Blown Away: Hamilton Fan Fiction (part I)

A young man rushes into the theatre as the lights fade in. At first I think he’s late for the show time, but then he starts to shout. 

“George Eacker!” His voice is filled with fury, mad accusation. “Eacker!”

Out of the corner of my eye I notice a man lean forward and look around. He smiles. It’s a derisive, mocking smile. Almost a sneer. “Oh, if it isn’t Philip Hamilton?” he says, laughing out of the side of his mouth. “What are you up to, barging in on civilised society like this? Didn’t your father teach you anything?”

Now that he has found Eacker, the young man rushes closer into view. I notice how bold and bright his eyes are. They’re filled with anger.

“Watch your mouth when you talk about my father,” he says. “He’s a man of honour. You know nothing, Eacker!”

“Ha! What I do know is all true, and that’s what I said.” He’s still smiling the same queer smile. “Your father’s a scoundrel, and so it seems are you.”

I wish they would stop. I want to see the play.

Hamilton flinches, visibly wounded by the insult. Around him the audience waits with bated breath as to what will come next.

“So it’s like that?” he says. He’s obviously lost his footing for a bit. 

“I tell the truth, Hamilton,” says Eacker. “I’m not your little schoolboy friends. A kid like you shouldn’t try to mess with—”

“Well, I’ll see you on the duelling ground!”

No, not duels. The vague image of men shooting at each other rises unbidden to my mind, and I shudder.

“Ooh, like I’m scared,” says Eacker. “Yeah, see you there too. Now, if you’ll let me watch this in peace…?”

Philip Hamilton lifts his chin, bright blue eyes flashing with challenge and determination. He turns on his heel and walks out.

Eacker scowls round at the rest of the audience and adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. I cannot enjoy the play anymore. I cannot think of that young man going so readily to a chance of death.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, and make my way out of my box.

When I exit I can still see Philip Hamilton stalking away, head erect and determined. Something compels me to run after him. I get this unshakable feeling that what I’m about to do may save his life.

“Mr Hamilton,” I call. He turns, clearly still sore, in his mind running through what he should do next.

“Yes?”

I open my mouth and realise I don’t actually have anything to say. I just want to stop the duel. “Sir, I was at the theatre just now…”

“Oh.” He bites the bottom of his lip. “I’m sorry for ruining the show for you. But I must get going. You understand I have a duel to prepare for. Good day.”

 “Wait, sir!” He’s just about to rush off, but stays.

 “Yes?” he says again.

“Please don’t duel, sir,” I say, shaking my head helplessly. “How could you bring yourself so near to death? All for a matter of your own honour? Isn’t that…selfish to your family?” 

“It is not just my own honour,” he says quietly. “My father’s honour is at stake as well. Eacker has to pay.”

“With his life? He’s just a brash person, why does it really matter?” 

“Look, why are you defending him?” The irritation shows plainly on his face. “Are you a relative of his, or what?”

“I had never seen him till today, sir. I promise. But please don’t duel, sir. I will go to Mr Eacker and make a peace with him.”

 He starts to laugh. “So you’ll be my second, then? And in the event that you don’t reach a peace?”

“I will, sir. Lives depend on it.”

“Well! You’re a rare bird.” He chuckles some more to himself. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Theodosia Burr, sir.”

“Burr?” He’s taken aback for an instant.

“I believe our fathers are acquainted,” I say softly.

“I see.” He has withdrawn back into a reclusive state. There is no more laughter in his eyes. “Your father took my grandfather’s seat in the Senate, I understand?”

 “Mr Philip Schuyler? Oh no, sir, he won it fairly. And I had nothing to do with it.”

For a moment I sense that he is appraising not only my appearance, but my brain.

 “I will go find Mr Eacker now,” I say, but I linger for an instant. For some reason I want to hold his gaze for as long as he will hold mine. Then I shake the silly feeling and turn away again. 

 “Miss Burr?”

When I turn back Philip Hamilton is smiling again. For the first time I see his eyes soften into gentle kindness. “If you don’t mind I’d like to take you to see the play that I disturbed. Would tomorrow be fine?”

I feel a smile creeping into my face despite myself.

I say yes.

Keep…

image sourced from google
image sourced from google

Keep praying, because He will come through.

Keep singing, because the melody of your voice is audible poetry.

