I wrote a lot of Broadway fanfiction between 2016-2017. It helped me deal with a lot. So here's another one-shot from that time. This is both fan and historical fiction. I am a history nerd. I actually did a little bit of research to write this.
Also, this is left to interpretation. The more than friends narrative can mean a lot of things. It doesn't have to be romantic.
Words: 1073
A Letter
Alexander sent his final letter to his best friend, John, on August 15. He had no idea that it would be his final letter to his dear John. After almost three weeks, he finally received a letter. On his way to his office, his wife stopped him.
"Alexander, there is a letter for you," Eliza explained, holding a single envelope in her hand.
"It's from Laurens. He has finally responded. I will read it later."
"No. It's from his father." She explained, grabbing Alexander's attention.
"His father? Why would Henry write to me?" Alexander went from content to concerned in a matter of second. "I- is he alright?"
"I do not know. Is there a reason his father would write to you?" She asked.
"Nothing that comes to mind. Give it here." He reached out. Eliza handed him the envelope. He walked to his office and closed the door. Sitting at his desk, he took out his letter opener and held it in his hand, hesitating. After a few moments, he finally opened the envelope, pulling out the letter. It read:
Mr. Hamilton,
On Tuesday, the twenty-seventh, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops, while retreating to South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting three-thousand men for the first all-black military regiment. His dreams of freedom for those men die with him.
Sincerely,
Henry Laurens
Alexander could not comprehend what the letter had said. He sat at his desk for almost two hours, re-reading the letter. John couldn't be- he just couldn't. Alexander couldn't bring himself to even think it. He didn't want to.
"Alexander?" Eliza knocked on his office door. "Is everything alright?" After a few moments of silence, she opened the door, concerned for her husband.
"John is dead." He explained, not looking at her.
"I'm sorry."
"I have work to attend to." The crack in his voice killed Eliza. She knew how close Alexander and John were. They knew each other longer than anyone else. She nodded, leaving his office.
Alexander worked a few more hours before Eliza called him for dinner. They ate together that night, but Alexander was almost completely silent. It wasn't normal for him to be so quiet. But Eliza didn't question it. She knew he was mourning the death of his friend. And it pained her that there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. But she didn't know John was more than Alexander's best friend.
The Funeral
Alexander stood in front of the closed casket. He didn't even get a chance to see his dear John's face one last time.
"Alexander?" Henry grabbed his attention. Alexander looked at the older man.
"How are you, Henry?" Alexander extended his hand.
"He never got your final letter," Henry explained, ignoring the younger man's hand. "It was among his belongings, but he never opened it."
"Oh- well that's John. Waiting for the last possible moment."
"But I did open it. And I read it. That's why I wrote to you, Alexander."
"Oh."
"Promise me that you will protect my son's legacy."
"Of course."
"No one is to ever know the contents of that letter. Or any other letter you two have shared. Do you understand me?" Henry asked. Alexander nodded. "Thank you for coming."
"I wanted to bid him a final goodbye." Alexander placed his hand on the casket. "The world will feel the loss of a man who left few like him behind." Henry nodded and walked away. Alexander sighed.
"It's a tragedy." The accent caught Alexander mid-thought. "He died after the war was over. The world is cruel." Alexander turned to see Marquis. "How are you pulling through?"
"John is dead. I don't know. I- I feel the loss of a friend whom I truly and most tenderly loved." Alexander explained.
"He will be missed, but we will never forget him. Laurens was-" Marquis took a deep breath. "Mulligan and I are going to the tavern for drinks tonight. Please joins us. We'll pour one out for Laurens."
"I won't promise anything, but I'll try to make it." Marquis nodded, patting Alexander's shoulder. Eliza sat in the back of the parlor, furthest from the casket. She hadn't known John as Alexander had. She barely knew him at all.
That Night
Alexander never made it out to the tavern that night. He stayed in the parlor, staring at the casket, waiting to be alone. After a few hours, it was just him and Henry.
"You're not going out to drinks with the boys?" Henry asked, getting up.
"No. I am not in the mood for a drink tonight. I much would rather stay sober."
"Alexander-" The older man placed his hand on Alexander's shoulder. "Thank you for coming. I know my son would have appreciated it."
"He- was the closest friend I have- had." Alexander took a deep breath, never moving his eyes off the casket.
"Goodnight, Alexander." Waiting for Henry to leave, Alexander got up and stood before the casket, placing both of his hands on it.
"My dear John. You did not deserve to die this way. But we- we won. e won the war are we are starting our own nation now. Your death will not be in vain. I will protect and continue your legacy. I will take care of your wife and daughter financially for as long as I can. I will-" Getting choked up, he stopped for a few moments. "I love you, John. I will always love you. Until my dying days." He gave up fighting the tears. They all came at once, hitting the ebony wood of the casket. He leaned over the casket and wept as he had never wept. Not even when his mother died.
"Alexander?" It was Eliza. She had left hours before, but she returned, concerned. Alexander ignored her and didn't bother to move. She walked to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I am truly sorry." She told him before he shook her hands off.
"Leave me!" He snapped, making her jump back.
"Alexander?" The concern in her voice made him look at her. His eyes, red and raw. His cheeks, wet with tears. "I'm sorry."
