Near 2,800 years ago, Hasanlu, during its final destruction, was burned to the ground. Many people died, but this story is based around two in particular. Two men, buried alive in ash, sharing a final kiss in their moments alive. The Hasanlu lovers.…
This is really just a huge metaphor for life.'My eyes fluttered open, scanning the vastness that engulfed me. It was silent, and almost eerily so. There was no life, it was devoid of all attributions that would mark this as a land worth living in. I took a step, though no sound was made. It was then I understood this was a world yet to be created. Before me, a man stood, devoid of all features, but some welcoming aura. He tilted his head, a soft laugh erupting from he blankness of his face. "Hello," He greeted. "Welcome.""Who are you?" The question was followed by silence as the figure shifted, looking around. "I'm Grayson, a pleasure to meet you." He answered at last, offering a hand. I was hesitant, but took it into my own. Compared to my own complexion, he was rather grey, and perhaps, that lead to his name being such.I took a step back, eyes scanning the blank figure, as if he'd shift into something more humane. What did a human look like?He reach forward, palm outstretched and open to my view. "Here, have this." He insisted, dropping it into my waiting hand. I lifted it, examining the small speck. Something so small could grow into something spectacular if I let it.'…
C/W:Mentions of dueling, blood, and death.'The sun was just beginning to rise, lighting up around us. I looked to William, searching to see if he had come to some for of agreement with Mr. Pendleton, but to no avail, they both seemed to be growing more agitated, and far more violent with their words. I grew nervous, staring at the man before me. Alexander.Now, getting a good look at the man's features, I almost pitied him. Stress and age had taken tole of him, a once fiery hair had faded and greyed, some strands appearing white. His skin wrinkled, and he appeared to be much more tired than he usually was. What happened to the man that he once knew? The one that, in the face of conflict, chose to fight? This wasn't Alexander. Conflicted emotions now ate at me. What did the man have to lose? What hasn't he lost? And what has he taken from me that insists he should be killed so I can defend my honor. I pondered deeper. He had lost his son in the same way- back almost three years ago. These were the same guns Philip Hamilton had fought and died with. I shook my head, almost pitying Alexander. Losing his boy in such a way. Why would he even come out here and try to continue this fight?I examined the pistol I held. An English made Wogdon, Hamilton held a Barton flintlock smoothbore. It's strange that he chose these guns when many aspects would disqualify them from use during dueling. They both hold a conceal set triggers, but weighted bronze fore-ends, adjustable front and rear sights, and a 54. Caliber bore. These were not some simple dueling pistols, but pistols made to inflict, and fully kill the opposing.Was Alexander actually in this to win?I pondered the question over and over. Why won't my mind let this subside?'…
Hints to suicide (lover's suicide)(there isn't actually any); death'I held his hands firmly in my own, almost afraid if I made the wrong move. His eyes sparkled in interest, and I smiled, almost painfully. "Don't we know better than this?" I sparked the question. His brow furrowed, but he soon relaxed."Come now, a dance shall not hurt you." He spoke in a lower tone. I nodded, spinning him into a waltz. What started slow, grew into a quicker paced dance, both of us spinning.We both found ourselves laughing, dancing with one another on this high peak. I can't remember the last time I felt so safe- I felt so free. I spun him, dipping him, earning a giggle. He pushed some red hair from his line of vision, and I sat him easily onto the rocks below us, walking to the edge, hoping to get a good look below. We were high up, and only one thought would eat at my mind.Jump, jump with him. Be free.I looked back to Alexander. "... I've been meaning to ask.""Yes, Jack?"I took a step closer to the edge, a smile on my lips. "If I let go... Would you hold on to me? Would... Could we fly?" I suggested, looking to the moon. I reach to it, as if cradling it in my hand. Up there, I imagine, I could be free to be who I am. If only I could walk the light that she shines down- walk to the place I so desire."What do you mean-?""Perhaps it's safer to say that we tried." I whispered, retracting my hand. He was now standing before me. I could see the tears in his eyes, but I knew that he was scared. We had brought this idea up multiple times before. So tired of being repressed- so scared to be who we are. Not anymore. Not no longer. It was to be he and I...And he tackled me.I felt my weight shift, and we tumbled backwards, his arms wrapped firmly around my chest. We were free-falling, and by god, the fall seemed so slow.'…
