Disclaimer: Superman, and all related properties are owned by DC Comics. You know the drill.
First Born: A Proposed Superman Story Arc
by Jose Luis Andrade
LOIS
"I'm pregnant." Lois boasted.
The two women paused, almost expecting to hear a toilet flush in the newly constructed women's bathroom. The Daily Planet had finally broke down and agreed to build it after Lois had threatened to leave if she didn't get a closer facility. Lois glowed then after her victory as she did now; she had gotten her way.
"No! With Clark, right!?!" Dana gasped as she nudged Lois' elbow.
"Of course with Clark, silly!" came the cold reply.
"Who else?" Lois thought to herself as she begun to straighten herself in the mirror.
Lois had slowly begun to realize that her husband was spending more and more time away as Superman than at home with her, and the abrasive fear that Clark would soon leave her began to gnaw at her self-worth.
"Well I'm sure a baby will make him settle down." Lois had assured herself. "He'll have to slow down and give me.us.more attention."
Dana shattered the awkward silence, offering, "C'mon Lois, I'll take you out to lunch! My treat!"
"No, I've got to find out how I'm gonna tell Clark." Lois shot her offer down.
"Well, it can't be that hard can it? I mean, he'll be happy about it, right?" Dana asked quietly.
"No, I'm sure of it. He'll be happy. It's Clark." Dana replied quickly to her own question.
"He'll be happy about it, Lois."
"I know, I know." Lois scoffed.
"Well alright." Dana offered, "I'm going to lunch at Charlie's. You're more than welcome to join if you'd like. And don't worry about Clark. He'll be ecstatic." Dana smiled as she left Lois alone in the bathroom, with only her reflection to keep her company.
Lois turned back to the mirror.
She thought, "I'm right. He'll settle down once he realizes he can't be out with other women when he's got a kid at home. He'll have to."
Lois knew that Clark hadn't always been out doing superhero-type things. She's a reporter, for Pete's sake. She's good at noticing small things. It's what she does. Lois could feel the gap between her and Clark beginning to widen, and she was certain it was other women. She could feel how Clark's heart wasn't in it when they kissed or made love. Honestly, Lois didn't know whether Clark was aware she knew of his infidelity, or he simply didn't care if she knew.
"Well why don't you just leave him?" a minute voice inside of her whispered.
She stared plaintively at herself.
She couldn't leave him. That would be crazy. Why would any woman in their right mind leave Superman? He was perfect -- a god almost. Besides, she loved him immensely. She would be stupid to let him go.
The little voice died away.
Lois shivered involuntarily. She looked around the small bathroom and decided she'd ask for a heater so the porcelain wouldn't be so cold. She then moved over to the window to close it -- the painters had left it open to let the fumes out -- and while looking out, she noticed that winter was nearly upon them. It seemed to come earlier and earlier every year. It wasn't even November yet, and Lois could already feel the chill in her bones. The skies were still blue, but soon they would give way to short, colorless days and long, bitter nights. She hated the winter. It reminded her of cold nights spent alone as she worried about Clark and whether or not he would return home. She hated not knowing where he was or what he was doing. Or who he was doing.
Lois shut the small window and ambled back to her spot in front of the sink, her footsteps echoing in the empty bathroom.
"Well, this baby will change things", she told her reflection.
Lois leaned forward to get a better view of her eyes in the frigid mirror.
"My god, I'm getting crow's feet! Shit!"
Lois rummaged quickly through her purse for her compact and pulled it out.
"Clark's lucky; he hardly ages."
Lois grimaced as she caught a closer view in her small mirror and applied a thick layer of foundation to mask the wrinkles. While she was at it, she took off her dull brown lipstick and painted a fresh, bright red coat on her thin lips. When she finished, Lois put her compact back in her purse, next to the hairbrush, trying desperately to ignore the frightening amount of hair caught in its laughing teeth. She snapped the purse shut quickly, before the piercing heckles eroded her delicate coat of self-esteem.
As she walked away from her reflection in the empty bathroom and into the safety of the crowded Daily Planet office, she reassured herself once more.
"I'll get my way."
CLARK
Clark fixed his hair and straightened his clothes in his reflection in the front window of the Daily Planet as he came in from a lunch tryst with a new sexual conquest -- Dana. Frankly, he didn't really care if Lois discovered his infidelity; he just wanted to look good for Sharon, the sexy new receptionist at the Planet. He had been watching her since she started a week ago, and his interest was piqued when he saw her bright red hair, thin waist, and big hips. He loved the way her breasts swayed every time she leaned forward to answer the phones. Her smooth, light skin seemed to emphasize the bright green in her eyes and the pink on her lips. Clark let her know he was watching her every time she swung her curvaceous form.
Today, he saw through the glass she was wearing a tight baby blue sweater. Clark couldn't resist a woman with a good fashion sense. He stole a few more glances at her creamy, white thighs jutting out from under her short brown skirt and noted how her large nipples poked through her thin top, bringing stares from many other men -- and some women.
Clark, content with his appearance, continued in from his "lunch" with Dana from the copy room. He found it amusing how "friends" of Lois would so readily sleep with him, knowing full well he's married to her. And Dana proved especially treacherous. Honestly, Clark never would have imagined that she was such a wild woman. He thought she would present a bit more of a challenge, as her conservative dress gave no clue of her large sexual appetite. However, as wild as Dana was, Clark was still left wanting more -- he wasn't yet satisfied. Strutting in from the street, he hoped that perhaps this new girl Sharon could offer something fulfilling. As he approached her at the front desk, Clark made eye contact, flashed her a devilish grin and remarked, "A bit cold in here today? They should really turn the heat up."
Sharon leaned forward with an equally devilish grin of her own and whispered, "This sweater looks better on me when it's cold, don't you think?"
Clark thought for a moment and slyly shot back, "I think it'd look even better on the floor of my apartment."
He paused, moving his eyes from her bright face down to her sweater and back up again.
"Have you taken lunch yet?" Clark asked deeply.
Her body language almost answered for her.
But before her mouth could reply, a phone ring disrupted the tension. "How 'bout I meet you out front in fifteen minutes?" Sharon offered hurriedly as she answered the line.
"I'll be there," said Clark as he left her, on the way up to his editor's office.
He figured he'd let Perry know he was back from lunch and off to cover a story. That should give him at least two hours.
