A strange, dark little poem I dreamed up last night that wouldn't leave me alone. Contains suicide. Very grim. Don't read if you like being cheerful. (P.S. I'm not always as miserable a git as this poem would suggest).
Disclaimer: I don't own the Alex Rider series.
This is the dark building
Where they say a young boy hung himself
From a flagpole storeys up, the traffic suspended beneath his feet forever.
This is the lonely spot
Where they say his guardian watched him
Her mouth an O of horror, trapped in his gaze as terrified forever.
This is the grim place
Where they say he hung like a long dead pendulum
Swaying in an unnatural wind, his eyes wide open forever.
This is the slender window ledge
Where they say he leaped from
As though it were a cliff, a sea of pedestrians and cars below him forever.
But who are they?
Did he look up, fixing the sky in his memory forever?
Did he draw a deep breath, the last sound he heard forever?
Did he whisper his last words, unheard forever?
These things are not clear.
But I am sure of one thing. He did not look down.
He jumped.
He fell.
The rope caught him, snapping his body to a limp twitching state as people looked up gasping.
The police report was later 'mislaid'.
And Alex Rider's story slipped between the bureaucratic cracks, forever.
Finished. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. And yes, I know. Random and depressing. Don't blame me. You're the one who read it.