DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alex Rider.
Blood
Blood; most, if asked, would tell you blood meant pain. Alex Rider didn't see it that way, to him, blood meant relief, a way to escape for a few blissful moments into a world of peace. Sometimes, if there was enough blood, those moments would turn to minutes, and those minutes might turn to hours. But only if he was lucky.
The moments of peace were rare, and he was never left in peace for long.
They were always watching, and they did not like it when he surrendered to the peace.
Once, the peace almost became never ending.
But they were always watching.
Always staring.
Always there.
No matter how many times he screamed or cried, no matter how many times he bled, they would not let him go, they would not let him give himself to the peace.
Red, sticky, warm… Peace descended. Floating, spinning, black light. Peace.
Alex did not hear the clatter of his pocketknife as it slipped from his hand to slide across the cold tile floor of his bathroom.
He did not see the usually pure white tiles changing color as blood seeped its way across the floor.
He stared at the gash on his wrist, fascinated. There was a crash and a bang and he was surrounded...
Always watching…
They wrapped his wrist, sticking a syringe in his arm… Now he felt woozy… Woozy… He blacked out, the peace gone as the voices came back.
AN: Alright, seeing as I don't, and have never done, anything like attempting suicide or cutting myself I think I did okay, but I have also never really read anything on cutting or anything, so, if I got the head space totally wrong or if something is really messed up I would really like it if you told me. Reviews would be appreciated as helpful hints help my writing and any comments usually make my day. Thanks for reading. Lies.