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runningonnothing-blog1 · 5 years

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Hamilton: A Memory

<> Slight authors notes here: I had to write this for an English class and I’m stupidly proud of it! I know I disappeared but IM BACK!

<> Prompt: Write a challenging time in someone else perspective, the challenge must be based on that person and something they’ve gone through.

<> Word Count: 1345

In the eye of the hurricane, there is quiet. Just for a moment, a yellow sky.

I remember that day like none other. The wind, the rain, the loneliness without another sitting beside me. Just a boy, just a rascal of a teenage boy. Too smart for his own good, that's what they all thought. When the hurricane hit, it turned my tiny island home upside down along with its people. I thought it was over for me, for everyone, for everything.

At only 17 you’re still considered a kid. Just breaking from your parents, continuing onto a post-secondary school, completing a fulfilled life. Unfortunately, God had another plan, another fate for me. He had personally picked a continuous hell for me, dragging it on for the decades I lived.

When I was seventeen a hurricane destroyed my town. I didn’t drown, I couldn’t seem to die.

But that Hurricane. The Hurricane of 1772. It started at dusk, North of the island of St. Croix. The damage could never be compared to the war we suffered years later. The buildings and family homes level to the ground, water brackish and full of sulfur, no bed or roof to rely on. Those who aren’t troubled with sickness lay dead, defeated, under various rubble. The harbor was swept entirely clean, no boat nor sailor left behind from its wrath. The shrieks of the suffering still echo and bang around this full mind of mine, even years later.

I wrote my way out. Wrote everything down as far as I could see. I wrote my way out.

It was when the unsettling calm came over our skies. The sound seemed to slow, the scene seemed to quiet. That's when I realized that I wasn’t scared, nor calm. Panicked, nor helpless. The nights' call and the days that silenced them dragged on after that fateful day. The people were hurt, the people were quieted. The once busy streets of my island home rested similar to that of deaths embrace.

I looked up and the town had its eyes on me.

The rascal of a boy they once distrusted, threw around, neglected, was now one of their only sources of light. After God heard our prayers, the lighting ceased, winds are appeased, the warring elements reconciled… I wrote. Everything. I shared our story, I shared our times of fear and our times of rejoice. When the town came together, it was a total turn around from the days ruined by the storm.

They passed a plate around. Total strangers moved to kindness by my story.

“Did you hear of him? The boy?” one would whisper as he passed by.

“Yes, the one whos spends his day, rushing, writing,” the other would answer.

“New York? Is the boy crazy?” another would join, total disbelief in his voice.

Only once I had been approached by one boy much smaller than me, but I could see myself in his eyes. The desperate need for freedom. Perhaps that's why he sat his boney self next to me that day. “They call you insane, sir. Is this true?” He asked, not having the mannerisms to introduce himself. I never learned his name.

“They may call one crazy, but to know if he’s truly crazy, one must look beyond the speech,” I answered, keeping the fidgeting hands at the seat of my pants. Clearly, the boy wasn’t bothered at the growing population around them.

“But your words, on your papers. They won’t get you to the state of New York? Will they?” The young boy persisted, leaning closer to me. He had questions that weren’t going to go unanswered.

A small sigh came from my lips, “So you’ve read my piece, then?” The boy simply nodded, a smile spreading on his pale face, “The Royal Danish American Gazette, my boy, they were so astonished by my placement of words.”

“You sir, they liked your writing?” Another from the growing crowd asked, “They like a clerks writing, he says!” the older women continued, sending herself into a pitiful fit of laughter.

An older man came around with a bucket, in it only a few peoples worth of muddied vegetables. His tired and worn eyes met my own, his frail hand held a carrot to my own bloodied fingers. “He has much to write about, Alexander, so many traumas he has faced,” the tired eyes of his showed sympathy, “much worse than the horrid skies we just faced.”

