A/N: HI, this is my first fanfic, and it is kinda depressing… sorry 'bout that. I would love it if you could tell me what you think. Jamie.
Coward
Alex Rider was sorry.
He was sorry he had been born, sorry he had been to unwell to go on the plane that had killed his parents.
Sorry he was so good at what he was forced to do, sorry he hurt Jack every time he walked out the door with a backpack slung over his shoulder.
He was sorry Tom had finally given up on him and left him all alone, he was sorry his teachers felt the need to cast pitying, sometimes-disgusted glances at him when he passed them in the hallways on his way to class.
He was sorry he had caused so many deaths, even if he had not held the gun or wielded the knife, or set off the bomb that had finished his victim's lives.
And, above all… he was sorry that every time the knife clattered to the floor or the gas was turned off by a hasty hand, or the gun was wrestled from his grip, he didn't die.
He was sorry that he always woke up in the same sterile room, on the same floor, in the same hospital with another barrage of scars, not all of them visible, and the same doctor scowling at him in annoyance that he was back again.
Alex Rider was sorry, sorry he was such a coward.
A/N: What did you think? Do I have the ability to be a writer when I'm older? –grin- Nah, I didn't think so. Oh well, it's all in fun.