Why shouldn't he be able to have fun? He definitely has earned it -- just yesterday he saved a bus of school children from careening off a bridge after the brakes failed. He's saved the earth dozens of times and spared billions of lives. He should enjoy life like a god -- he practically is one. He could get any woman he pleases, and Lois isn't satisfying him at all, so he's not really to blame for his infidelity. She should've done more to keep him, and she should be glad he hasn't left her altogether.
Originally, Clark had married Lois because he loved her. He admired her. He was drawn to her by her wit, her confidence, and her beauty. But that was years ago. She's changed now. Her once smooth face has become craggy from the stresses of being a top-tier journalist. Her firm body has given way to sagging breasts and the beginnings of saddlebags. Lois is no longer the lovely flower she once was. She had also lost confidence in herself, Clark noted; although he had no idea why. Over the years, Lois had wilted like so many of Metropolis' roses during the first few weeks of November, and his once genuine love had gradually transformed into a profound pity for her. Somewhere inside his soul, Clark was still (somewhat) a moral farm boy from the rural Midwest -- he couldn't just up and leave Lois. He knew that she would be devastated, and perhaps with her low self-esteem, she might even attempt suicide. Clark didn't want that. He didn't need it troubling him for the rest of his long life. He still hoped that maybe one day, Lois would cheat on him and give him a good reason to leave her with a clean conscience.
But, Lois was a good woman at heart, and Clark couldn't help but wonder when he stopped loving her and started pitying her.
Clark stepped out of the elevator, coat and hat in hand, and bumped into Jimmy, one of the Planet's freelance photographers.
"Oh, hey Jimmy", Clark greeted as he stopped in front of Jimmy, "how are those flower pictures coming?"
"Eh. They're only flowers, right?" Jimmy replied apathetically. "And it's James."
An awkward moment of silence passed.
"You off to lunch?", asked Jimmy as he avoided Clark's anxious stare.
Clark nodded.
Jimmy always seemed to be lurking around. Like he was watching Clark. Of course, there was no way he could tell for sure, so whenever he could, Clark always pressed Jimmy, waiting for an inconsistency in his mannerisms that would denote suspicious behavior. He was just waiting for him to slip up and reveal himself.
Another uneasy moment.
"Well I've got to go, Clark." Jimmy broke the spell. "I've got some more of these rose spreads to develop. How 'bout I show them to you when I finish?"
"Yeah, that sounds good. See ya later Jimmy, and stay out of trouble.", Clark said flatly as he passed him, walking across the news floor, towards Perry's office. He didn't sense anything too out-of-place, although, Jimmy was a weird kid. Still, Clark couldn't shake the feeling that something was up with this guy. He might have to confront him someday.
Clark poked his head past the big black letters on his supervisor's door: Perry White, Editor-In-Chief.
"Perry, I'm back from lunch, and I'm off to do a follow-up on that bus driver from yesterday." Clark stated through the thin opening between Perry's heavy oaken door and his large glass window. The old man had it put in so he could watch his writers even when he was in his chair. He expected nothing but the best from his employees.
"Ok, Kent. And remember I need that in my hand by six or I won't be." Perry was cut off as Clark shut the door and headed to the elevator, cutting through the tippity-tap of keyboards and the rustle of papers that dominated the news floor. Clark stopped at his desk to grab a notepad, then headed off to meet with Sharon.
JIMMY
Jimmy shut and locked the darkroom door behind himself and paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit space. As he flipped the switch for the lights, Jimmy inhaled deeply. The smell of the darkroom always made him light-headed -- the ventilation fan had stopped working long ago. In a few minutes, he would feel a lot better.
Jimmy made his way over to the counter in the dim red light and retrieved seven rolls of film from his backpack. He had been photographing Metropolis roses for a Daily Planet pictorial on seasonal floral beds. The majority of the rolls were pictures of flowers. Damn flowers. Still, he admired their deep red beauty and their sharp thorns. In a way, they reminded him of life. If you grew your rose right, the blossoming bud would overshadow the prickly thorns. But, if something were to hinder its growth, such as choking undergrowth, or too little water, the bud will never open, and the ugly thorns will dominate the plant.
Jimmy had taken five rolls of film on nothing but the American Beauties. However, the remaining two rolls were special -- they were for a personal portfolio. He had poured his heart into these pictures, and he wanted to see how they turned out. But, Jimmy knew his work took precedence. Besides, if he waited, he could take his time and develop those pictures right.
Jimmy reached down under the counter and pulled out the gallon-sized container of developing fluid and deposited a bit into the first five rolls of film. He then replaced the container and closed the lids on the film and inserted them into a rolling machine. The little machine, about the size of a microwave, would shake and turn the canisters to soak the film in the developing chemical. After a three-minute cycle, Jimmy would remove the rolls from the machine, drain the fluid, and feed the individual rolls into a different machine that cropped and color-corrected the film. Then the cumbersome machine would project the images on the film onto a photochemical sensitive paper. Once this was done, Jimmy would soak the special paper in another developing chemical until it achieved the right amount of detail, then hang the new photograph up to dry. Each roll of film, depending on the total number of shots, would take an average photographer about an hour or so to develop. Jimmy, however, prided himself on developing a full roll in thirty to forty-five minutes. His favorite part of the process was soaking the photo-chemical paper and watching the image float up out of nothingness -- it was almost as if his personal memories would come to life in his work. The observer would be able to see what he saw and, if he did it right, feel what he felt at the time. This is what he loved about true photography -- he was in control of a moment in time that he captured in eternity.
Jimmy finished up his pictures of the roses and began to hang the last ones up. He was feeling good and buzzed, and he started to develop his two prized rolls.
Jimmy loved the fact that his photographs would be forever preserved in history, and this was exactly why he was so excited about these last two rolls. The past two weeks, Jimmy had been collecting shots of Superman. He was there a few days ago when Superman stopped that school bus from going over the edge of the Luthor Bridge. He was there last week when a suicidal maniac opened fire in a church, screaming, "God is dead". And Jimmy was there when that freak car accident created a five-vehicle flaming pile-up. Each time, Superman, in an extravagant display of uber-machismo, was there, tearing apart metal, saving lives, and posing statuesquely in his tight blue outfit. Jimmy knew this was how the public saw Superman, their hero. In their minds, Superman could do no wrong -- and this is how Jimmy portrayed him through his camera -- the Great American Man. But, Jimmy himself sees more than what the small scope of his lens can capture. He sees what lies beneath the glassy surface of the world, and he doesn't like it. But, for the sake of the public, he buys into the image and perpetuates it through his Nikon SLR.
