This one was really hard to make my own as many already knew his backstory, and I just had to modernize it. I guess it was almost easy in terms of plot though! Not really historically accurate though -C
The Hamiltons were not the most respected family. Not even close. Rachel Faucette and James Hamilton, the lack of the same last name bringing shame. They were in charge of the household. Then, James Jr. became the apple of James' eyes. Alexander came second, and he was not the one who was doted upon.
James loved James Jr. much more. That much was obvious. When Alex got a scrape, he got a pat on the head. When James Jr. got a scrape, he was practically shipped to the ER room. His mother would come in at night and apologize, but she never changed it. She loved James too much to really see the fault in that action.
Until both James' skipped out on them. Alex remembered going down the staircase, clinging to the banister as his mother grabbed onto the suitcase his 'father' held. James Jr. was already in the car. The only form of transportation they had. Debt was going to rip it away from them in days.
"Momma? Papa?" Alex had squeaked, not feeling like a bold ten-year-old at all.
James had ripped his way free of Rachel. "Keep an eye on her, Alex."
"Where are you going?"
"It doesn't matter," James snapped and headed out the door. He slammed it, and Alex could hear the car start up.
He had never had a father, truly. That day all but proved it to him.
Life was manageable. They were forced to move to a ramshackle apartment building, and Alex had to practically get a job himself. But he was happy. Just him and his mom. Alexander and Rachel.
The flu swept around hard the year he had turned twelve. It was a special strain or something because the Tylenol didn't help. Neither did heating pads, cooling strips, cough syrup, or rest. No amount of icy showers brought down his temperature or his mom.
At some point, Alex crawled into Rachel's bed. He spent days half-conscious, delirious. Imagining a freckled boy or a blue-clad girl. But he'd try to speak, and only bile would come out.
His mother stopped moving. He cried and screamed to the best of his ability as she was moved away from him. He didn't want to be left. Be an orphan. But she was torn away from him, and Alex sobbed.
Eventually, the never-ending heat faded. He got better, slowly and surely. He did physical training to use his muscles again.
Alex quickly learned his best muscle was his mind as his body might not ever recover from that strain and make him a prime athlete.
His cousin took him in after he was free from the hospital. Alex had wobbled in on shaking legs, looking around the house. It wasn't like his. It wasn't bright and cluttered, full of knickknacks that Rachel and Alex had collected. Trash to some, stories for others. And Alex delighted in making his mother laugh by telling their stories.
It was a dark house. Almost disturbing. It gave off a very gothic, emo vibe with all of the blackness. Alex knew better than to complain though. His cousin was one of the only people who would take him in.
It took another year for his cousin's true side to come out. Alex found the rope. He confronted his cousin, begging him not to hang himself.
Alex's words meant nothing.
Instead of hanging himself, a gunshot went off.
Alex quickly learned the only way to get by in life was talking quick, getting your point across, and working ten times harder than anyone else. He got various jobs, moved in with a random family that he was rarely ever saw. He was determined to not make anymore family. Anymore friends. At least, not until he was old enough to fend for himself if something bad would occur. Right now, it appeared that badness often revolved around poor Alexander.
He enjoyed his new home in the end. He showed his writings off, covered the walls with the writings. He couldn't stop writing. Couldn't stop moving.
He wasn't the most important person. Even through his years of fighting and being loud, he never truly became important. He finally turned seventeen. There wasn't too much fanfare about that. Just a small cupcake he baked himself and a candle he had to find and blow out gently.
Life was normal though. His money stash was getting thicker and thicker. He would be able to flee somewhere else soon enough. Somewhere he could truly be safe. Maybe America. Maybe Britain or France or something in between. Alex wasn't sure where exactly, but things were really started to look up.
Then, it occurred.
They had always been plagued by the sirens. The warnings hurricanes were coming. But they were always false alarms. Alex thought of them as more of an inconvenience than anything else. After all, he had to deal with the sirens all the time.
It soon proved stupid.
The hurricane came with a force, wrecking havoc. He had screamed as the lights broke, spluttering and dying as the water seeped into the wires. Electricity danced over any free wires, showing the deadliness. He had to race up the stairs as the water started flooding through the windows. The windows shattered, the glass scraping against his arms and the blood started gushing out. Alex kept running though.
The sounds of his foster family's screams dwindled down to nothing. He just hoped that it meant they finally felt safe once more. However, with the furniture whipping around and striking the walls, and the wind too strong for him to stand up, Alex would think they were insane if they felt safe.
But it was better than the alternative. Death.
Deep within the attic, deep within his room, Alex started imagining death. He screamed and cried and wailed as pictures of his family past flashed in his eyes. He remembered the feelings of abandonment, despair as James and James Jr. left him for good. The groggy feeling of finally walking up and realizing that oh. It wasn't a dream. His mother was really, truly, utterly gone. She was never going to come back. The way he refused to open the bathroom door, just called the police and suggested what he believed had happened. If only the belief hasn't come through. If only...
The storm died down.
Alex crawled out of the rubble and debris, bloodied and looking like an absolute wreck. Many others were following his actions. His neighbors were devastated and hurt. His town had crashed down around him.
He saw sprawled limbs, empty gazes, and so much death. He saw his foster mom trapped under a pillar, shielding his foster father with her body. Crushed. Akin to roadkill.
Alex wanted to cry and sob, but he had a job to do.
He had to start the preparations. To rebuild the town. To rebuild a life for others in his hometown. To rebuild himself.
Alex's writings were what got him out of it. His beautiful words. Everyone drew comfort from that as the town was rebuilt from ashes. They were phoenixes.
Little did he know that they were passing a plate around for him. For his journey to America because Alex had spent so much money on them. Helped them with his secret cashe, with his inheritance money.
They sent him off on a boat. And as much as Alex hated water because it reminded him of the hurricane, he couldn't help but be excited. He was on a course to New York.
To college. To a future his mother wanted him to have.
There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait.