'I picked the pieces of myself from the floor, panic racking my mind. Why was I collapsing? I was so careful...I stared horrified, picking up each piece as it fell, hurrying to place it back in it's correct position, fitting it together like a puzzle. I don't know who I am, or why I am tearing apart. I don't know why my mind shatters like glass and lays upon the floor, mocking my ignorance, mocking my condition. Perhaps, if I piece it together in a new way, all would be restored. I'll stop falling apart, it'll once again be okay for me to exist.I picked up the shards of my mind, gently placing them back into their proper places. In mirror, I could see the reflection of myself. Glass, reflecting the mirror thousands of times. I'm shattering and I can't slow it down. Oh, how I wish a man of glass could cry, could feel, could truly recollect who he is. It seems almost impossible, but maybe I can. I have to find myself, and perhaps the mirror is a clue. Things are always more than they seem, right?'King Charles VI of France believed that he was made of glass. He forgot his identity as king, his name, his wife, and children as he tried not to break himself. It was a complete psychological mishap that many people hadn't understood during this time. Though, now it's called Glass Delusion.…
'I eagerly raised my glass into the air, smiling widely. In the dim lighting, I could see Alexander smiling so fondly at the woman he just married. A lovely woman with a beautiful smile, a beautiful woman with gorgeous eyes.He chose her. It's only fair that I show my support, instead of my jealousy. To say I was jealous would be far from the truth, wouldn't it? He had not belonged to me to begin with, and it's in his ever-loving right to marry who he desires.I never owned him. That would be horrendous to say, blasphemous even!Before I could consider my own thoughts, I rose a glass into the air, and I laughed. "A glass to the lonely and the broke! To the wed and the divorced! To the shattered and the broke! We're all here to unite under one power! And to you, my dear boy, my love burns warm... You, my dear boy, I still crave more than anything... I still love you more than anything..."I cover my mouth, my glass shattering beside me. Alexander stared back at me with flaming eyes, and furrowed brows. I can't quite read how he's feeling, which is odd. I always know how he feels."Laurens... We need to speak."'…
TW: Mentions of self-harm/suicide'I stood in the field of wild flowers, heart fluttering. I was where I wanted to be again, I was back west. I was exploring the virgin plain lands...I grazed my hand soft over a petal of a small, blue flower. Delicate, what it was, so easily broken. I looked to the river, and then down the way, expectant eyes looking for the man that brought unto me this joy so fine.I saw his flaming hair soon, and I smiled, hurrying to stand up.He stood in the pirogue, a confident stride in the way he walked to the end, his pace so peaceful and kind. I laughed, almost giddy at the sight. "Billy!""Meri!" He cheered. I smiled ear to ear, hurrying to the bank of the river. I reach to take his hand, and once I felt the firmness of his rough, calloused hand, I felt at home. He pulled me forward, into the pirogue, and I could feel it shift and rock beneath us, but he held me. He held me tight, fingers latching into my hair. I looked up at him, seeing tears in his eyes."Billy...?""Just come home... please?" He pleaded, and I stared, almost confused."Billy, what are you talking about? We are home..."'…
Hamilton and his nephew (as well as a friend) decide it'd be fun to throw a fun little prank on the family and friends as they all were sitting together in the evening. The plot was: The friend acted as if he summoned the ghost, the nephew held the act, and Hamilton would walk in and act as if he had seen the "spirit" that had been summoned. Rambunctious young men spooking the family for the sheer fun of doing so.…