Keep writing, because your words whisper meanings yet unspoken.

Keep dancing, because clumsy movements can release your burdens.

Keep working, because in all faithful work there is profit.

Keep laughing, because joy feeds the weary soul.

Keep crying, because sorrow can sometimes mend the deepest fissures.

Keep hoping, because your treasured hopes will blossom into reality.

Keep dreaming, because life is dreary without crazy dreams.

Keep loving, because your love has power you cannot know.

Keep trying, because you will reach the summit, and it will be glorious.

Keep doing what you’re doing, because it’s beautiful.

 

Writing Endeavours: Day 21

from google
from google

What is it about crowds that tears your soul
and makes you feel so bare, alone?
are they not of same kind?
do they not walk the same space,
breathe the same air,
see the same view?
yet in throngs you morph
you shrink, you fade—
and your soul can only grasp, never reaching
never ever quite reaching solace
Instead there’s stormy solitude
translating to
loneliness.


Just like that twenty-one days of writing have flown by. But I’ll be the first to admit that I have not written properly every single day. Yes, I’ve missed two days due to busyness or forgetfulness or don’t know what-ness but I’ve missed, and it kinda hurts. What does ease the pain, however, is knowing that I didn’t even start on the first day of the year anyway, so I haven’t really ruined anything save my idealistic dreams. Those can stand a little bruising anyway.

Stardust: Book Review

First book review of 2016 (well, not that I did that many during 2015, but here’s one now)!!! First off, this year marks the first year I’m making a booklist, literally a list of books that I read in 2016. It’s going to be amazing, I’m sure, because I already have four books down. One of those books that I’ve read happens to be the one I’m reviewing today, BUT I’ll try to quit rambling and get on to the backstory behind how I read the book.

Stardust is another loan! I love it when people loan me books because in my head it means that they’ve accepted me as a fellow literary nerd and they also trust me to keep the book in good condition. So yup, Stardust is one of four books lent to me by a very good friend. I started and finished it in the same day, partly because it’s really short and partly because it was extremely interesting. You know what? I would use the word alluring. 

Ahem, ahem, I think I’ve got back to rambling, so without further ado…

Stardust by Neil Gaiman
Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Title: Stardust
Author: Neil Gaiman
Pages: 194
Genre: Fantasy
Tense: Past
POV: Third person
Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
Rated: NC16

 

Stardust by Neil Gaiman is set in a fantasy England area called Wall, thus named because a wall encircles the village, the only barrier between Wall and Faerie. But every nine years the Faerie folk and people from all over flock to Wall for the Market, and it is there that the story starts.

Enter Tristran Thorn, seventeen years of age and absolutely smitten with Victoria Forester, to him the most beautiful girl in the British Isles. Desperate for her hand in marriage, he makes a rash promise to bring her back the star she had seen fall from the sky and sets off on a journey to Faerie. But several other than Tristran will have the same star, and will cheat and kill and lie to obtain it. Innocent of what dangers may befall him, Tristran wanders deeper into Faerie, only knowing that he will bring the star back to his true love.

But there are other things he finds, such as unicorns and chains and a desperate fight among seven brothers for the throne. Ultimately, will Tristran and his youthful love conquer all obstacles, and will Victoria Forester keep her promise to give him whatever he asks for?

Okay now that the summary is over, it’s time to review. I loved this book. I’m going to read it again. Oh, so you want something more concrete than that? Well, firstly the whole style of the narrative was beautifully crafted, full of colourful descriptions and phrases that seemed to have been born in Faerie itself. I don’t even know how this works, but the prose was like poetry that danced and felt so smooth and easy to read. Nothing boring about it at all.

Then the characters. And the names. Oh, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I loved the names. Every single name fit so beautifully and perfectly. I almost cried out aloud for joy when I read the name of the star. Excuse me while I spoil this a bit, but the star is a person. And for a long time in the story she refuses to speak to Tristran or give him her name, but when she eventually does IT’S PERRRRFECTTTTT (I want to sing it it’s so lovely). But honestly, it makes me so happy when I see beautiful names that fit the character like a mould. (Really, when she was about to reveal her name I was holding my breath and then she gave it and I nearly SCREAMED because it was beautiful!!!!!!! Fangirl moment!!!!!! Ok I’m back.)