“Yes, I heard his cousin went and fell for the noose,” A new voice beside me spoke, “And his mother passed on holding him at only the age of twelve! Deathly sick they say, but death didn’t grab him.” They spoke as if it was some story told by an elder, the laughter sitting their voices as if they were mocking me.

New York, despite what their belittled mouths spat, was closer in my mind than heart. I was to prove the Scotman who is said to be my father wrong. I was to prove all of the ones who called me crazy wrong. I wrote. I taught myself phrases and phrases, endless paragraphs and papers filled to the brim. Perhaps this was out of spite, perhaps this is out of emotional trauma.

With my father who ran out of the house when I was merely breathing the age of ten, and my poor sickly mother gone when I was nearly grasping twelve. She was sick and she was holding me, holding me so tight. That of which a mothers hold can never be beat. I was forced into my cousins embrace soon after… But as they all know, he was left trapped in his mind. His worsening state lead him to a chair and a noose. I found him only that night.

Now at seventeen, I was climbing the rugged steps of a ship that would sail towards a new life. This was the time I was given a free pass by the Father himself. I had a hope that the tremendous hell I’ve been living would pause, give me the break I needed… A chance to start over, a new life I could lead. No one knows me in this strange state, strange city. A revolution is what I need.

Raised enough for me to book a passage on a ship that was New York bound.

The harbor. The ships. The minds of eager young men as the approach dawns nearer and nearer. I could explain this three times over if one honoured men asked me. Each man and woman aboard this rickety treasure had a reason as to why they sat on the rotting wood. I refrain from nodding their ears off with my pointless paragraphs of answers, allowing myself only to the simple sentences required.

They’d ask where I came from, my family, my work, what I did to deserve to be accepted into Princeton… It always turning into the same answer over and over. I wrote, my father left, I grew up worthwhile. It was never anything more, never anything less. But soon it would be more, way more than I ever expected to share.

I hope to meet my bride here. A wonderful woman who will always keep me in her interests. An even better fresh start with children of my own… Little ones to soon carry out the legacy I’ll create in this foreign land. This land doesn’t know my name, but soon, soon it will. It will be called throughout these streets, the papers, the skies.

When the ship lurched to a stop, the calls of the dock boys below bellowed through my ears, previously captive of my own thoughts. I understood now. This is all I needed. A wake-up call, a wake-up call to a reality I’ve always wanted. Now I have it. I can grasp anything here, I can grab it, take it for my own. This world is now mine to manipulate. No one else can poke and prod into my business… This is mine.

#hamilton #short story #runningonnothing #lin manuel miranda #alexander hamilton #musical

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runningonnothing-blog1 · 6 years

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What’s In Store?

<> Slight authors notes here: This is a story format I’m not used to but I’m willing to push the boundaries. This was super fun to write and it was a beauty to come up with a storyline. ENJOY!

<> Prompt: The world goes through 2000 year natural cycles of magic and non-magic. The non-magical cycle is about to end any day now. (from @writing-prompt-s)

<> Word count: 1932

17 year old Alexis sat in the corner of the business room, watching as the officials scrambled around like chickens. They were trying to figure out the plan for trying to live through what they call ‘The Turning’. Every two thousand ears, a terrible fate would be lowered on the humans of the earth. The globe would be washed somehow of every mortal, and replaced by another. Every Turning it was different. They say the last one consisted of everyone having the urge to do an insane thing. Over half the population was killed by cliff diving, and the other half all died in strange ways to add. Now the two thousand years of normal humans was about to end, and was going to be replaced by the ‘Magics’. It’s something they focus a lot on in school, and more recently than ever.

Alexis’ dad was one of the head officials of the department that deals with huge crises. Mr. Boe was his name, and he was well known throughout the country. He was always calm, cool, and collected. Everyone looked up to him, but unfortunately he took that to his advantage. Now, Mr. Boe looks like a fool yelling at everyone to calm down, yet he looked like his own eyes were popping out of their sockets. Alexis was dragged around to each of his stupid little meetings, and happens to now be the calm one out of the twenty five men in the room.