Aaron Burr excitedly excepts his role as Thomas's vice, only to feel shattered when the man doesn't return the same excitement. Assuming it's because they where political rivals throughout the election, he assumes he can earn Thomas's trust.Thomas, from the beginning, looked forward to working with the man. He just couldn't find the right thing to say.Birthday gift for: @Random-Pebble…
C/W: Mentions of death'I sat at my desk for hours, writing quick notes on a few pieces of paper. The night had been long, it seemed, though, I hadn't quite felt alone. I glance over my shoulder, feeling a looming presence, though I know not of who it may be.Staring at the corner of the tent for a long period of time, I came to the conclusion that no one was there. So I turned back to my writing.My eyelids have long since grown heavy as it approached the early hours of the morning, and I knew that soon, I'd end up falling asleep. Though, I can't help but feel as if someone drew closer. Turning, I saw a face of someone I hadn't seen in awhile. My heart sped up and I quickly stood, setting my quill down. It couldn't be him! It shouldn't be him."N-Nate?" I breathed, backing promptly into my desk."I believe I promised you one more talk before I went." The figure smiled, offering a hand to me.I smiled, the familiar face relaxing. "One more talk it will be..."'…
So, I've read the letters shared between Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens various times, and I can't help but want to write them into a story. So, I'll be attempting to do so.Taking one of the more popular letters between the two, I took and debunked how Alexander might have been feeling as he wrote, making it into a short story with only 3,614 words.Started: Friday, September 24, 2020Finished: Saturday, September 25, 2020…
TW:Depictions of hanging, and a description of the sorts, swearing, etc... If you are sensitive to either of these subjects, please refrain from reading. "I watched as his stern expression quivered and faltered; it was clear what was happening. It finally kicked in; the realization that he was going to die, that this was the end of it. I knew he was afraid; his blue eyes seemed to swell with tears as he shot a glance towards me. I felt my own body tense as they announced his crimes, announced his fate. That soft glance now felt haunting. This would be the last time I would see my Benny alive. And it's a shame he had to stand there, noose tight around his neck, and he had to watch as I tried not to let my composure break. I didn't want to look anymore, but then the lever was pulled, and his body dropped. I covered my mouth, and turned away. I couldn't bear to see him die like this."Okay, so in this AU, Benjamin Tallmadge is hung instead of Nathan Hale. I'm writing this to torture a friend- heheheheh- @/ spycraxtor_…
The music was soft as everything came into view. The building, the beauty, the light.In the back of my mind, I knew what the song was, but I couldn't quite recall the name. It was a soft, somber melody that settled the land with ease, yet it allowed the spirits to dance. My stride all but slowed as I entered the chapel, beams of light filling my eyes as my focus remained on the ceiling. Vines had found their ways through the hollow points of the support, and the hugged the golden beams tightly, a breeze danced through the vines that grew from the ceiling beams, shattered pieces of stained glass laid around, but caused no harm to those who walked by. It felt almost enchanting.Gentle dust particles gently passed my view as I hurried down the small walkway that firmly divided the pews. Soft, red cushioned, pews. Though, it was the being before me was what had drawn me in. He was standing there, a smile on his lips, an inviting hand reaching for mine. His mouth opened, and the words that followed soon reach my ears, "Might I have this dance, my dear?"…
This is a story simply based on how I interpret the event in 1809. I don't believe it was suicide. It seemed more like homicide. (More explained in the story.)…
This is Historical Fiction. I am going to be making it as accurate as I possibly can, however. Despite my attempts, I can not make this 100% accurate.In September of 1779, John Paul Jones fought one of the fiercest battles in Naval History. He had led the USS Bonhomme Richard frigate, (named for Benjamin Franklin), in an engagement with a 50-gun British Warship known as, "HMS Serapis." And it was there that he uttered his most glorious line, "How can I surrender when I have not yet begun the fight?" I will be retelling this event from John Paul Jones's perspective. History has its eyes on me, and those in the future can remain disappointed.…