Fandom: New Amsterdam
(with help from my Amsterdam muse)
Warning: 400 years of trying – what do you think isn’t in here?
Word Count: 157
Summary: “But like I say, death likes to play hard to get.”
I’m four hundred years old, presently using the name John Amsterdam. Presently, oh that’s a laugh. Yeah the puns get old real fast.
I missed the witch hunts. Literally.
I’ve been shot, stabbed, dragged along the cobblestones (and if anyone says donkeys can’t run, hit him for me, if you please).
Plagues and fevers slide right through, same with rashes and burns and crumbling timber. It stings, but tis nothing fatal. (what else is new, or rather, not new)
Drugs, sex, booze, drugs and booze, booze and sex, booze and electricity (should’ve killed Edison when I had the chance), and none of them work. Alone or in tandem, they can kill anyone else. I barely pick up a week-long headache.
One week. I wasn’t even that disoriented after I was lynched. Or hung from a tree by my – by several belts. Long story.
One of many.
So like I say, death likes to play hard to get.