Jimmy felt that dreams were better than reality -- they are more perfect. The public sees Superman as a righter of wrongs, as a champion of justice, as a god. He is infallible. This is how they must see him. He gives them hope in their desperate little lives.
"We need him. We need his massive body to protect us."
"I need him."
As Jimmy stared into the wavering pool of chemical truth that lay before him, a dark slender blob began to materialize. He recognized the shot immediately. It was a rare shot of Superman in flight. Of all of Superman's known powers, Jimmy wanted to fly most of all -- to escape the bounds of this world. He wanted to be free -- free of everything. Free of life, free of his past, of his future. He imagined his happiness in the sky... Surrounded by an infinite nothingness, soft against his skin, and inviting to his eye. True happiness wasn't in this world, but above it. He could almost feel the rush of the air around him as he floated high above the world. As he leaned forward to see the picture better, his crotch rubbed against the stiff, wooden counter. Thinking about Superman often excited him. As the picture slowly grew clearer, Jimmy reached down and laid his hand on himself. He could start to make out details -- it was a beautiful clear blue sky that day, the shot framed by a few pure white tufts. He wanted desperately to feel the soft coolness of the clouds against his bare skin, to jump out of the constraints the outside world placed on him. As he stared at Superman's muscular physique mid-flight, he closed his eyes and rubbed faster, thrusting himself into the watery azure sky beneath the chemical surface. Slowly, he began to feel himself enter the photograph. He was falling into the empty, limitless sky. His problems were rushing away from him. He was flying.
PERRY
Perry stared out of his office window and marveled at how large Metropolis appeared from forty-three stories above ground. He would have had a magnificent view from his oversized office window, had it not been for the weather. Perry always liked his office, mostly because he felt it was just the right size for him, but partly for the large double-paned window that offered a framed view of Metropolis. Perry noticed that when one stood at the door to his office, the city rose up behind him in his desk, and gave his office a majestic feel to it. He enjoyed being able to see everything through his windows; his city and his newsroom. Presently, Perry could see that Metropolis was in for a dark and wet afternoon. The gray clouds had been creeping up on his city for a few hours now, and not even his gorgon-like glares could scatter them. Grey or not, Perry truly felt the city was his. It was his kingdom. Whenever some tragic event occurred, he felt sadness in his heart. He had been in journalism for quite some time -- forty-five years. He lived the fairy tale life in the business. Perry started working in the mailroom of the Planet when he was fourteen, under the tutelage of his uncle, Robert White, who held some position of power then. To tell the truth, he never knew what exactly his uncle did, but he was sure it was important. After Perry's father died, his uncle Robert took it upon himself to offer him a job. Since then, Perry always looked up to his uncle as a son would to a dad. And Perry always felt the need to please his uncle, as a show of gratitude for his attention. So Perry worked hard at his job, and moved up within the company. As a matter of fact, he held just about every position to be had in the Daily Planet. He gave the Planet his all, and the Planet gave Perry a chance to grow into a man, even without a true father. During his long tenure, he had the opportunity to see both sides of human beings. Through the stories printed in the Planet, Perry saw how caring some people could be to each other, and his chest swelled with pride each time he read a story of compassion. It really made him feel glorious to be a human being when he heard about heroes such as Superman. He knew that wholesome people would always exist, and as he grew, he tried to model himself after these men. In this way, Perry's father figure was an amalgam of the virtuous Everyman. He drew influence from everyday heroes, but mostly from his chief champion of justice, Superman. Yes, Superman was indeed a large role model for Perry in his later years. To Perry, Superman was a symbol of everything good in a man's heart. Yet, he knew that with light, comes shadow. Perry had seen and heard many things during his years in the business, and it is true that sometimes he wept at the atrocities committed against his "kinsmen"-- as he liked to call them. He was saddened and angered over the fact that some men could kill and injure another for greed and jealousy. This is why he admired Superman so much -- Superman fought for the righteous man. Why, he even looked like the good old American boy.
Just then Jimmy walked in. "You called for me, Mr. White?"
Perry snapped out of his deep thought and nodded his head in acknowledgement.
Perry moved to his large chair and, with a grunt, plopped down into it. Then he slowly plucked a cigar from his humidor, clipped it and lit it. As smoke escaped from his mouth, Perry gave off the impression that he forgot exactly why he called the boy in. And he had.
Ah, yes, that was it.
With a squeak of leather against cloth, he leaned forward in his chair and rotated a framed picture until he felt Jimmy could see it.
The boy was clearly uncomfortable, and for some reason, Perry enjoyed this.
Perry retracted his hand from the picture, which happened to be of himself, along with his wife and two sons.
Then, when he had gathered his words, he spoke.
"I don't think you're working hard enough, son."
Perry could tell the boy didn't know what to say.
"Your photos are satisfactory, but I don't see any visible style. Photographers -- at least good ones -- need a unique style that they can call their own. I tell you this 'cause I think you could do better."
The boy responded, "I'm not exactly sure what you mean, sir."
Perry narrowed his eyes, almost as if he was trying to look into Jimmy's head.
"Jimmy, you put too much of yourself into your photos. When you photograph a subject, you try to take a picture that shows the viewer what you think about the subject, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well don't. Your personal feelings don't matter. Your ultimate goal is to take pictures that show the facts. But I'm not saying not to have style. Style is something different. Find your style, independent of your personal feelings and utilize that."
"I still don't quite understand what you mean, sir." came the bland and nervous reply.
Perry sighed from slight frustration, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs.
His eyes floated toward the ceiling as he thought for a moment. His stout, rough fingers flicked a few ashes into an ashtray.
"You see this picture here?" Perry pointed to the photo he had turned a few moments earlier.
The boy's eyes darted away from Perry's white-streaked temples to the framed photo as he nodded shortly.
"This is my family. I care about them."
Perry paused a second to make sure Jimmy was paying attention.
"Years ago, I was out with my wife for dinner and a show. We were headed to the car, going home, and we were robbed by a couple niggers."
Perry noticed the boy wince at the n-word.
"They took all our money and pushed my wife, Lara, to the ground. They probably needed the money for crack or a forty ounce of malt liquor. That night I realized that all this stuff that we write in the paper actually happens. It happens to people like me -- honest, hard-working people like me and my wife. While good people are out working, there are criminals stealing from them. Most of them are no-good niggers. I hate them. I hate them not only for what they did to me and my wife, but what they do to others like me."
