(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

washington thought it might be interesting to consider, at length, how hamilton’s raw, used body made him feel. he knew the success of crushing his enemies, business opponents and men who scowled at him and the press who liked to indicate that he was black (as if this was some kind of surprise). there was a rush of it, thrill and joy and victory and overcoming. he felt something the same with hamilton, when he was spread out and beaten like this. he felt the same with the flogger in his hand, with the belt, with the crop, with the candle, with the paddle, with the whip. he knew the rush of victory, building first at the choked-back sobs that sputtered from hamilton’s mouth, and then has he increased in force, the rolling tears that this ragged resemblance of a man could not stop.

he stepped closer. tipped hamilton’s face up to look at him. followed the gleam of tear tracks with his eyes and felt satisfied. the man’s face was wet under his thumb. washington fed him salt.