It always started the same way. I was in the middle of a forest with a few men, many of them mentioning things like New Jersey and a duel. One of the men had a blurred face and was holding a pistol. Then again, I was holding one too. The other man with the pistol looked at me with hatred, cocking his gun. Then we were pushed back to back, and both of us held our weapons at the ready.

One of the other men started counting, and the man behind me and I stepped forwards to his words. I had no control of what I was doing, but for some strange reason, I felt sure that this was what was supposed to happen. As soon as the man had reached ten, I spun around, immediately pointing my pistol at the sky.

And that's where I'd wake up. It never went beyond that, and I never saw the face of the other man. I would have this dream every once in awhile, and it always creeped me out, especially since that one man's face was always blurred. But it never really meant anything to me, until one day.

I was at school, in class, writing a narrative for english. For all my life, I had loved writing, and spent any piece of spare time I had doing so. Anyways, as I was working, the class was disrupted. My teacher, Mr. Washington, called out to the students to pay attention, and I reluctantly looked up. Beside my teacher was a boy I had never seen before, yet he somehow seemed...familiar. He wasn't very tall, I guessed like five feet five inches, and had short, black hair and brown eyes.

"Class, this is our new student, Aaron Burbank," he announced, gesturing to the boy. That name, it also sounded familiar. I eyed him suspiciously, trying to figure out why I felt so much like I knew him. Apparently, he saw me staring at him, and he gave me a weird look. As soon as he did this, I shifted my gaze back to my paper, trying to pretend that I had never even looked up from my work.

Of course, of all places in the classroom, he had to sit next to me. And even worse, we were paired up for a project for history. We had to pick a name of a historical figure out of a jar, and the name we pulled would be who we had to do the project on. Aaron picked, since he was the 'new kid,' and he pulled out a paper which read "Alexander Hamilton."

"Alexander. That's your name, right?" asked Aaron, looking up from the paper at me. I nodded slightly, still avoiding eye contact with him. Already I was beginning to dislike him. He huffed angrily at me, looking over to the computers in the corner of the classroom. "I guess we should get to work on the project."

"Yeah," I muttered, involuntarily following him. We sat down at a single computer in the corner of the classroom, Aaron taking the mouse before I could. I sat grumpily beside him as he looked up the name, finding a hopefully trustworthy source. He tapped my shoulder, ripping me out of my thoughts and gluing my attention to him.

"We need to take notes on this, alright?" His voice was demanding, making it sound like I didn't have a choice, not that I did either way.

"Yeah yeah, geez," I said, shooing his hand away. I began reading the information, scribbling down facts on a piece of paper titled, "Alexander Hamilton Notes." As I read, I began to realize how familiar it sounded. Just like the Aaron kid, I felt like I knew this stuff from somewhere. But before then, I hadn't even heard of this Hamilton guy, except that he's on the ten dollar bill or something like that.

Yet these facts were so familiar, it was killing me that I couldn't figure out why. Then I read one part about a hurricane. Apparently, when he was seventeen, a hurricane swept through his town, destroying the place. But even so, he survived.

Suddenly, there was a flash of what seemed like lightning, and I was in the middle of a town that wasn't mine. Dark clouds swirled ahead, raindrops pounding down onto me me like bullets, thumping noisily on the buildings around me. The ground was flooded, the raging, murky water coming up to my knees. I was standing in the middle of a cobblestone street, and chaos reigned around be, buildings collapsing and people struggling to escape. Lightning flashed again in the sky, causing me to scream, covering my face and squeezing my eyes closed.

When I opened them again, I was back in the classroom, and everyone was staring at me. I looked around, but there was no sign there was even a town. I gazed down, seeing that the water too, was gone. Then I looked at the rest of the class, all eyes fixated on me.

"Alexander, what are you doing?" asked Mr. Washington, giving me a concerned look.

"I...um...I was...reenacting part of what I was reading?" I lied unsurely. He eyed me suspiciously, before going back to his desk.

"Crazy kids," I heard him mutter, and I sighed. The rest of the class went back to their projects, whispering to each other and glancing back to me from time to time. I sat back down, staring at the screen. I was aware of Aaron watching me with confused eyes, but I didn't want to talk to him.

"What was that all about?" he asked. I didn't look at him.

"I told you, I was just reenacting part of the history, that's all," I muttered, wishing he could just move on and get back to the project.

"You sure? Cause that didn't seem like acting," he said.

Sighing angrily, I asked, "Can we just get back to the project?"

"I guess, as long as you don't do that again." I nodded, staring bitterly at the screen. We went back to working, and I continued to scratch down whatever seemed interesting or important. But I was going alot slower than usual. My mind was just too occupied with trying to figure out what the heck had just happened.

However, wondering about it wasn't going to help work on the project, so I tried to push it aside until later. Though, this wasn't very successful. While reading, I came across another seemingly small fact, that Hamilton wrote 51 of the Federalist Papers defending the, at that time, new Constitution.