"Now," Perry relaxed a little, as his body seemed to become tense earlier, "I'm sure not too many people, especially them negroes, would appreciate what I have to say about them, if I chose to put my feelings in the paper. You get my drift?"
Jimmy nodded again.
"You see this window?", Perry stated, rather than asked, as he gestured behind himself. "This window doesn't interpret what it sees to convey it to the viewer, it simply allows the person to see the view itself. That's what you need to do. Be a clear, unobstructed, and unbiased window for our readers."
The old man let the analogy sink in, as if he was proud of its efficacy. Then, he went on to explain himself further.
"You see, the public doesn't want to hear what the reporter thinks about on a certain subject. They want the facts, and it's your job to give just the facts. It's my job to make sure that's what they get."
Perry puffed on his cigar and thought a moment, before resting his hand back on the desk, perched above the ashtray.
"What the public does like to hear is stories of good people. People like Superman."
Perry did not notice that the boy's red head shook in disagreement.
"You see, people like to read about him because he is the symbol of everything good. He's perfect. He's a strong, moral, white man that helps out the little guys. And he's damn good-looking, too, don't you think, Jimmy? Superman is exactly what this city needs to bring out the best in us. He's somebody to look up to. Almost like a father to our city -- to us. You know, protecting us."
Perry tensed again and moved forward in his plush chair.
"You'd never see a nigger saving lives and such. They're too concerned with themselves to give a damn about anybody else. All they want is their own welfare. I mean, look at these black organizations -- they always want more. They say that we mistreat them when we really only treat them as criminals should be treated. Then they want special treatment 'cause of their color? They think that just because a couple centuries ago they were sold into slavery they need special treatment now? You know what? It was their own people that sold them to white traders in the first place. See, they're always self-serving. Very selfish people."
The boy said nothing, but he was obviously distraught, and Perry now realized that he had lost restraint.
His tone lightened as he fell back into his relaxed position, legs crossed. "You see? You don't want to hear what I have to say. And our readers don't care what you have to say. I don't mean to sound so abrasive, but do you get my point?"
"Yes, sir."
Perry's tone lowered another notch, as he returned back to his business tone.
"Your photos tend to have a bit of cynicism -- sometimes hostility -- in them. Try to see the subject plainly. Okay?"
Jimmy answered in the affirmative as more ash fell into the glass bowl resting under Perry's fingers.
"Now get your narrow butt outta my office and get some work done." Perry motioned towards the door of his office. "And shut the door behind you."
Perry watched through his glass window as the boy shuffled clumsily out of his office and headed across the floor towards the elevators.
"That boy..." Perry shook his head as he took one last puff of his cigar and extinguished it in his dirty ashtray.
LEX
A sharp buzz from his intercom snatched Lex Luthor from a relaxing trance as he was surveying his view of Metropolis, like a lion that presides triumphantly over his prey.
Lex established his bearings for a second while a whiny female voice -- his assistant, Miriam -- reminded him that "a Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane" were there to see him. Lex spun around in his tall chair, away from his window, and buzzed twice -- a signal for Miriam to send them in.
With the help of a small mirror on his desk, Lex straightened himself, and while he was at it, he removed some papers from his desk and stashed them away from view.
Supposedly, these two journalists were visiting to learn about a certain object that recently came into Lex's possession -- a large chunk of meteorite.
However, Lex was sure there was probably another reason for the interest.
A few years ago, Luthorcorp entered into a five-year contract with the Lo Padi, an Iraqi companion cell to the Al-Qa'ida organization. Luthorcorp was obligated to supply the Lo Padi with thousands of rifles a year, plus numerous explosives and incendiary munitions, all in return for a considerable amount of untraceable assets. For a while, the deal was lucrative for Luthor. That is until he discovered that most of the weaponry was being funneled to the Al-Qa'ida to be used in a ridiculous "Holy War" against the United Sates. After this news, Lex was agitated at the possibility that the supplies would be linked back to him. The repercussions would be fearsome, even for him. He would be blackballed, lose countless dollars of funding, hundreds of contracts, and most likely be forced to do business solely outside the U.S. Once he learned of the Lo Padi's near breach of contract, he restated the terms of supply and demanded an enormous raise in compensation on his behalf. The Lo Padi, who themselves were under pressure to supply these arms, were forced to conform to Luthor's new deal in order to remain under the aegis of the Al-Qa'ida.
After surviving twenty-four years in the business world -- half of those during the cutthroat 80's -- Lex knew just where and when to apply pressure.
Unfortunately, if he weren't careful, Lex himself would be feeling pressure. Following the terrorist attacks on the U.S., Americans were becoming dangerously patriotic, and the government was itching to bring down any big corporation as a scapegoat -- never mind the fact that Uncle Sam had been heavily arming the terrorist cells indirectly for much longer than Luthorcorp. The White House couldn't have gotten a better opportunity to get rid of its biggest competitors. You see, once organizations such as Luthorcorp were listed as traitors, they would be broken up into smaller companies, and sold to the highest bidders, mostly the government itself. This new-age McCarthyism allowed Uncle Sam to acquire more money-generating assets without the strain of concocting a reasonable cover.
The media, also anxious to feed off the public's bloodthirst for un-American individuals, had eagerly jumped on the bandwagon as well.
All the public needed was a name to their enemy.
That's why Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane were here.
Why else would two award-winning journalists want to speak with Lex Luthor? Certainly not for a piece of rock.
Nevertheless, Lex was anxious for the challenge, and looked forward to putting on a good show for these two.
Lex took his mark in front of his immense cherry oak desk as his audience entered.
"Ms. Lane! Mr. Kent! How are you? Would either of you like some coffee?" Lex motioned towards a small area that housed an expensive-looking coffee machine, a cappuccino machine, and assorted blends of coffee beans.
The couple strolled into the lavish office, trying to take it all in at once.
The black marble floor was flawless and beautifully matched the white oak pillars that ran up to the convex ceiling.
Bookcases, paintings, and oriental rugs adorned the walls and floor. However, Clark noticed that there was a complete lack of personal items in the room. It felt sterile. Like a doctor's office, or a mausoleum.
On the wall adjacent to the desk, Lois noted there was a large-screen television, which was curiously blank at the moment.
"No thank you", Lois declined as she quickly advanced toward Lex, offering her hand.
Lex recognized her intentions immediately. She had moved in first, grabbing his attention with her response and her extended arm, all the while Clark explored the other side of his expansive office, partially hidden by Lois herself.
