The Age of Hamilton

Chapter 1

A low rolling of the meniscus of water causes the boat to quiver like a leaf. The opponent wedged to his word like paste on wood. Said words quickly morphed into the desperate ramblings of a drunken man. The sky appears to be on fire. Glowing with vibrant yellows and opulent oranges. There's some light purple and dark pink to the early morning sky as well. The sky slowly merges to the familiar oceanic blue. The energies from the sun pokes out from over the contour of foliage. 

Alexander eyes the foliage cautiously. Against the crystal azure water, the brightness of the sun blurs with the darkness of the early morning. Not a single bird chirps. There's no noise causing me to stiffen. His eyes flash dangerously. He feels the tension in the air. Plucking it like strings on a harp. 

No. 

Pride. The cocking of the pistol breaks the tension. The snapping of twigs from behind him snaps his examination of the terrain. Hilly Dry. He stands stoic. His friend and second, Nathaniel Pendleton approaches William Van Ness in a last ditch effort to discuss a peace. The conversation grows louder. Hamilton winces as he scans the area before meeting eyes with the doctor. He shifts from foot to foot. By the look in Aaron Burr's eyes, the two back away from each other. So, they were really doing this. The doctor, dressed in a brown jacket and slacks steps forward. A smoothly polished box is in his hands. The box is drawn open. Revealing two twin flintlock dueling pistols. 

Alexander inhales sharply. Dear God give me strength to see this through. Then another thought charges through. 

Are they the same weapons? He accepts the weapon rather reluctantly. Unconsciously, he fiddles with the trigger. No. He glances up. Why would I agree to this? 

There is no confidence in the air. None of Hamilton's youthful arrogance. He finds himself trembling. Staring down Lady Death's scythe just as he had during the American Revolution. It is said that he who hesitates is lost. In short the proverb means that he who pauses is abandoned. 

Forgotten. 

Alexander's hesitation flutters, beating its fins against the water. The sky brightens as my mind realizes what I could do. 

Be home for Elizabeth. Step to the side. 

Yet if he is to die, what would--No! 

Light and darkness. 

Opposites. 

Is this how he truly wishes to be remembered? He glares down Aaron Burr. This moment. This flicker in time, Alexander could hear the silent beating of drums then they cease. There is no noise. No rhythm. No melodic clash of notes. Not a mess of notes cascading through the strings of a violin. Not the howling of the trees against air currents. How does one describe silence without describing noise? How does one describe true anxiety? 

Am I anxious? 

Of course. 

Is there confidence in knowing that you are walking to your death? What is life without death? 

The scythe rises to the sky. There's the undeniable crack of the pistol. It freezes. Lodging itself into the bark of a tree. Burr fires next. The bullet seems to freeze. Darkness greets his visage for a moment, yet Alexander is neither frozen nor mobile. There's this odd middle ground. Guilt. Innocence. Back to guilt. 

No. 

He is quick. He steps to the side. Guilt for the disloyalty to Elizabeth occupies his mind once more. Innocence. That word repeats in his mind. He lowers his head immediately, dropping the pistol. An innocent child is dead in Manhattan because of me. His blood stains his hands. Philip is dead because of him. Embarrassment, fury and a myriad of other emotions courses through his being. He swallows hard, his very political career staring down at me. My pride still exists within me. The surprise and anger on Burr's face is one that requires a sketch. The beating of drums suddenly returns with a fervor and I stumble back to my feet. I walk toward Burr.