Everywhere

I turned my head to look at Violet so fast that I was pretty sure that I was in danger of getting whiplash.

The General froze and slowly turned around. “What did you just say to me?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and shot him a death glare. “Oh, do you have problems hearing as well as daddy issues? Let me repeat myself slowly so your remaining brain cells can understand the words coming out of my mouth. F***. You. General Kerr."

The General stalked over to our cell and stared at her menacingly. “Apologize, or you will pay for this.”

Her eyes flicked to me and caught my gaze.

Please, I pleaded, don’t let your silver-tongue get you in trouble, please, not this time. Spare yourself his wrath.

She conveyed a message right back. I’m sorry, but it’s better me than you.

She returned her attention to The General. “No, I won’t apologize. You don’t deserve it, motherf***** .”

Wow. Violet almost never cursed. Not when Madison accidentally ruined her favorite sweater, not when all of her letters to a person in Virginia, which we still don’t know about, got burned(don't ask), not even when she and Jefferson got into a heated argument about something or the other. He did curse (A lot) and called her less than flattering names, but she didn’t retaliate to that. Afterward, Jefferson felt guilty and stopped by the Hamilton household to apologize.

I remember hearing a knock on the door and opening it to see Jefferson’s face and then slamming it shut. Violet came downstairs to see what was going on.

“Alexander, who was that?” She had asked, sliding down the banister. She hopped off and walked over to the door.

“No one,” I said, leaning on the door. “It was no one.”

There was pounding on the door and an angry voice said, “Hamilton, let me in! I came here to apologize!”

Violet’s eyes widened and she pushed me aside. Dang, that girl is stronger than she looks.

She flung open the door and Jefferson smiled sheepishly. “Hey, Violet, I’m sorry for what I did and said earlier.”

She forgave him easily.

The only time she cursed was when Charles Lee started talking trash about Washington. I had stepped in and he started to insult me. She had nudged me aside and started cussing him out in front of the whole camp. She had been talking so fast, in a mixture of French, English, Russian, and what sounded like Latin.

The French, Latin, and English most of us understood, but the Russian only a couple of Russian soldiers that came over here from Alaska understood that. At one insult, schas po ebalu poluchish, suka, blyad! the soldiers laughed so loudly that they had to put their hands over their mouths to muffle their laughter.

The shouting match only stopped when George Washington himself came out of his tent to see what all the yelling was all about. He expected it to be Hamilton doing most of the shouting, but when he got to the site, he was surprised, no scratch that, shocked to see the normally quiet Violet Lyons shouting to General Charles Lee, who was looking shorter and shorter every time she spewed a new curse at him.

They fell silent as his "What is the meaning of this?" resonated throughout camp.

The sickening thud of a blade sinking into flesh jerked him out of his thoughts. There were a hoarse scream and the thump of a body hitting the ground.

I focused on the limp form of Violet lying on the floor of the cell. I couldn't see through the gloom to see if she was breathing or not.

But I could see the blood.

It shines a dark red, pooling under her body. Oh my gosh.

"You f****** bastard!" I screamed at The General. Is she dead? Oh no, she can't be dead. She's not moving, she's too quiet, where's our little flower that can't stay still even for a little bit? Oh gosh, there's too much blood.

I was vaguely aware of The General grinning at her, knife raised over her still form, the blade still stained with blood. he walked closer to me. I shrank back against the wall, trying to make myself smaller. I saw him crouch down and take my chin in his hand.

"Maybe that will teach you both not to speak out against your captors." He sneered.

He then took a key out of his pocket and unlocked my chains.

He left the cell, cackling. The thump of his boots faded as he walked away.

"A-Alex-Alexander." Violet weak voice brought me out my stupor. "D-did he hurt y-you?" She struggled to bring herself into a sitting position, back against the wall.

"Me?" My incredulous voice rang throughout the room. "You got stabbed for f***'s sake, and you're asking IF I'M ALRIGHT?!"

She flinched away at my loud voice and curled in on herself, head in between her knees and clutching her stomach tightly.

I immediately regretted snapping at her and crawled over to her and helped her put pressure on her wound.

"I'm sorry, little flower," I whispered. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I just, I just am so mad at that f****** General."

"Y-yeah, it, it's okay." Her breaths were coming in ragged gasps and I could feel the blood trickling down my hand.

Her face turned a ghostly shade of white and she slumped against me. "I'm too tired, Alex. I can't go on."

"Oh my gosh, you've lost too much blood." I panicked. Every thought of first aid and medical care flew out my head. I could only stare at the blood drenching both of our uniforms and the thought of the girl I treated like family bleeding to death in front of me.

Suddenly I was thrown back into my memories. Everywhere. It was everywhere. All over the fabric of the tent.

"The General, he's shot!" The cry rang throughout the camp.

I leaped up from my desk, scattering documents and spilling ink all over the papers I would probably have to rewrite later and sprinting to the Generals headquarters, which was a couple of rows over.

Bursting into the building, I was greeted with a gruesome sight. The General was lying crumpled on the ground, blood pooling from his side onto the carpet of the floor. It was everywhere. Drops of it were even splattered on the walls.

It was after the Battle of Princeton. General Charles Cornwallis had gathered an army of 8,000 soldiers and marched to Trenton, New Jersey to capture General Washington. Washington knew better than to face off the British soldiers with his exhausted but jubilant army, so he decided to retreat. Spys had told us that General Cornwallis had sent troops over to the Delaware River, because he thought that Washington would reverse the route that he took when crossing the river on December 25, 1776.

Instead, he left the campfires burning in the camp and packed up everyone and snuck around the side of the British Army. The Continentals headed north at dawn, and they were met with the straggling British Rear Guard, which they outnumbered (Out planned. We gotta make an all-out stand. Ayo, I'm gonna need a right-hand man. Sorry, couldn't resist) 5 to 1.

40 Patriots and 250 British soldiers died during the battle of Princeton. The Patriots had successfully retreated to the Ramapo Mountains in Morristown, New Jersey.

Wine bottles had been opened, the campfires roasting fresh game, and singing could be heard throughout the camp.

Then, there was a cry of terror and everyone came rushing to his tent.

I had rushed over to the General's side and knelt next to him. "Y-your excellency?"

The doctor shoved his way into the tent. "Give him some room, give him some room." He crouched down next to me and felt for a pulse. Upon finding one, he breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his brow.

I looked up at him fearfully. "Wha-what do you think happened?"

The doctor sighed and started to wrap his leg. "I think he had got shot while at the Battle of Princeton. He had probably pushed on for the sake of the army and won the battle. Upon coming here, he had collapsed from blood loss and exhaustion. help me get him up here, would you?"

The doctor and I gently lifted Washington on his bed. There was a storm of my chest of emotions.

Relief at the General not being dead. Shock because now we realize that he is just a mere man, and he is capable of getting wounded. Sadness and grief at him being shot in the first place. And wonder. Wonder at how he can push on just for the sake of 5,000 men. At how he can strive to boost others up while he was in pain himself.

"Alexander! Doctor Regan! I heard what happened! Is the General alright?” Violet opened the tent flap and rushed to their side. She frowned at the wound in his side. “Wow. How did he manage to get that and not collapse from exhaustion?”

Before the Doctor could answer, there was a stirring from the bed. "Alexander? D-doctor? Violet?" Washington looked around with a confused expression. "Why are you around my b-"

His face contorted in pain and he began to breathe heavily. "O-okay. T-that hurts."

"-lexander. Alexander." Violet's soft voice faded in. "Are you okay? Y-you kinda spaced out there."