Blood Is Black

Oml, thank you so much for the feature! 🖤🖤🖤

Relationship(s): Hamliza (Sorta)

Characters: 3,854

Estimated time to read: 3 mins

Trigger warning(s): Depression

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To most people, blood is known as red. Some, who see using fancy words as a way of being superior, would describe it as crimson, but such is just another term for red. Blood always has been, and always will be red. As red as a rose, as red as the belly of a robin, as red as a fresh picked cherry.

But to Alexander Hamilton it was black.

It had always appeared black, ever since he first scraped his knee falling on the dirt path that lead to his childhood home. It was as warm as a breath, as alive as a heartbeat, as dark as a skyless night. And it stained.

It stained the land it was spilt on, it stained the clothes it was smeared on, it stained the minds it was forced on, but perhaps most noticeably it stained the hands that caused it. Alexander’s hands had never been clean. He’d killed his mother when he got her sick, he’d killed his cousin when he added extra stress, he’d killed countless men in war, his hands were practically dripping with black.

But he never would have thought he’d kill his son.

His sweet Philip, his charismatic, genius son who had been to ambitious for his own good. Why had he given him those guns? Why couldn’t he have just told him no? Why couldn’t he ever say no?

Why couldn’t he have said no when his mother started to tend to him, why couldn’t he have said no when his cousin offered to take him in, why couldn’t he have said no to Reynolds?

Why couldn’t he have stopped his boy from dying?

He stared at his hands every day, watching as the dark substance ran down his fingers, down his palms, down his wrists. It flowed like ink, sharing it’s color, but carrying its very own metallic scent. He would spend hours just looking at his hands, letting the scent burn his eyes, letting silent tears slip down his cheeks, letting the world slip by.

When he wasn’t staring at his hands he was trying to help Eliza or his remaining children, trying to pick of the pieces of the puzzle he first broke. The older children were still ignoring him, the only ones who bared him any mind were the youngest three, though even they acted off around him. Eliza ignored him as much as their oldest children did, if not more. She wouldn’t even look at him, but he couldn’t find the reason nor energy to be upset about it. He deserved it, or at least that’s what he had to tell himself to keep from breaking down.

But one day, when Eliza silently walked away from him in response to him trying to talk to her, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep doing this, he couldn’t take the blood and the blame, he couldn’t stand seeing the stains on his hands anymore. He was trapped, he was drowning, his head was overflowing but nothing could actually come out. It was all he could do to make it upstairs to his office, all he could do to lean against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor with a broken sob.

He had ruined his family, he was just like his own father. No, on second thought he was worse. He was so much worse. His father hadn’t killed him or his brother, his father wasn’t a murderer. His father hadn’t given his mother false hope of a good life, when his father had left it had been long expected. No, he had hurt Eliza without warning, and he had done so twice. He wasn’t going to be able to fix this, not alone. But he deserved to be alone, so if no one was coming then he had no other choice.

He was just so tired though, couldn’t he sleep? Couldn’t the nightmares ease for just one night, even if he didn’t deserve the rest?

He held his hands up in front of his face for a long moment, flexing his fingers, feelings the stickiness and the warmth of it spread all around them. A small, shaky sigh fell past his lips, and wiping the tears from his face he got back to his feet. He had to help his family, he could make it long enough to do that, before the blood drowned him.

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So wow, I feel like I haven’t posted in a while, probably because I haven’t. Anyway, I was in the mood to write some angst, so I popped in my earbuds, turned on my sad songs radio (that seems to play everything but sad songs), and got to writing.

I hadn’t been expecting it to turn out this short, but as I always tell myself: “You just write the idea, the story writes itself.”

Also, I promise I will be getting my next parts for both ‘Our Love Is Hidden In The Garden’ and ‘Loveless’ out soon! I’m just waiting for the perfect inspiration to hit me.

Anyway, this was just a short and sweet- well it’s not sweet at all... it’s a short and angsty story for those of you wanting some pain in your life. I think I’m going to call it an angstshot.

So I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day/night! And until next time this is F0R3V3RCAT, g off~