Hi! So, those of you who have me on author alert and are seeing this, and are thinking Why is she writing this when she should be continuing her awesomest, most spectacular-ist fifth chapter of It's Not A Simple Life?
Well, because I was in the mood.
Plz, plz review! I'd like to know if one-shots like this appealed to you, so plz leave a comment!
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I...blah blah... do not... blah ...own Alex Rider... blah.
There is a school. There is a pupil, surrounded by others. There is laughter, and fondness. There is secrecy.
People talk. They know. Everything about that strange, secretive boy; the rumours that cling to him like the velvet blanket surrounding the night. They know nothing.
It is because they know nothing, that they are protected. It is because they know him that they are never truly safe.
What does it mean to be safe?
XxxxxxxxX
The sun shined bright outside, and it was a typical summer's day. People strolled leisurely outside, wanting to soak up the rays of warmth, and students trembled with the anticipation of another school day ending.
"Yo, Alex!" Someone yelled.
Alex Rider was encircled by his friends in the school hall late that day. Lessons had ended, and they had all swarmed to him, wanting to know where he had really been during his sickness period.
Story of my life, he thought.
It was amusing, though, to be surrounded by people who were so oblivious to the real world.
To see their concern for him etched onto their faces, however, was a thousand times more heartening; he knew that he wanted their acceptance, and he knew he had received it. That knowledge brightened his grin, and lifted his eyes, so that when he smiled, he felt his soul lighten and beam.
He felt a hand slap his shoulder, and looking around, met the mischievous brown eyes of his long-term friend, James Hale.
"Good to have you back, Alex," He said.
The hall was narrow, and its walls had been painted a stark white, decorated with posters of various historical moments, set up by enthusiastic students during a project. One such picture depicted an imaginary scene during the time of the Russian Revolution. A man could be seen embracing his comrade, his face ecstatic. They were standing in a pavilion, encompassed by the foliage. Many of the bushes were a shady green; set against the background, and a third man could be seen standing behind a bush to the east of the two men. His face was dark and focussed, as he stood alert to the side, pointing a black object in the direction of one of the men.
It was at this picture that Alex was staring at when he felt his neck tingle. He had been in enough danger that he had developed a sense, or more accurately that the danger had honed his primal instinct of survival, much like an animal's. He flung himself and James to the ground, as something small whizzed by and embedded itself in the picture of the three men.
Alex registered the boom of the bullet, and the slightly charring smell it left in the air. He heard the crack of plaster as it rooted itself into the white painted wall. The air possessed a menacing quality, one of tension and fear, and one that was about to erupt at any given moment. He felt the bead of sweat forming on his brow, and the sudden adrenaline that coursed through his veins like a forest fire.
The students that surrounded him had barely comprehended what had just happened; the look of shock on their visage perfectly portrayed the surrealism of the moment. This was school. It was meant to be a place of learning, and peace!
It was meant to be safe.
What does it mean to be safe?
James Hale had been frozen in place, unable to move and only capable of observing the scene that was acting out. Every other student had been rendered immobile and could only stare with widened eyes at the hole torn in the picture.
All this happened within a split second, and within that time, Alex had drawn his concealed gun from underneath his shirt, and centred his being on the single target that had yet to withdraw from the window.
The assassin wore everyday clothes to blend in with the crowd in the broad daylight. He had disguised himself with hair dye, coloured contacts, and gels to change the shape of his forehead and cheekbones. His mission should have been simpler than this. The target should have been dead by now. And he should have already been turning away, looking for a secluded corner to alter his current persona. He shouldn't have been shocked by his failure.
With a quick, calm breath, Alex pulled the trigger. As the bullet was pushed through the barrel of the gun, he felt himself detach from reality. Exactly like his classmates, Alex watched the assassin fall to the ground with a gaping wound in the centre of his head.
XxxxxxX
Pandemonium had ensued for hours afterward. An attempt at assassination had taken place not five feet from many students.
Alex had endured this reaction silently, hidden behind the MI6 agents sent to clean up the mess. Five hours later, and his classmates were seated in the assembly hall, staring at him as though their gaze could reveal the mystery that surrounded his life. They didn't even care that there was a real MI6 spy talking to them.
The agent spoke quickly but quietly. "And so, we can safely conclude that it was simply a horrendous amount of bad luck that the bullet was aimed at this young man..." Not that anyone believed him.
Alex breathed in a sigh; how would he ever be able to go back to school?
He thought about the incident for many days afterward. Tom was the only one who could meet his eye, though it was often with considerable effort. Things had changed, permanently. The only thing that was still constant was the reassurance of the gun nestled behind his lower back.
He had thought school was a safe house, that it was so normal nothing of his world could reach him there. But he'd been wrong before.
There was nowhere that Alex Rider could ever be truly safe. But he lived with that.
He could handle not knowing what it meant to be secure.
He could handle not knowing what it meant to be safe.
He had lived through attacks from great whites, man 'o' wars, raging bulls, machine guns, and madmen. But no matter how much he tried to avoid it, the truth was that Alex Rider was still just human.
The difference was that he had been able to push down that vulnerable part of him long ago.
It didn't stop him from wanting to be in his parent's arms, loved and safe and secure.
What does it mean to be safe?
XxxxxxxX
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