Puppet
It was a dark and misty Friday night, the air was filled with moisture. And there he was, a young man standing idly in silence. His expression was stoic, empty even, but yet his brown eyes shined with determination
Tonight, he would abandon any restrictions that had held him. Tonight, he would break free of that cruel farce called his life. Tonight, Alex Rider would die.
For years, he had played along, always surviving, but never actually living.
The man was nothing but a cliché, an empty shell unable of emotion. The naïve teenager he once had been was long gone, dead, and everything left was a mere shadow of his happiness.
Alex had become what he despised: a bloody tool whet with the lives he had taken, a mindless killer machine.
Yes, he was a marionette, a white pawn being tossed around in this sick game of chess.
But now he was sick of it, had seen enough lies and betrayal.
The pain Alex had to bear, the excruciating agony ripping him apart seemed only collateral. The price he just had to pay. But for what? Hero's death and the knowledge that he was a killer? He had never received anything in return.
Despite nightmares, that is. And a whole new bunch of injuries.
Still, Alex stood in silent awe watching the stars blaze.
For the first time in his life, he had chosen. A path to walk along. A goal even.
For his death was both his solution and his escape, a promise he had loathed to fulfill.
The puppet would cut its strings.
Smiling, Alex Rider closed his eyes and jumped down the cliff, awaiting the lethal waves to wash over him.
There were deeds to be done.