He Is
An Alex Rider Fanfiction
A oneshot describing Alex after several of his missions. A bit angsty. None of this belongs to me, or else I'd have Alex graffiti Scorpia headquarters =D.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
He's just a boy.
Right?
No. He's so many things. He's a teenager - 14 years. On the brink of manhood really, and more mature for one thing. He's a small child in his insecurities, and an old man in what he has seen.
[Go back to school
You don't belong here
Get out while you can
What do you think you can do -
oh so much he thinks but does not answer the man
who sneers and dismisses him as a pathetic schoolboy
But is he really still one?
They ask what is the measure of the hypotenuse?
He doesn't know - in his mind, it is less important than
What is the measure of the jump I have to make
to survive]
In action, he is a hardened veteran, who has known the weight of lives, the adrenaline of a life and death fight. Of death.
[Eyes twisted in pain, gaping mouths
Burned, bloody
Why did you kill us?
Their voices surround him, echoing off the dark and light
Their blank stares are still accusing
Brown gray hazel blue green
The blood of
innocents
and the guilty
He doesn't know which category he falls into anymore]
x-x-x-x
He's tall, graceful in a way that is a mix of both a predator and a dancer. He is also rather muscular, at first it was from playing sports. Now, it's from
[running
fighting
another gasp, a breath of air
his hearts beat
he remembers what the general told him
as long as that beat continues he lives
ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum
there's no terrifying silence from his heart
His opponent isn't so lucky
The boy survives another day]
The girls whisper and giggle as he passes in the hall, eyes down but shoulders squared, squared against the whispers, stares, derision.
[Some think he's a sickly weakling
Or maybe in a gang
Hah, he works with much more
terrifying
monsters than the local gang members
Their murmurs their fear
What do they know
But he doesn't sneer, because he wishes
that he didn't know either
He shouldn't know really
he's just an anomaly, someone different in the crowd
So he walks silently, strong as a boulder
For it's him against the world]
They think he's so handsome, such a good body.
They've never seen his scars.
[A jagged line
A madman with knife in outer-space
A crazy game of cat and mouse
And there's one that involves a shark too
A small neat scar on his stomach
that always makes him think of almost being dissected alive
Or having his organs taken
And he feels it's so fitting
A small puckered round scar
Still with twinges of pain
And it's right by his heart
that teller of life - so he
survives
but he doesn't feel like he is living]
x-x-x-x
He has dark, brown, round eyes, framed by long gentle lashes. They are clouded with thought, yet are permanently alert. A very straightforward gaze, except from when he quickly scans his surroundings (and now he knows to look for snipers too).
[such dark brown eyes
contrasting between the whites of his eyes, and his fair complexion
they are just so dark
serious, flat
much too blank
he's seen so much with those eyes - joy love fear hate betrayal madness
those same eyes that were almost sold for money
(funny isn't it, how much money seems to matter
when it's fragile pieces of paper
easily blown away in the wind)
They say you can see someone's soul in their eyes
But when he looks in the mirror, he can't see his soul in his eyes
And wonders
if he still has one]
He has blonde locks, that go every which way yet still neat (many girls envy his hair), as it falls over his eyes and hides him, but then suddenly pulling back - his neat hair tangling in the wind as it suddenly blows back, and it is almost like the wind is saying - "Look, I've uncovered him, but is he any less hidden?"
[There are many other times the wind has blown through his hair
It has always been with him, one of the few things that haven't left
Wind, sky, earth, dark, light
From up on a high mountain
to a maze of waterways
And it surrounds him, as he looks down on life
A silent protector
There are other things that have tangled in his hair too-
slicked with sweat
Matted with sweet, cloying
blood]
His skin is pale, smooth. It would be flawless except for the scars that twist and the dark bruises.
[The man holds on pulling on him, punches him
Running, running
fear
Lives are hanging on him
Struggling against the cuffs
He's losing time, and the people are still on the balance point
He is their life or death
So he doesn't give up
And ignores the sweat, pain, aches, fear
and his own blood mixed on him with that of others]
Actually, considering what he gets up to, his skin is also surprisingly clean - in fact, it seems almost pink from being scrubbed hard
[Blood
He'd never been all that squeamish
But blood
It surrounds him
Coats him, suffocating
There is no escape
Doesn't mean he can't try but -
oh god, why won't it come off
Thick red substance, rivers of it
That of friends and enemies
He knows that he is now just
monsterkillerweapon]
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He also had something new that he was carefully concealing - a gun. MI6 had finally decided to let him have one for safety, which he had been denied so often before.
[He knows exactly why they've changed his mind
As he
feels the cold metal
smooth shape that serves as
The death of some salvation of others
They have given him this because
now they know
that he can pull the trigger
Boomblood
Men rushing over smiles -
good aim, you've saved us
But Alex is silent
For he knows
That they were saved - but he has been condemmed
monsterkillerweapon]
Fin.