Like before, I was suddenly transported to a place I didn't recognize, this time inside of a building. I was seated at a nice, wooden desk, a paper and ink and quill in front of me. Without much thought, I grabbed the quill, beginning to write on the paper, below some print that was already there. I was writing something I didn't even understand, or at least what it was about. But I kept writing, because it seemed right. Then I came to realization that I should be worried being in an all new place, shooting to my feet.

I blinked, and I was right back in the classroom. Again classmates were staring at me, while Aaron was staring at my notes.

"Alexander, why did you stand up?" asked Mr. Washington. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Y-yes, sorry," I muttered apologetically, sitting back down. Kids laughed at me, and my cheeks burned as I looked back down at my paper. Or, at least, where it should have been. When I saw it missing, I began looking frantically for it. That's when I saw it in Aaron's hands. "Hey, give that back!" I cried, trying to snatch it from his mitts. But he pulled it from my reach, reading through it again.

"What is this?" he asked, looking at me strangely.

"My notes, genious," I grumbled, trying again to grab it. Again he held it away, his eyes fixated on me.

"Well, where'd you get this?" he inquired, pointing to some of the writing on the page. Taking my chance, I ripped it out of his hands, eyeing it for whatever he was talking about. Around halfway down, there was writing that was neater than the rest, and in cursive. It read 'But let it be admitted, for argument's sake, that mere wantonness and lust of domination would be sufficient to beget that disposition; still it may be safely affirmed, that the sense of the constituent body of the national representatives, or, in other words, the people of the several States, would control the indulgence of so extravagant an appetite. It will always be far more easy for the State governments to encroach upon the national authorities than for the national government to encroach upon the State authorities.'

"What the heck?" I had no idea where the long block of writing came from. Then I remembered. The room. The paper. I had written this. But why? What was it? Did it mean anything?

"Hey, look at this." I looked up, to see that Aaron had entered in part of what I had written into the computer. "What you wrote is a word for word quote from the 17th of the Federalist Papers, and this one was written by Hamilton," he explained. He looked back at me, asking, "Did you memorize this?"

"No," I said, re-reading what was written down. "I'd never even heard of this Hamilton guy until today."

"Well, stop fooling around," he said after a moment's silence, turning back to the computer. I huffed, reluctantly following his lead. I was hesitant to continue, but after a while, I got back to it. Things were going normally for a while, with no more weird flashbacks, until I read one, important fact.
Hamilton died in a duel, in New Jersey, in a forest, going against Aaron Burr. My mind flashed images from the dream and I jumped back from the computer, startled.

"Alexander." The stern, unhappy voice caused my gaze to snap to Mr. Washington, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed.

"Y-yeah?" I answered unsurely, knowing I was in some sort of trouble.

"What is with you today? You're acting very strange." I stared at him, unsure what to say. "Well?"

"I...um..." Just then, the bell ringed, and I smiled. Turning back to him, I said, "Sorry, school's over, and I have to get going." Before he, or anyone else could say anything, I was up and out of there, and glad to do so. I saw Aaron run out after me, so I hid behind a pillar until he was out of sight. I didn't want anyone nagging me about what had happened right now, and I knew that's why Aaron was following me.

When I got home, I started homework, pausing many times to think about what had happened in class. Silently, I hoped that Mr. Washington wouldn't call my mom for "constantly disrupting the class." But no call came, so that was a relief. Finishing my work took hours, since I found it hard to focus with my mind buzzing with so many questions. By the time I was done, it was only half an hour before I had to go to bed.

I spent that half hour looking up things about Hamilton, trying to see if something else sparked memories. Nothing did happen. So, when it was time to get to bed, I stomped up the stairs, slamming my door in frustration. I just couldn't find out what was going on, and it was killing me to not know. Sleeping, like working, was near impossible, my mind to awake to sleep. But eventually, I did doze off, curling in a ball under my sheets.

Like before, I found myself in a forest with the same men. Again, I had a pistol, and so did the man with the blurred face. We were pushed back to back, and another man began counting. As he did, I stepped to his beat until he reached ten. Then I spun around, and like before, pointed the gun at the sky. But it didn't stop there. The world seemed to slow as the man with the blurred face turned towards me, pointing the weapon towards my chest, pulling the trigger. But his face was no longer blurred. It...It was...

I shot awake, panting. The bullet, I swear I felt it hit me. It felt so real that I shook in shock and panic, eyes darting around the room in search of the men. After calming a bit, I thought back to the dream. The man was familiar. It was, Aaron Burbank? No, too old. The man I had seen was much older, so who could it be? Then it hit me.

Aaron Burr.

I know it's painfully obvious who these people are, but that's the point. I'm not sure if I should continue this or not. I'm not sure if people would read it. Just let me know if you want to hear more of this.