Lex shook her hand and made eye contact, allowing Clark ample time to scrutinize his office.
He had nothing to hide. He smiled at Lois. At least not in plain sight.
All Mr. Kent would find is a couple Dali sketches on his wall and a huge oaken bookcase filled with an impressive collection of well-worn books.
Oh, and there was the rock.
"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Kent?", Lex asked as Clark came upon the lead box that contained the meteorite.
"No thank you, Mr. Luthor. I'm just admiring these sketches you have here. Dali?"
"Correct, Mr. Kent. Quite rare, and very expensive. You like them?"
Clark grunted in the affirmative as he tried unsuccessfully to look through the mysterious leaden box.
Lois stepped toward Lex once again, onto a marvelously rich Persian rug, and attempted to regain eye contact.
"Thank you for having us today, Mr. Luthor, I know you're a busy..."
Clark cut her off from across the room, "Mr. Luthor, what's this box made of?"
"That box is constructed of pure lead, Mr. Kent."
"Call me Clark."
"Of course, thank you, Clark."
"And you may call me Lois, Mr. Luthor", Lois shifted into Lex's view of Clark a third time.
"Why lead?", Clark queried, curiously eyeing the box over his rimmed glasses.
"Well it obviously shields against contamination, as well as protects its contents. But chiefly, lead's dense composition filters out the small amount of radiation emitted by the meteorite inside."
"Radiation?", Lois and Clark repeated in unison.
"It's a terribly small amount, and doesn't affect any terrestrial organisms, save for a certain species of gnats. However, I store it in that box because I'm told electronics may react to it."
Lex strode over to the box, followed by Lois.
"Would you two like to see it?"
"Sure."
"That's why we're here, right?", Lois added a bit too nervously.
Lex pulled a key ring out of his front pocket. On it were three small, insignificant-looking keys, one of which he chose and unlocked the box.
Before he unlidded the strange black box, Lex returned the keys to his pocket.
Lex placed his well-manicured hands on the top and studied the pair of faces as he lifted the heavy lid.
A green glow moved across their eyes, and Lois gasped lightly as she inched toward the box.
Clark, however, remained in his spot a few paces away and began to sweat.
In a few seconds, while Lois and Lex studied the meteorite, Clark moved his hand over his stomach and turned away from the green glow.
It seemed to pulse and prod at him -- through him.
Lex glanced up and noticed Clark slink quickly to the entrance.
"Is everything alright, Clark?", Lex called as the door shut in response.
Lois turned towards Clark's abandoned post, then back to Lex.
"Maybe it was the tuna we had before we came", Lois shrugged.
"So where'd it come from?"
"My guys tell me it's from a previously undiscovered planet somewhere in the Gemini constellation. They calculated the trajectory of the piece and estimated where the planet was. We haven't actually seen it though."
"How do you know it's there?", Lois asked.
"Well first off, there are numerous ways you can mathematically prove where a planet is, without actually spotting it. However, we're never going to actually be able to see the planet, as it is extinct."
"What do you mean? How do you know?"
"Well, Lois, this meteorite has been studied and tested thoroughly, and my scientists hypothesize that this particular piece is from the interior of the planet it came from, which we are calling Krypton, as the meteorite contains a rich amount of solid Krypton -- an element we have here on Earth only in gaseous form. Well, the fact that such a large chunk of the interior has come this far -- about three hundred million miles -- highly suggests that the planet met with an untimely demise. We've been doing more work on it, and they have also calculated that this Krypton was about half the size of Jupiter, and was possibly hit by a very large piece of debris."
"Supposing this did happen, how long ago was it hit?", Lois prodded, entranced by the rock.
"Well we're not exactly sure yet. I'm trying to acquire more pieces, if possible, to compile more data. They estimate this happened anywhere from five thousand to a thousand years ago."
"And why does it glow like that?"
"Intoxicating, isn't it? Our atmosphere seems to partially break down the solid Krypton into a gaseous state. The green luminescence is caused by a reaction between the surrounding oxygen and the Krypton."
They both stood silent a moment to admire the mystic light.
"Why are you so fascinated by this piece of rock, Mr. Luthor?"
"Why are you so fascinated by it? I simply have no idea, Lois. There's just something about it that I find intriguing. Doesn't it just seem to pull you in?"
Lois nodded in acknowledgement as she stared into the glowing green meteorite.
"Are you sure this radiation does no harm?", Lois pressed.
"Quite sure, Ms. Lane."
Lois stared at the odd meteorite for a few seconds before remembering Clark's absence.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. Lane?", Lex offered, hoping this fish had some fight still left in her.
She shook her head silently.
"Perhaps you should check on Mr. Kent?", Lex suggested as he closed the lid, almost on Lois' nose.
Lois seemed to return to normal.
"Yes sir, Mr. Luthor. Thank you for your time."
Lois slid her empty notepad and pencil into her purse and shook Lex's hand before heading towards the office door.
Lex began to lock the box back up, but paused a moment. He couldn't believe how much of a disappointment the interview was. As soon as he opened the box, the green rock seemed to conquer their spirits.
Well, Lois' spirit, at least.
Clark disappeared once the meteorite was uncovered.
"What was that about...?"
Lex reopened the box and stared at its contents, hoping it would reveal its secret.
"I wonder..."
LOIS
Lois sat alone in bed, adrift in warm comforter blankets.
The only sources of light were from the cool moonlight that trickled through her window and an old black-and-white television.
Images of a sitcom flickered across her blank eyes. Lois felt jealousy when she thought of how the make-believe family never had any problems that couldn't be fixed in half an hour. She teared up at the thought that her problems would never be solved. She was forever flawed.
The laugh track murmured into the darkness.
She curled up into her covers and imagined she was back in her mother's womb.
Her womb... Lois slid a trembling hand to her belly.
Lois wasn't yet three months into her pregnancy, but she was sure she could feel something inside her.
It was sort of a queasy, upset stomach feeling. She felt it the first time the day she went over to Mr. Luthor's office. At the time, she figured it was the tuna she and Clark had before they met with the man. But it had persisted for weeks since then, and she was uneasy.
