Hello! Wow its been a while since I've posted anything. Just thought I'd thank you real quick for reading. I wrote this a long long time ago, but I still find meaning in it, and I hope that you do too.
Enjoy XD
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider... but I know I'm not the only one that wishes she did...
Rated T for Teen because of violence and torture
Marks Mean Nothing
Blood dripped down a spine
Marring black against white
A number
Marked against innocence
It codes a human soul
Shaping everything he is
Into a short numeric symbol
Survivor
Savior
Slave
But his tattoo was applied with care
Instead of flat figures
The black ink was shaped
Numbers swirled 'round
Thin twisting lines
Entangling themselves
So they may never be separated
They weren't meant to be.
Some parts of him
Should never be forgotten
Bits and pieces
That seemed to have no meaning
Were really the only reason
He's lived this long.
He smiled, twiddling his thumbs
How pathetic,
The thought that settled
His "owner's" minds
That, perhaps, they owned him
Now that he'd been branded
Coded
He widened it to a toothy grin
Letting his captors fume in frustration.
After a while, the muscles relaxed
His disposition changed.
Why should they be allowed
Such triumphant thought?
Why should he suffer
Alone in the dark
As they goaded their prize?
Poked and prodded
They'd trapped a captured animal
Trained their already domesticated pet
So where was the pride?
He'd saved lives
Wasn't to blame of the ones lost
He'd sacrificed himself
For a country he'd misunderstood
Was there ever a reward
More valuable than 'well done?'
Was he really a puppy
Whose only praise
Is a scratch behind the ear
Only to be sent back
Out into the cold and the wet
Abused but still blindly loyal?
But then again
Did he really want more?
Then he wouldn't be the hero
He'd always pictured himself to be.
He wouldn't be as selfless
As serving
As adventurous
If it was his job.
He'd no longer have that romance
That had kept him from going insane.
And he'd have to give in.
No!
His eyes set hard
Steeling against the stony wall
He'd given so much
He'd hold out
Until his very life ended
No matter the cost
Because he was a boy
With nothing to lose.
His family gone
His friends abandoned
(if they hadn't left him first)
His private life invaded
His professional one nonexistent.
The flat downtown
That housed him when he returned
Was just as empty as the rest
Nothing left.
He'd given up everything
To protest their treatment
And what a waste
If he were to give up.
Steps clapped a confident return
The man from before crashed through
Expecting the smile
Instead of a pissed glare.
The careful tilt
That had the boy staring
From beneath his lids,
Muscles narrowed
Until his brow crinkled
And his jowls protruded.
It would have made Wolf proud.
His hands were still bound
The captor noted gladly.
The kid's biceps were contracted
His scarred chest flexed
The recently stitched knife wound
Still bleeding, unsmeared
No signs of tampering.
His lopsided grin lengthened.
"What to do
What to do
With a boy who
Just can't seem to feel
And has way too much to prove?"
He recited, while reaching
For another tool
Alex felt his new 'mark'
Burn through the pain
Of the bloody gash
On his stretched skin
"You could stop with the bloody poetry."
He coughed
The man once again
Heated the rod
Applied gentle pressure
And added his own design
Centered around his company's prind
Best not to ruin the mark.
Alex let him finish.
The man straightened
Admiring the workmanship
On the child's bare abdomen
When Alex's fist flew out
Knocking him flat to the ground.
"If I ever
See you again,"
He whispered hoarsely
Allowing the first catch of emotion
To drip with warning
"You'll sleep in hell."
Brand in hand
He wrenched open the door
Bringing the smoldering tip
Under the pretentious chin
Of a gray man
Prepared to knock.
The moment hung
Anticipation thickening
Neither allowed themselves
To gain color
A gray fist clutched the cooling stem
Gray lips grimacing at residual heat
Red fingers slipped away
Vermillion feet padded past
What it all meant,
Whether to them
Or to him
He wasn't sure.
He hadn't given in,
The threat clearly hanging
Between two monotone men
But his promise to a woman
Today was fulfilled.
He'd stay alive
It wouldn't be easy
But the battle was coming from all sides
And a single mistake could cost him is life.
Well, that's it :) Before you ask, yes I realize that its really stupid to tattoo/brand a spy with an identification mark, and no, I don't know why Alex let that bastard finish before he knocked him out cold. I'd be willing to listen to some theories, though. Please review with any suggestions, or just to let me know if it was a good poem. It's hard to guage your own poetry, so I'd like to know the general opinion of it!
Thanks!