Written while procrastinating on my English assignment, so that might explain the strangeness.

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Alex Rider was good at many things. Most of these things were what Ian Rider had devoted much time to teaching him, like stealing, climbing, lying and cooking. But one thing he had always been good at, and enjoyed, mostly, was running.

It had saved his life more than once, and was doing so now.

He ran from the compound where he had been waiting, holding out for someone, anyone, to break him free from his captors. But, of course, no one had, so as usual, he had to do it himself. Talk about if you want something done, he thought grimly as he sprinted over the sand.

He had to admit, it was quite beautiful at this time of day. When the sun hadn't risen, and the day was nice and cool, and the light was just seeping into the darkness, making the dunes all around shift and slide. But he kept running, because this was what he had to do; run and run, put enough distance between him and them, and then find somewhere to treat his wounds and rest, sleep and sleep and recover.

He was lucky that the multiple slashes and gashes he'd acquired at the compound weren't bothering him too much; they hurt in a kind of distant way, and they weren't bleeding anymore. A few had turned shiny and puffed, and a few others oozed pus, and many of them were now raised angry marks, but he could deal with that later, after he'd reached… he'd reached.... where? Where was he going? Where in this desert was help?

No. Don't think. Run.

The sun was coming up now, and the sand was warming quickly underneath his already blistered feet. If this was how it was already, then he regretted running into here. But, but, always a but, who would find him here, in the rolling dunes that were still shifting, even though the sun was about to show over the horizon? Who could track him down, drag him back, make him scream and cry and beg no no no please God no…

Briefly Alex wondered if there was something wrong with that logic, but he quickly dismissed it as the sun burst free of the horizon and he felt an instant wave of warmth. Was that good or bad? He had been slightly shivery in the pre-dawn hours, but too hot was worse than too cold, right? Or was he mixing them up?

He wasn't running now, not jogging, just walking along as if he were back in the park at Chelsea, chatting to Jack about all the little things that didn't matter, that he took for granted. Because normality wouldn't come back now, not if he tried, not even if Jack somehow returned to him. Back then when there was normality, didn't he hate it? Didn't he wish that something would come along and break him free of the tedium of everyday life? These days all he could hope for was someone to break him free of the enemy's torture chambers. But he liked to remember those normal days of chatting with Jack about nothing, so he decided to talk to himself to bring the days back, but all that emerges from his throat was a dry croak, so he gives up. Was he supposed to give up?

The sun was further up in the sky now, and Alex had the feeling that if he hadn't felt so strangely muzzy then he would be able to tell what time it was. Didn't Ian teach him how to do that? Same as how to navigate using the stars. Didn't he? It really didn't matter now, because whoever taught him, the skill was useless now… why did he feel so confused?

For some reason, the sun had decided to skip a section of the sky and was now right on top of him, and he was on his hands and knees. When did that happen? Alex can't remember when, or how, or why, and come to think of it, he couldn't remember a lot suddenly… why was he here? It had something to do with running, he knew. If that was the reason, then he'd better run. But he can't get up, so he crawls forward on all fours, not even noticing the red trail quickly turning to brown behind him.

And then the sun does it again, the sneaky thing! Jumps right from high above to just above the horizon, and again Alex has fallen even lower on the ground without him noticing. Now he's lying on his back, looking at the sky change colour, and isn't that just strange? How the world, and everything in it, always, always changes? Not just colours, either, but opinions and shape and… and… why can't he think? He gives a little hum, just because he can, but it turns out he can't, because no sound comes out. Oh well.

The sun is moving normally again now, dipping lower and lower behind the curve of the world, and it's almost like watching the beginning in reverse… and feeling it in reverse too. The light's getting dimmer and the air is getting colder… damn, he was shivering already. Was he that weak? Vaguely he looks over his wounds, and notices the red streaks going up his arms; what's that all about? A dim memory pops up of someone teaching him about different signs of different illnesses, but then it's gone and he can see that all the wounds that were shiny and puffy have now burst and blood is running everywhere… why can't he run like that? Couldn't he do that before?

The stars and the moon are shining above him, and he lies back down and stares at them, because he cannot do anything else. He can't see any of the familiar constellations of his home here, but the little pinpricks of light comfort him all the same, and the shine of the moon, his moon, is even more so.

Why is he so tired? Time to go to sleep, he guesses, but no, he wants to stay up all night and watch these stranger stars, watch their little lives, learn about them so they weren't strangers anymore…

Except now they were fading, isn't that strange? Don't they want to reveal their secrets? But the moon is fading too, and he already knows the moon, so why… why…

Alex Rider blinked, once, twice. His breath quietened, and he lay still.