Lois had met Mr. Luthor for the first time that day, and she could feel just from his presence the power he wielded -- he owned nearly a quarter of the property in Metropolis. The man oozed power, and that made Lois feel weak in the knees. She once felt this way for Clark, but Mr. Luthor's power was of a different kind. His power was exciting and dangerous. As soon as she had walked into the ornate office, she felt as if she were in a lion's den, entirely at his mercy. The extravagant fashion in which the room was decorated made her wonder at what Mr. Luthor had to conquer to pay for all of it. The rugs were probably a company takeover; the Dali sketches, profits from a buyout. They were like trophies of his hunts.
Another thing she noted was that Mr. Luthor always stood solidly, she fancied as a king would. She remembered how small and frail her hand felt in his when they greeted each other, and she felt she needed to be in his arms.
Lois suddenly felt guilty. She couldn't believe she was thinking of another man this way.
She wondered where Clark was. She missed him. It seemed she was always missing him.
The laughs came louder this time.
Her eyes began to water again, so she curled up into a tighter ball. She didn't want to cry -- her daddy always told her not to.
She wanted to be strong for her daddy. She wanted to show him that she was as tough as her brothers. Most of all she wanted his approval. But he would never be proud of her if she cried, no he wouldn't. Even though her father had died more than ten years ago, Lois felt he was always watching her, and she was ashamed at what he saw. But she wouldn't cry. Never.
She had learned her lesson the day her mother left. She was twelve. Lois cried for hours, up until daddy told her she had to be a good girl, or else daddy would leave too.
Lois lay quiet for a while and soon slid into a sticky sleep.
One moment she was laying in bed, and the next she was in Mr. Luthor's office again.
The room was coated in a beautiful green light that seemed to be coming from a ring on Mr. Luthor's hand.
She grasped it in her hand and suddenly it was large and heavy. She had to use both arms to carry it.
The rock pressed hard into her stomach. It was hurting her.
Mr. Luthor smiled proudly at her, and when she looked down, her belly was enormous.
She was scared and confused.
What was in her?
Now she was in a hospital room, in labor, while her unseen father yelled at her from behind.
Her legs were in stirrups and she felt so ashamed, but she had to know what was in her.
The nurses and doctors gasped as a green glow emanated from between her legs, but she couldn't see what it was.
She struggled and screamed to see it, but it was taken away from her, while she remained tied down to the gurney.
Then everyone was gone, and she was alone in the dark.
She began to cry.
Suddenly, Lois was sitting up in bed and she became aware she was screaming.
Her heart felt like it was about to burst.
Lois breathed deeply for a second before she noticed Clark's silhouette at the bedroom door.
"Are you okay, Lois?"
"Clark!", she called, arms outstretched.
Clark inched closer.
"Hold me please!"
Clark moved to the bed and stiffly put his arms around Lois.
He felt her thin body shake against his.
Lois had no idea how long she had been asleep. It felt like an eternity had gone by in the blink of an eye.
"Please hold me."
"I am."
Lois knew she should feel safe with Clark, but she didn't.
"I'm so scared, please hold me."
In the back of her mind, Lois heard the laugh track roar.
She didn't calm down until she imagined sitting in Lex's arms, although she never admitted to it -- not even to herself.
After a few silent moments, Clark finally asked.
"What are you so scared about?"
"I'm afraid that there's something really wrong."
"Wrong? Wrong with what?"
Both Clark and Lois braced themselves for the answer.
"I'm pregnant."
"What? No. You can't. How?
"I don't know. I know our DNA isn't supposed to match, but I'm sure I'm pregnant."
Clark rose from the bed.
"You haven't been...? No, you haven't. I would have smelled it on you."
Lois avoided his piercing stare. His eyes were dark blue, like her daddy's.
Clark began to pace.
Lois covered her belly and looked away when she felt his azure eyes flood her womb with x-rays. She felt so vulnerable and utterly humiliated.
There it was -- a tiny, wretched little blotch in Lois' stomach.
It was a baby.
CLARK
Clark was standing restlessly atop the roof of the Daily Planet, the fat breeze tearing through his coarse black hair. It was a drearier day than usual, and from forty-five stories up, the towering clouds and shifty winds seemed even more menacing. Clark couldn't really feel the humidity in the air -- he was numb to certain acute senses, but it was almost as if he could smell it. The anticipation was hanging heavily in the air, and the aching expectation almost reminded Clark of the few moments just before you sneeze. Rain was imminent any minute now, but one never knew how long the sky would hold out. This was the kind of weather that made you feel loathe to go outside; the type that you gaped at from inside, behind the fragile safety of a pane of glass. This was the type of weather that made you wonder why the hell you were perched atop the Daily Planet with an odd red-haired college kid dressed in a bed sheet. Twenty feet in front of Clark sat Jimmy, clad in a homemade Superman costume, sobbing, head in hands. As Clark eyed the painted maroon 'S' on Jimmy's blue tee shirt, he couldn't help but guess at what the boy had planned. Jimmy's flaming red bed sheet flapped zealously in the wind.
"What the hell's going on, Jimmy? Why'd you ask me to join you up here?"
"James", Jimmy muttered.
"What?"
"James, damnit! James, not Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy! James! My name is James!" he shrieked as he struck at his temples.
"Alright, fine, Jimmy... James, whatever. What's going on? Why are you dressed like Superman?"
Jimmy wiped his face and began to stand. Even at full stature, he was barely up to Clark's chin.
"I've realized that there's two truths in this sorry world." he stated sadly.
"There's the glassy illusion of truth that everyone wants to believe in, then there's the dark, sick reality," he continued.
"Nobody ever openly recognizes the other side to humanity. They all just sweep it under the rug and will it to disappear.
"Society is too wrapped up in the comfort of its own glory to acknowledge that things aren't perfect." Jimmy began to pace back and forth.
"Who's gonna help those caught on the under the polished surface? Huh?"
"You? You, Clark, with your life of lies and your shitty ways?"
As Clark struggled for an understanding of the situation, he interjected.
"Jimmy..."
"Shut up, Clark! I'm tired. I'm tired of masquerading like there's only one happy truth." Jimmy began to approach Clark.
"Jimmy", Clark pointed a threatening finger, "if you know something, you'd better tell me right now."
"I know who you really are!" Jimmy ripped open Clark's white Oxford shirt to reveal half of a bold red 'S'. Jimmy shrank back like he'd seen a ghost; almost as if he were surprised the 'S' was really under Clark's clothes. It glared back at him -- through him -- and as Jimmy moved back, Clark shot out and grabbed Jimmy by the shirt, pulling him up to his level.
"If you tell anyone..."
