Hamilton Trash 2: The Sequel

Stay Alive (Reprise)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7—gunshot.
Silence.
A scream.
~

"Where is my son?!" Hamilton slung the door open pushing back the doctor who replied: "Mr. Hamilton, please come in! He was brought in thirty minutes ago. Unfortunately he had lost—" Hamilton wasn't listening. As the doctor rambled on about injuries, Hamilton's blood inside of him boiled, of anger, of fear, of guilt. "Is he alive?" He asked with such emotion, his voice interrupting Doctor Hosack's words. The doctor replied, "...Yes, he is, but you must understand what I am saying. The bullet went through his abdomen and into his right arm. It's a fatal wound—" "May I see him, please?!" Hamilton hollered, his expression the definition of pain. Why did he allow this to happen? Alone in his mind once again, Hamilton thought of his son, his poor, poor son...
The doctor resumed, talking of wounds and infections.
He didn't want to hear anymore of this and pushed the doctor away once more, revealing his feeble, pride-ruined son. Hamilton could barely whisper his name. The name he excitedly told the world when his son was born.
"Philip?"
"P-Pa..."
As Hamilton neared his son, he noticed the relieved smile on his face. As he noticed this, Hamilton realized this: Philip had been alone for half an hour waiting for his parents to comfort him. Hamilton couldn't bear it, bear to see his son in such a state like this.
"I-I did exactly as you said for me to do, Pa," Philip whispered, smiling in pain. "I stood w-with pride..." Hamilton sat near his son, struggling to stutter even the smallest of words. "Shh, I-I know," he whispered, too frightened to cry. "You did everything correctly, I'm sure you did." Philip continued, struggling to breath, "Even before we counted ten paces," he said, smiling once again.
Hamilton's heart plummeted at his son's smile. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't think at all, the only thing that mattered was his son. Not his career, not his affair, not his reputation, but his son.
It was usually difficult for one to break through Hamilton's complex, never ending mind, but somehow, his son did just that by lying down, helplessly fading...
"Philip, save your strength, you'll need it. Please, stay alive..!"
His voice broke.

"No!"
Eliza rushed in, an expression of utter terror on her face. "Eliza," Hamilton spoke, looking towards her as she ran to Philip.
Not to him—to Philip.
Hamilton's heart plummeted again.
"Is he breathing? Will he survive?!" Questions flooded through Eliza, the doctor unable to answer them.
"W-Who did this to him?!"
Hamilton looked to the ground. Eliza wouldn't want to look at him anyway. So why show your face to the person who could permanently damage you because they know your weaknesses?
Eliza spun to Hamilton, and in a moment of confusion Hamilton looked up at her.
"Did you know?!"
Her breaking voice pierced his ears, abs he looked down again.
"M-Ma, forgive me for not remembering what you taught me—" Philip choked. "you and I played piano..." Eliza nodded, tears streaming down her fear-stricken face. "Yes, I taught you piano! You would change the melody, change the tune!"
As Hamilton observed this, he thought that he should add something, to tell Philip something. But this was clearly not his time to ruin, as he had so many times before...

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf," Eliza spoke, Philip weakly repeating after her. Philip's eyes flickered.
Eliza continued,
"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf." As she repeated this over and over, Hamilton noticed his son hadn't been replying. He was searching for an explanation to this, one that was not obvious, not clear.
Eliza was still speaking, "Sept, huit, neuf—sept, huit..."
Hamilton reached a hand towards hos wife to comfort her, but drew back.
No. He couldn't.

He quickly glanced to her, her face struck with tears as she saw her son, her pale, numb, unfeeling son.
She screamed a bloodcurdling scream.
Hamilton's heart plummeted once again.

I'm sorry ;-;