~ That Hamilton wiped you from his history a while ago my friend, ever since the marriage between Eliza and him has gotten more intimate, he has taken no regard to any of you. Even that French one and the Horse loving one, nope!" Timothy laughed, dragging out the nope as he clamped Clark on the shoulder, as if being abandoned by your own friend was something to laugh about.
Shaking his head, John continued to ignore the fact. These soldiers seemed too obstinate to know what they were talking about. Maybe they were delusional for waiting so long? How would Timothy and Clark even know Alexander? Did they fight by his side? Growling under his breath, John narrowed his eyes at the two, beginning to grow suspicious of their true intentions. Straightening his posture in a threatining manner, John got into a battle stance, ready to pounce like a lion stalking it's prey. "You tell me how you know Alex if you want to keep your heads."
When the soldiers stayed silent, John felt the anger in him grow even more. Stepping forward, John felt his breathing quicken as he glared at the two. "Tell me! Now!" He yelled. The freckled man couldn't deal with the silence any longer--it was tormenting, more tormenting than the hard, cold truth. Before John lunged at the two, he heard a small, barely audible snicker coming from Timothy. Gulping, John fixed his stance, looking much more relaxed though. Like a small kitten, John asked quietly: "What's so funny...?" John questioned Timothy, his eyes widening when Timothy's eyes began to gush blood faster.
Oh God?! What has he done? Thoughts raced in John's head as he tried to figure out why the dark, almost black blood was endlessly flowing out of the two sockets. "Are you really asking us how we know?" Timothy's anger seemed to grow as he the laughter grew louder and louder as the seconds ticked past. This wasn't good, not at all. "We know everything!" Timothy began to shout, the faint sound of children screaming radiated in the back of the dark voice. Soon, the little screams were replaced with more giggles of dead children, the world seemed to grow dark around him.
Before he knew it, Timothy was lunging at him not the other way around, yelling in fear, John scrambled to get away but he was too late, the dead man was already on him and not taking any spare moments to give him an extra breath. So this was the- wait, he was already dead, what did he have to worry about? As John's vision began to clear, he saw that the man's bloodied eyes were leaking onto him. Holding in a noise of disgust, John tried to crawl away, but he seemed to be glued to the grass. Smirking up at Timothy, John provoked, "What'cha going to do? Rub a little bit of-" John was cut off as Timothy scratched him hard, fuck did this guy have long nails.
Gasping, John felt the all too familiar trickle of blood roll down his face. Closing his eye, John brought his hand up to his eye and clutched it. Pain radiated through his body as he held in his screams, he had to look strong. His breath quivering, John regained the strength to push Timothy off of him. Removing his hand, John saw the hand was soaked with blood. His nails must have done him good, because he never bleeded this bad. Never. He was John Laurens, a Laurens never bleeds or cries. Breathing in a staggered breath, John opened his bleeding eye with much of a struggle, wincing when the eye finally opened, John stared at the man. Finally recollecting that he should run, he began to run.
John ran and ran, refusing to accept that Alex forgot him... they fought together, stayed up with each other each hellish night to comfort one another, and even healed their own wounds... there wasn't any way that Alex had no recognition of him. Frowning, John felt a sudden fire burn through his eyes as he could only imagine Alexander and that damned wife of his. He knew from the very start that Eliza would be trouble, but not this much trouble. It sickened him to the core. If he were still alive, he'd probably have fainted by now.
John knew he had no reason to believe the two soldiers, they may just be two knuckleheads looking for trouble. But then again, if there was a possibility that they were just two nutjobs, the possibility of all these harsh words being the truth could have been completely true. He wasn't ready for this kind of hurt, not yet. John refused to let the facts sink in, instead, he'd just have to find out himself, the only way he can. Visit Hamilton and his dearest Eliza to see the reality. Turning around and beginning to walk away, John ignored the teasing and yelling of the two soldiers as he continued on, having to ignore the painful slurs they threw at him. Not looking back, John walked and walked until the soldiers were only dim specks in the sunlight.
Licking his dried, chapped lips, John continued fighting back tears as he stumbled off, finally residing himself onto a tree stump to relax a bit. Licking some blood that leaked down his lips, John stuck his tongue out at the salty, grimy flavor that now filled his mouth. With the cut across his eye, John felt pain at every single movement, but he was too numb inside to care. Feeling the sudden urge to scratch his eye, John held back and decided to just put pressure on the wound, hoping that would help slow the bleeding down even a tiny bit.
Shakily putting up his hand, John pressed hard onto his eye, biting his lip when the pain began to grow and grow. Blood splattered onto the ground as the cut seemed relentless in stopping. Beginning to pant from the unbearable pain, John tried to stand back up, but he just couldn't find the strength. A simple cut shouldn't be giving him such pain though... what could have possibly made this an exception?