Jimmy continued, as if he were oblivious to everything around him -- Clarks piercing eyes, the boiling clouds, the popping of his cape as it flailed in the rusty-odored winds.
"I see a lot more than you give me credit for, Clark. I see you there hiding under the glassy truth. I see you out having sex with whores while your wife's pregnant with your child."
Clark paused while Jimmy went on, stunned by the boy's energy.
"People worship Superman. They think he's perfect. But he's not. He's out there in the same world as them, demoralizing women and lying to the very people that thank him."
"Who the hell do you think you are, you little prick?" Clark seethed.
"I know!" Jimmy sobbed, almost teasing Clark. "I know! I know you're Superman! I know who you are!"
The tears overtook the laughter. "I know!"
"I know!"
He began to break down.
"I know!...
No!...
No!...
No! Stop, daddy! Don't", Jimmy collapsed onto Clark, hugging him tightly.
"Save me from him, Superman! Please! Help me!"
Disgusted, Clark began to push him away, but suddenly, the boy clasped his head and kissed Clark's unfeeling lips.
"You little faggot!" Clark shoved him a bit too roughly, and Jimmy tumbled away, tangled in his beautiful crimson bed sheet.
Jimmy pulled himself up, unsteadily, wiped his face on his shirt, and smiled through crying eyes.
Just then, the heavy wind picked up and began to billow in Jimmy's faux cape.
Closing his eyes, Jimmy sighed and opened his arms to accept the breeze.
Clark could hear him whisper, "I can fly."
Clark got that feeling of anticipation again, and he watched silently as Jimmy ran to the edge of the roof and disappeared over the side.
"I can flyyyyyyy!"
Jimmy threw himself into the nothingness, and his mind raced as the freedom enveloped him. He tumbled in its instability, and he was happy. He was a small, strange spot in the sky. As he listened to the world rush past him, he began to think back on his life -- the life he was fast falling away from. A vision of his frustrated mother clutched at him from the darkness, then a painful memory clawed its way back into his mind.
Jimmy reached out and opened a heavy door. On the other side was his beautiful mother, naked, screaming in agony while his father severely beat and raped her. Jimmy could make out every curve of her face as if it were a foot in front of him. He could see the lines of anguish in her brow, and the desperate plea for help in her lovely sky blue eyes. Her blue eyes... So comforting and so painful all at once. They cried out to him. Jimmy felt overwhelmed with helplessness and insignificance. He screamed in a child's voice for his father to stop.
Then there was nothing.
Back up on the roof, Clark started the other way, buttoning up his white oxford shirt and wiping the taste of Jimmy's salty tears from his thin lips. Just as he opened the door to return to the interior of the Planet, Clark could hear a group of people scream as Jimmy hit the pavement below.
"Faggot."
After Clark stepped inside, the metal door slammed shut, the sky opened, and it began to rain cold, fat tears for a fallen hero.
First Born: A Proposed Superman Story Arc
by Jose Luis Andrade
LOIS
"I'm pregnant." Lois boasted.
The two women paused, almost expecting to hear a toilet flush in the newly constructed women's bathroom. The Daily Planet had finally broke down and agreed to build it after Lois had threatened to leave if she didn't get a closer facility. Lois glowed then after her victory as she did now; she had gotten her way.
"No! With Clark, right!?!" Dana gasped as she nudged Lois' elbow.
"Of course with Clark, silly!" came the cold reply.
"Who else?" Lois thought to herself as she begun to straighten herself in the mirror.
Lois had slowly begun to realize that her husband was spending more and more time away as Superman than at home with her, and the abrasive fear that Clark would soon leave her began to gnaw at her self-worth.
"Well I'm sure a baby will make him settle down." Lois had assured herself. "He'll have to slow down and give me.us.more attention."
Dana shattered the awkward silence, offering, "C'mon Lois, I'll take you out to lunch! My treat!"
"No, I've got to find out how I'm gonna tell Clark." Lois shot her offer down.
"Well, it can't be that hard can it? I mean, he'll be happy about it, right?" Dana asked quietly.
"No, I'm sure of it. He'll be happy. It's Clark." Dana replied quickly to her own question.
"He'll be happy about it, Lois."
"I know, I know." Lois scoffed.
"Well alright." Dana offered, "I'm going to lunch at Charlie's. You're more than welcome to join if you'd like. And don't worry about Clark. He'll be ecstatic." Dana smiled as she left Lois alone in the bathroom, with only her reflection to keep her company.
Lois turned back to the mirror.
She thought, "I'm right. He'll settle down once he realizes he can't be out with other women when he's got a kid at home. He'll have to."
Lois knew that Clark hadn't always been out doing superhero-type things. She's a reporter, for Pete's sake. She's good at noticing small things. It's what she does. Lois could feel the gap between her and Clark beginning to widen, and she was certain it was other women. She could feel how Clark's heart wasn't in it when they kissed or made love. Honestly, Lois didn't know whether Clark was aware she knew of his infidelity, or he simply didn't care if she knew.
"Well why don't you just leave him?" a minute voice inside of her whispered.
She stared plaintively at herself.
She couldn't leave him. That would be crazy. Why would any woman in their right mind leave Superman? He was perfect -- a god almost. Besides, she loved him immensely. She would be stupid to let him go.
The little voice died away.
Lois shivered involuntarily. She looked around the small bathroom and decided she'd ask for a heater so the porcelain wouldn't be so cold. She then moved over to the window to close it -- the painters had left it open to let the fumes out -- and while looking out, she noticed that winter was nearly upon them. It seemed to come earlier and earlier every year. It wasn't even November yet, and Lois could already feel the chill in her bones. The skies were still blue, but soon they would give way to short, colorless days and long, bitter nights. She hated the winter. It reminded her of cold nights spent alone as she worried about Clark and whether or not he would return home. She hated not knowing where he was or what he was doing. Or who he was doing.
Lois shut the small window and ambled back to her spot in front of the sink, her footsteps echoing in the empty bathroom.
"Well, this baby will change things", she told her reflection.
Lois leaned forward to get a better view of her eyes in the frigid mirror.
"My god, I'm getting crow's feet! Shit!"
Lois rummaged quickly through her purse for her compact and pulled it out.
"Clark's lucky; he hardly ages."
Lois grimaced as she caught a closer view in her small mirror and applied a thick layer of foundation to mask the wrinkles. While she was at it, she took off her dull brown lipstick and painted a fresh, bright red coat on her thin lips. When she finished, Lois put her compact back in her purse, next to the hairbrush, trying desperately to ignore the frightening amount of hair caught in its laughing teeth. She snapped the purse shut quickly, before the piercing heckles eroded her delicate coat of self-esteem.
