Superman: Only Human
A young woman in a hair wrap watching Jeopardy. An old man drinking his way into a night's sleep.
It was night in the city of Metropolis. A dark night like one Metropolis had never seen before. As if the stars themselves had died. But for one man everything was as clear as day. The darkness was his light. Pure were his thoughts.
Two children whispering mischievously as they sneak candy from under their pillow. A tired man working late.
He moved over the city, silently, with a speed that made him invisible. He was looking. In every building. In every room. In every closet. Hundreds of people in mere seconds.
A young couple making love as Marvin Gaye plays in the background. A sad-looking man drinking tea as he enjoys a book. Lex Luthor drunk and angry howling like a wild beast.
In the streets below his presence could not be felt save for a breeze that seemed to move with a mind of its own. He was intent and set and nothing would stop him. Nothing could.
Jimmy Olsen weeping onto a photo album. Perry White climbing into bed, embracing his wife.
He was Kal-El, The Last Son of Krypton. He was Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter. He was Superman. The Man of Steel. He was looking. He was done looking.
The knife was caked in blood, dry and crimson. Carl Whitley stared at it. A grim memoir. What had he done?
It was dark in the warehouse. The dark night of Hell. He'd never get away from it. Even in death. And especially not in life.
KRAKOOM!
The warehouse filled with moonlight. Carl only had a millisecond to notice the roof's disappearing before he flew across the warehouse floor like a bullet. The wall splintered, along with his bones as he smashed into it. He fell toward the ground but never touched it. Carl slammed into the wall on the other end of the warehouse. More bones cracked. This time he did fall to the ground. But the pain did not stop. A blow like a sledgehammer shattered his cheekbone. Another one broke his kneecap.
"Oh, dear God," he screamed, but he knew God didn't want him anymore. He was getting his due. The Devil had come to collect.
He was hurled across the warehouse again by his invisible foe. This time toward some crates. He passed through them like a knife through butter. Spikes of wood stabbed into his flesh. He hit the ground with a yelp.
"No. What have I done? Please. What have I done?" he cried.
Carl was lifted from the ground like dog. He felt skin split under the intense grip of his nemesis. Blood and tears dripped from his eyes onto the dusty floor.
"Look at me," the Devil said.
Carl did not listen.
He felt his shoulder dislocated by what felt like a thumb.
"Look at me."
Carl obliged. He lifted his head into the face of something that looked like Superman. It was fair.
"I'm sorry," Carl said.
"You will be," Clark said, raising a fist that would grind Carl's skull to powder in moments. Carl started to weep. His weep turned into a howl.
"I'm sorry," he yelled, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Clark's eyes flickered. He dropped Carl onto his back and flew off into the night. Carl would be hospitalized for a year before he went to jail.
It was a beautiful morning. Clear, with a cold dew over everything. The streets of Metropolis were filled with people. Clark could see them all, feel their pain as he passed over them. People glanced up, acknowledging him as he floated to the head of the mob. People he had never seen before were at the back of the mob, sobbing. Then he started seeing people he had seen before. They howled into each other's arms. Then there weren't people anymore but a sea of heroes. Batman stood silently atop a mausoleum. Robin and Nightwing flanked him. Among the sea of heroes, Clark could see Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, The Flash, and even Aquaman. Dozens of them had come to mourn. Then the heroes ended and there were friends, family, even enemies. Lex Luthor clenched Supergirl's hand tightly. He was crying. Jimmy Olsen held a rose tight to his chest as Perry White saluted the stone. Lana Lang held Martha Kent as she wept. Johnathan Kent stared up at his son. Off to the left of the grave stood a line of eight soldiers with rifles, ready to salute and pay their respects to the daughter of one of their best.
Clark floated down to the open grave, kneeling before the casket. As he placed the rose on the coffin, he heard some people in the back asking where Clark was. He'd make some excuse later.
LOIS LANE, the headstone read, WIFE, FRIEND, DAMN GOOD REPORTER.
Clark started to cry and he knew he had to see her one last time. He opened the casket. Gently, he placed his hand on hers. It was so cold. A tear of steel fell from his cheek onto her lips. He could hear it plink. In his mind he saw the tear rejuvenating her, bringing her back from where he had once gone. But it was only in his mind. The whole crowd watched as the Man of Steel wept like a baby. For he may have been the Man of Steel, but his heart was still only human.