A Semblance of Normalcy
Murder and corruption had changed him, melded him until he fit the very image his peers had created. He was no child. He was no hero either. Alex Rider was just different. And deep down in his heart he knew that somehow he was a villain. In the very beginnings, he himself hadn't noticed, in a desperate and weak attempt to hide the truth. Alex had been searching for something regular – even if it was the knowledge that he'd always be isolated, rejected from the outside world.
But still he clung to his wicked image, never letting go of the life he hadn't had any control over from the start. He just wanted to be like everyone else, and so he pretended, spinning a whole net of lies he soon lost himself in.
To his class, to his few friends and the non-criminal mankind in general, Alex Rider was but a rather normal boy. Surely, even the dumbest student had noticed that there was something off about him, but being as inexperienced in life as they were, they had foolishly shrugged it off as a matter of no importance. After all, in their little universe, you wouldn't count as long as you weren't some hot celebrity waiting to get laid.
So, although Alex's appearance was literally screaming for acknowledgement and help, no one cared. Alex Rider always seemed to be such a nice boy. Normal like everyone else. Or wasn't he?
It was the night of 27th September, the stars were blazing without fail, but still, strangely, no light was able to lit the alleyway. It was dark, pitch black even, nothing indicating something out of the ordinary. But if you took a closer look, you could see, truly see, and suddenly, you were able to perceive that your oh-so-ordinary life had been penetrated by something cruel. For another one had been taken.
There was a figure sitting on the floor, motionlessly, staring tiredly ahead. He was waiting.
For what, Alex Rider himself didn't know and didn't care, his will had been broken long ago. He only hoped that something would happen, anything to rustle him awake from his haze.
They had come after him with guns, knives and every weapon they could get a hold of, hunting him like some rare animal. The way he had fought them off in a wild onslaught of self-defense had made him realise that he was worse. Much worse. He was a bloody spy. A beast. A killer.
Idly, he wondered what to do. During his whole existence, he had always yearned for action, but now ironically, his body ceased to move. It hurt, ached, and if he hadn't cared about that tiny sparkle of dignity he had left, he surely would have cried out in agony.
But Alex knew that this course of action was none he could take. His experience in the field of espionage had taught him that stealth was a subject you better shouldn't forget. No matter what, he had to focus, hide in the shadows. Waiting.
But for what? He seriously doubted that someone looking as shady and suspicious as him would be helped by any sane person. Besides, neither his enemy nor his work companions would welcome him with open arms. Except you count almost immediate execution as a heartwarming reunion.
Yes, he had seriously and utterly fucked up. Indeed, there was no way he could run, no haven awaiting him. Nothing but the security of his upcoming death. He would die, eventually rot, and there was nothing he could do about it. So he said his final prayers to a Lord he didn't know and closed his eyes in defeat.
"Damn!" he cursed, a silent outburst of his very own frustration. He had abandoned his bravery, his goals, and now he was nothing but a coward. Alex Rider was no hero. He was no villain either. He was simply a scared young man faced with an incredible danger he couldn't take on. He had no pride left, no dignity. Everything he had was his life – and he was just about to lose that, too.
There were voices. Many voices. Different voices. First, they were only muttering, a mere shadow of what they truly were, but then, they grew louder and stronger until Alex thought his brain was going to explode. He was disappointed, when it didn't.
He shivered from the cold breeze sweeping across his skin, carrying the scent of citrons from far away. It was a peaceful world, full of joy and freedom. It reminded him of the holiday he had spent with Ian in Italy, where he had wandered across so many flower fields…That smell had been so nice. He wanted to be there. He wanted to eat a citron. He wanted to be loose.
Sweating, he struggled to stand. Unfortunately, his limbs were only moving on their own accord – if they did at all. Alex hadn't gained a somewhat upright position yet, when he suddenly froze. Another wave of pain washed over him, like a powerful current, making him scream in distress. He felt as if his insides were being ripped apart and sewed together again in a very cruel way. He could have sworn that he had some internal bleeding.
But still, he yearned for those citrons, wanted to taste the fruity juice on his tongue…they were so nice, so beautiful. Yet Alex couldn't move.
His last hopes left him, his will was finally broken. He was simply doomed. Nothing could and no one would save him. It was over.
Realising that there was nothing he could do anymore, no opponent to defeat, no world to save, the walls he had built around his true self began to crumble. He didn't need protection. He needed peace. And a .44 Magnum. To him, it was the same all along. But since he couldn't have both, he had to cherish what he had – even if that was next to nothing.
The clothes Alex wore were ragged and dirty, his weaponry consisted of one pocket knife and his fists. The farce that he had called his life was finished and had left him weak and alone. Therefore, for once acting like a real teenage boy, in no regard to the soul-deep weariness his eyes held, Alex Rider began to cry. He didn't want to die. He wanted to be normal. He wanted to eat citrons. Why couldn't he?
Half a minute later, they found him.
It surprised him, but he was pleased about their arrival. For it meant, that not only his suffering, but also his struggle would end. He knew that his poor attempt to hide the truth, his true colours and his occupation from his classmates had been foolish. He knew that he never could have been like them, he never could have been normal. He was a spy. And only then in that almost pitch-black alleyway, he realised, that he was proud of it.
"Ready to die, Rider?" one of the men barked with no intention of ever listening to the answer. The boy lying at his feet was nothing that interested him in the slightest. Merely another job he had to finish, someone he had to dispose of. No questions asked.
But Alex answered all the same, a mockery to the barrel pointing at his face. It was rather obvious that he was in great danger, but it didn't matter anyway. Nothing did.
So, he smiled brightly. For once, the warmth actually reached his eyes, making them shine, and somehow the blackness wasn't that dark anymore.
"I didn't kill Blunt.", he said. "Although he was a real pain in the ass."
First he chuckled, almost unnoticeable, but then he laughed, the sound warm and strong, while he clutched his wounds in agony as another spasm hit him. He believed that no one would trust his words. And they didn't.
The moment the bullet hit him, he was still laughing, his eyes shining brightly with madness, and when his consciousness finally slipped, he could have sworn he tasted that bittersweet citron.
Alex Rider had always seemed to be such a nice boy. Normal like everyone else. But he just wasn't.
If you looked closely, you could see his true self, a man driven into insanity by odds he could never control. But since no one ever looks – who cares?