"Leave me." It was a plea. Without another sound, she left him in the parlor alone. He kissed the casket and whispered one last thing before leaving:
"I love you."
Also, this is left to interpretation. The more than friends narrative can mean a lot of things. It doesn't have to be romantic.
Words: 1073
A Letter
Alexander sent his final letter to his best friend, John, on August 15. He had no idea that it would be his final letter to his dear John. After almost three weeks, he finally received a letter. On his way to his office, his wife stopped him.
"Alexander, there is a letter for you," Eliza explained, holding a single envelope in her hand.
"It's from Laurens. He has finally responded. I will read it later."
"No. It's from his father." She explained, grabbing Alexander's attention.
"His father? Why would Henry write to me?" Alexander went from content to concerned in a matter of second. "I- is he alright?"
"I do not know. Is there a reason his father would write to you?" She asked.
"Nothing that comes to mind. Give it here." He reached out. Eliza handed him the envelope. He walked to his office and closed the door. Sitting at his desk, he took out his letter opener and held it in his hand, hesitating. After a few moments, he finally opened the envelope, pulling out the letter. It read:
Mr. Hamilton,
On Tuesday, the twenty-seventh, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops, while retreating to South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting three-thousand men for the first all-black military regiment. His dreams of freedom for those men die with him.
Sincerely,
Henry Laurens
Alexander could not comprehend what the letter had said. He sat at his desk for almost two hours, re-reading the letter. John couldn't be- he just couldn't. Alexander couldn't bring himself to even think it. He didn't want to.
"Alexander?" Eliza knocked on his office door. "Is everything alright?" After a few moments of silence, she opened the door, concerned for her husband.
"John is dead." He explained, not looking at her.
"I'm sorry."
"I have work to attend to." The crack in his voice killed Eliza. She knew how close Alexander and John were. They knew each other longer than anyone else. She nodded, leaving his office.
Alexander worked a few more hours before Eliza called him for dinner. They ate together that night, but Alexander was almost completely silent. It wasn't normal for him to be so quiet. But Eliza didn't question it. She knew he was mourning the death of his friend. And it pained her that there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. But she didn't know John was more than Alexander's best friend.
The Funeral
Alexander stood in front of the closed casket. He didn't even get a chance to see his dear John's face one last time.
"Alexander?" Henry grabbed his attention. Alexander looked at the older man.
"How are you, Henry?" Alexander extended his hand.
"He never got your final letter," Henry explained, ignoring the younger man's hand. "It was among his belongings, but he never opened it."
"Oh- well that's John. Waiting for the last possible moment."
"But I did open it. And I read it. That's why I wrote to you, Alexander."
"Oh."
"Promise me that you will protect my son's legacy."
"Of course."
"No one is to ever know the contents of that letter. Or any other letter you two have shared. Do you understand me?" Henry asked. Alexander nodded. "Thank you for coming."
"I wanted to bid him a final goodbye." Alexander placed his hand on the casket. "The world will feel the loss of a man who left few like him behind." Henry nodded and walked away. Alexander sighed.
"It's a tragedy." The accent caught Alexander mid-thought. "He died after the war was over. The world is cruel." Alexander turned to see Marquis. "How are you pulling through?"
"John is dead. I don't know. I- I feel the loss of a friend whom I truly and most tenderly loved." Alexander explained.
"He will be missed, but we will never forget him. Laurens was-" Marquis took a deep breath. "Mulligan and I are going to the tavern for drinks tonight. Please joins us. We'll pour one out for Laurens."
"I won't promise anything, but I'll try to make it." Marquis nodded, patting Alexander's shoulder. Eliza sat in the back of the parlor, furthest from the casket. She hadn't known John as Alexander had. She barely knew him at all.
That Night
Alexander never made it out to the tavern that night. He stayed in the parlor, staring at the casket, waiting to be alone. After a few hours, it was just him and Henry.
"You're not going out to drinks with the boys?" Henry asked, getting up.
"No. I am not in the mood for a drink tonight. I much would rather stay sober."
"Alexander-" The older man placed his hand on Alexander's shoulder. "Thank you for coming. I know my son would have appreciated it."
"He- was the closest friend I have- had." Alexander took a deep breath, never moving his eyes off the casket.
"Goodnight, Alexander." Waiting for Henry to leave, Alexander got up and stood before the casket, placing both of his hands on it.
"My dear John. You did not deserve to die this way. But we- we won. e won the war are we are starting our own nation now. Your death will not be in vain. I will protect and continue your legacy. I will take care of your wife and daughter financially for as long as I can. I will-" Getting choked up, he stopped for a few moments. "I love you, John. I will always love you. Until my dying days." He gave up fighting the tears. They all came at once, hitting the ebony wood of the casket. He leaned over the casket and wept as he had never wept. Not even when his mother died.
"Alexander?" It was Eliza. She had left hours before, but she returned, concerned. Alexander ignored her and didn't bother to move. She walked to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I am truly sorry." She told him before he shook her hands off.
"Leave me!" He snapped, making her jump back.
"Alexander?" The concern in her voice made him look at her. His eyes, red and raw. His cheeks, wet with tears. "I'm sorry."
"Leave me." It was a plea. Without another sound, she left him in the parlor alone. He kissed the casket and whispered one last thing before leaving:
"I love you."
Comments
Post a Comment