While lounging in the corner, she’s adjusted her position many times in the past hour. Alexis has learned to not care about what others thought of her clothing here, everyone knew her as ‘Mr. Boes daughter’, she never heard ‘Alexis’. Any other person in her position would have been in the sea of confused, panicking men… But she has internally accepted her fate as a whole. Humans of the past have never been able to survive this epidemic, and no one knows how we even have knowledge of this being true.

Standing, Alexis sauntered tiredly over to the large pane of glass, only to see the streets filled with people below her. She sighed, almost frustrated with their stupidity. Parents carried their children across the street, people paid hundreds more for groceries, and everyone was on edge constantly.

“ALEXIS! Get away from the glass!” Mr. Boe screamed, and the whole room came to a stop. The silence caused an icy tension to fill the room, everyone's heads slowly turned and their eyes burned into Alexis’ back. After rolling her eyes, she turned on her heels in annoyance. Each of the officials, held the most bewildered look on their faces.

“What? Is it going to break?” As if almost on cue, the glass did break. Out of surprise Alexis dove forward onto the brown leather sofa, backing away from the many dangerous shards. The ear shattering sound continued… and continued… and continued. Alexis sat upward, propping her one elbow to hold her back up, and used her other hand to check her plain blue tee for shards. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a loose bun so she didn’t need to worry about that. Once Alexis clicked back into reality, she looked around to see everyone still staring at the window, she joined them out of curiosity. It’s not like a large, bulletproof piece of glass would just… shatter? Right?

What they all thought wasn’t possible, happened. Once her eyes caught the other buildings, she noticed a somewhat repeating pattern. Every window that was designed to be bulletproof has shattered. Screams and crying sounded from below, police sirens rang. All twenty six people in the room stood in utter disbelief, the silence now filled with heavy thoughts.

“It’s begun.” Alexis breathed.

After only being a day since the first ‘wave’ hit, Alexis was extremely done with how everyone was acting. Her dad insisted to have her go back to work with him today, but she denied and promised to go get the groceries, and be back home… and stay home. Alexis new that wasn't going to happen, because even she was tired of being cooped up, even if it was for only twenty eight hours. She didn’t bother with the list, because her dad went totally crazy with items… They didn’t need 8 large flats of water bottles.

Pulling herself out of bed, Alexis pulled her long blonde hair out of her loose messy bun and threw it over her shoulders. After putting on black leggings and her favourite coral pink long sleeve shirt on, she looked closely at her face in her bathroom mirror. No need for makeup today… She thought to herself. Afterall, I might die today. Grabbing her purse, she slipped on her white converse shoes. Alexis gripped the golden door handle, as a small thought in the back bothered her in the back of her head. She ignored it, dismissed it along with all her worries. She had read somewhere that death comes easier if you aren’t afraid, hopefully it’s true, as she didn’t seem to care one bit. Alexis traveled down the busy Washington streets, not wanting to bother with her car, people would have yelled at her that it was too dangerous anyways.

Once she entered the supermarket, filled with people filling their carts to the brim, she sighed. All she needed was a jug of milk, eggs and maybe her favourite chocolate bar. Making her way to the isle that held eggs, she grabbed her needed item. Alexis noticed a single jar of pickles that was left, and as she reached for the jar, another pair of hands met her own.

An older woman with two young children who clung to her legs stared at her with pleading eyes, “please, my dear, let us have this jar.”

Alexis looked at this little woman in confusion, her eyes narrowed, “but I want this for my snack later.”

“So you don’t know that pickles are supposed to last the longest? How dare you waste something like this! Give it to me!” The mother yelled, tightening her grasp.

“Hmm, not like I wanted cheese and crackers anyways.” Alexis let go of the glass jar, and the mother clung it to her chest.

“Good choice.” she snarled, running off with her cart filled with other various items.