What was I saying about the characters? Oh yes they were crafted. I don’t even have to put an adverb there. They were crafted, they were real. And they fit so nicely into the genre of fantasy because when you read fantasy you always have this suspension of belief that holds better than when you read ‘real-life’ books. So even if the characters do weird things, it all seems perfectly normal. It’s great like that.

Um. Now we get to some prickly territory? Why is it NC16, you ask? Hello Sarah, you aren’t even 16 yourself! Who are you to tell me I shouldn’t read it if I’m not 16 when you aren’t and you’re gushing all over the place about this book? Well…there’s…THERE’S A BAD WORD! And even though you’ve probably been exposed to vulgarities for a long time even if you aren’t 16, I still don’t like reading foulness in prose. I don’t know about you, but there are certain standards I set for myself (but I’m still going to read it again because I know what part it’s at and I can just cover it). But yes, it’s only one (one is still a lot! It taints the whole thing and makes me sad) early on in the book, so after that you can sort of forget about it and read in peace.

One more thing about the NC16 thing is that at the start there’s some stuff that probably wouldn’t be appropriate for younger people to read. Ok fine actually it can be NC15 but there’s no such thing as that so I’m leaving my rating.

Now we get back to the awesomeness of the book. The theme is wonderful, and coming from me that’s amazing because I’m such a clueless butterfly that I usually have a very hard time finding the themes of books. Want to know what the theme is? ‘Tis:

Follow your dreams; strive to attain your goals. Even if you find that what you wanted at first was not what you truly wanted, it is on the journey to fulfil your dream that you will find your real desire and attain it.

and I’m telling you I would have rated it 5 stars if not for the parts mentioned above. It was excellent. It was art and poetry combined in prose, and to make matters better it’s a really short book! So I’d advise you (if you are of the accepted age) to read Stardust and come and talk to me about it. I love it.

Writing Endeavours: Day 1

Day 1: Describe your own hands.

The back was a light brown, and in the intersection between the palm and the wrist was a plethora of tiny brown scars. If you looked closely you could see the greenish veins running smoothly up to the fingers and branching out at the knuckles. More scars—these ones pale pink with a soft brown edging around in uneven rings. On the index finger was a streak of ink that made one wonder at the owner’s carelessness in brandishing a pen. Under each nail bed of each finger, the skin gave the appearance of being minorly bruised and peeling; the nails themselves cut down, without any trace of decoration or polish. The base of the middle finger was slightly darkened and indented by the nib of a pen, as could also be seen by the inkstain on the fingerprint area. The side of the fourth finger also gave testament to the pen’s hold—another reddened indentation under the nail, where the pen rested. Beneath the thumbnail was another mark, this one a tiny brown scab that looked as if it would flake off in the next two days. Drawing down from there was a white raised diagonal scar, from more than seven years ago.

On the other side the fortune-teller lines carved out an abstract twisting letter M, but otherwise the palm had not worked out any callouses. There was nothing else save more scratches of ink, and the natural creases that cut across each finger joint.


 

Day 1 complete. And yes, my hands are very scarred because they used to have this eczema thing which is now gone (hallelujah), but with its scarred remains. I also have no idea how my pen draws so much on my hand, leaving ink all over the place. But oh well; makes for a more interesting description.

Writing Endeavours

Happy New Year! (Oh look we’re four days in already. Well, better late than never I guess?)

I started Grade 11 today. It looks as if this’ll turn out to be a hectic academic year, what with Chinese O Levels and Higher Chinese O Levels and trying to actually get all my work submitted on time and with good grades at the end of it all. But with all this stuff taking up time of day, I’ve also made it a priority this year to write every day. That’s right.

In order to hone my craft, I’m going to start actually writing every day. Not just scribbling casual speak in my journal, but rather actually trying to create a new picture every single day, whether it be narrative or descriptive, paragraph or entire story. I could take my inspiration from a Pinterest prompt or just a word that I find provoking. Anything. As long as words flow. Practice makes perfect, so they say. Well, time to work that out.

I’ll post whatever I’ve written whenever I think this ole blog needs some fresh air, and I’ll always put the day. Some stuff might be rotten rubbish while others might be literary goldmines. I’m just practising. I’m just trying to develop a skill, a habit.

I hope you enjoy my scribbles.