Alexis shrugs this behavior off and wanders to the baking isle. Maybe she could bake cookies instead, or some sort of bread. She’s noticed how desperate people of come, though the first wave just hit twenty eight hours ago. Once her eyes meet the sugar, next to it was the flour. Which was where a bunch of boys were tearing them open. There were about five or six of them, one of which was peering interestingly at the vanilla on the shelf next to him.

“Come on guys, you might get us arrested, get your heads straight.” He said, putting down his hood. It revealed messy long brown hair, and a fairly sharp jawline. When he turned to face Alexis, she noticed how he seemed to have a constant smirk. She went to reach for the last bag of flour, but one of the goofs on the floor grabbed it before her hands were even in a foots radius. He tore it open, and added to the growing pile on the floor.

“What’s next? The eggs?” Alexis scoffed, holding her own close to her. Maybe instead a tasty omelette will help satisfy her hunger.

“Maybe, if you’d hand them over.” A muscular one growled.

“What’s the point of fighting me? It’s not like we are actually going to live. Can’t I just have an omelette, since I can’t have cookies… Or crackers with pickles and cheese?” At this point, Alexis was just hungry and wanted something to eat. She knew this trip was going to be relatively long, but she also didn’t think it would be this long.

“Oh, so you’re not crazy like the rest of these freaks?” The one was no longer interested in the vanilla ingredients, as he has turned to face Alexis.

“Uh- no. My father is trying to convince me that it’s bigger than we think, but it’s not going to help the fact we all are going to die anyways.” Alexis said, reaching up to grab the baking soda.

“I like your views… What’s your name?” The guy continued, but Alexis just shoved the baking soda in between her elbow and her side.

“Trying to get a girl for less than who knows how long? Not gonna happen, buddy.” She started towards the front, she heard a pair of footsteps follow her. Ignoring them, she waited at the back of the insane line, her hunger slowly increasing by the second.

“Seriously? Did daddy raise a good girl?” The same voice snickered behind her, “Just cut the line, they are too busy to notice anyways. Come on.” The boy grabbed her free elbow and pulled her away before someone gathered behind her. Once they reached the fresh sunlight, Alexis couldn’t help but feel off. Like something was about to happen, but she pushed it to the back of her head.This man was following her, or- with her.

“If you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.” She stated, striking the deal.

“What? My name? Oh its Sean. Now it’s time to fill your end.” His face still held that annoying smirk.

“Alexis, now would you leave me be?” Just as she started to walk, she turned on her toes. Screams and cries took control of her mind, ears, and that’s all she heard.

Rows of people one by one fell to the floor, twisting and contorting their bodies Alexis didn’t know were possible. They reached for sky with angry twitching fingers, as if something was choking them. Each scream seemed to leave her head ringing with confusion. She couldn’t move, nor could her new found friend.

“Alexis. Run.” She found herself stuck to the cement, her knees shaking.

This was the second wave. It was here, the end… the end is here. Sean grabbed her elbows, and she dropped all her items in the process. He dragged her for a few feet before Alexis gained her own balance. She followed the taller man in now desperation. The realization hit.

Death was inevitable. It was going to come either way. Every thought of ‘run’ or ‘I must live’ has left her mind. The Turning was destined to happen every two thousand years, it’s not like it was just going to stop now. She stopped dead in her tracks, spun around, and stared at the bodies dropping in front of her. Alexis wasn’t sure how to feel as the rows dropped closer and closer to her.

“Alexis are you insane?” Sean’s voice was heard from behind her, just as the bodies were a few feet in front of her, she turned to face him. Alexis didn’t want to fight the fate she was given, it would be harder to live.

“I heard death is easier if you aren’t scared. Bye Sean, now it’s your turn to run.” She raised her arm to wave at the boy, now pale. He looked dead himself, but he nodded.

“See you soon, Alex.”

Alexis heard a scream as if it was right in her ear. She let herself be taken under the invisible pressure, the loneliest colour took over her vision. Her mind was silent, but for one thought. The thought she pushed to the back of her head that morning.

I never said ‘I love you’ to dad.

#short story #writing promt #runningonnothing #story

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