As she walked away from her reflection in the empty bathroom and into the safety of the crowded Daily Planet office, she reassured herself once more.
"I'll get my way."
CLARK
Clark fixed his hair and straightened his clothes in his reflection in the front window of the Daily Planet as he came in from a lunch tryst with a new sexual conquest -- Dana. Frankly, he didn't really care if Lois discovered his infidelity; he just wanted to look good for Sharon, the sexy new receptionist at the Planet. He had been watching her since she started a week ago, and his interest was piqued when he saw her bright red hair, thin waist, and big hips. He loved the way her breasts swayed every time she leaned forward to answer the phones. Her smooth, light skin seemed to emphasize the bright green in her eyes and the pink on her lips. Clark let her know he was watching her every time she swung her curvaceous form.
Today, he saw through the glass she was wearing a tight baby blue sweater. Clark couldn't resist a woman with a good fashion sense. He stole a few more glances at her creamy, white thighs jutting out from under her short brown skirt and noted how her large nipples poked through her thin top, bringing stares from many other men -- and some women.
Clark, content with his appearance, continued in from his "lunch" with Dana from the copy room. He found it amusing how "friends" of Lois would so readily sleep with him, knowing full well he's married to her. And Dana proved especially treacherous. Honestly, Clark never would have imagined that she was such a wild woman. He thought she would present a bit more of a challenge, as her conservative dress gave no clue of her large sexual appetite. However, as wild as Dana was, Clark was still left wanting more -- he wasn't yet satisfied. Strutting in from the street, he hoped that perhaps this new girl Sharon could offer something fulfilling. As he approached her at the front desk, Clark made eye contact, flashed her a devilish grin and remarked, "A bit cold in here today? They should really turn the heat up."
Sharon leaned forward with an equally devilish grin of her own and whispered, "This sweater looks better on me when it's cold, don't you think?"
Clark thought for a moment and slyly shot back, "I think it'd look even better on the floor of my apartment."
He paused, moving his eyes from her bright face down to her sweater and back up again.
"Have you taken lunch yet?" Clark asked deeply.
Her body language almost answered for her.
But before her mouth could reply, a phone ring disrupted the tension. "How 'bout I meet you out front in fifteen minutes?" Sharon offered hurriedly as she answered the line.
"I'll be there," said Clark as he left her, on the way up to his editor's office.
He figured he'd let Perry know he was back from lunch and off to cover a story. That should give him at least two hours.
Why shouldn't he be able to have fun? He definitely has earned it -- just yesterday he saved a bus of school children from careening off a bridge after the brakes failed. He's saved the earth dozens of times and spared billions of lives. He should enjoy life like a god -- he practically is one. He could get any woman he pleases, and Lois isn't satisfying him at all, so he's not really to blame for his infidelity. She should've done more to keep him, and she should be glad he hasn't left her altogether.
Originally, Clark had married Lois because he loved her. He admired her. He was drawn to her by her wit, her confidence, and her beauty. But that was years ago. She's changed now. Her once smooth face has become craggy from the stresses of being a top-tier journalist. Her firm body has given way to sagging breasts and the beginnings of saddlebags. Lois is no longer the lovely flower she once was. She had also lost confidence in herself, Clark noted; although he had no idea why. Over the years, Lois had wilted like so many of Metropolis' roses during the first few weeks of November, and his once genuine love had gradually transformed into a profound pity for her. Somewhere inside his soul, Clark was still (somewhat) a moral farm boy from the rural Midwest -- he couldn't just up and leave Lois. He knew that she would be devastated, and perhaps with her low self-esteem, she might even attempt suicide. Clark didn't want that. He didn't need it troubling him for the rest of his long life. He still hoped that maybe one day, Lois would cheat on him and give him a good reason to leave her with a clean conscience.
But, Lois was a good woman at heart, and Clark couldn't help but wonder when he stopped loving her and started pitying her.
Clark stepped out of the elevator, coat and hat in hand, and bumped into Jimmy, one of the Planet's freelance photographers.
"Oh, hey Jimmy", Clark greeted as he stopped in front of Jimmy, "how are those flower pictures coming?"
"Eh. They're only flowers, right?" Jimmy replied apathetically. "And it's James."
An awkward moment of silence passed.
"You off to lunch?", asked Jimmy as he avoided Clark's anxious stare.
Clark nodded.
Jimmy always seemed to be lurking around. Like he was watching Clark. Of course, there was no way he could tell for sure, so whenever he could, Clark always pressed Jimmy, waiting for an inconsistency in his mannerisms that would denote suspicious behavior. He was just waiting for him to slip up and reveal himself.
Another uneasy moment.
"Well I've got to go, Clark." Jimmy broke the spell. "I've got some more of these rose spreads to develop. How 'bout I show them to you when I finish?"
"Yeah, that sounds good. See ya later Jimmy, and stay out of trouble.", Clark said flatly as he passed him, walking across the news floor, towards Perry's office. He didn't sense anything too out-of-place, although, Jimmy was a weird kid. Still, Clark couldn't shake the feeling that something was up with this guy. He might have to confront him someday.
Clark poked his head past the big black letters on his supervisor's door: Perry White, Editor-In-Chief.
"Perry, I'm back from lunch, and I'm off to do a follow-up on that bus driver from yesterday." Clark stated through the thin opening between Perry's heavy oaken door and his large glass window. The old man had it put in so he could watch his writers even when he was in his chair. He expected nothing but the best from his employees.
"Ok, Kent. And remember I need that in my hand by six or I won't be." Perry was cut off as Clark shut the door and headed to the elevator, cutting through the tippity-tap of keyboards and the rustle of papers that dominated the news floor. Clark stopped at his desk to grab a notepad, then headed off to meet with Sharon.
JIMMY
Jimmy shut and locked the darkroom door behind himself and paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit space. As he flipped the switch for the lights, Jimmy inhaled deeply. The smell of the darkroom always made him light-headed -- the ventilation fan had stopped working long ago. In a few minutes, he would feel a lot better.
Jimmy made his way over to the counter in the dim red light and retrieved seven rolls of film from his backpack. He had been photographing Metropolis roses for a Daily Planet pictorial on seasonal floral beds. The majority of the rolls were pictures of flowers. Damn flowers. Still, he admired their deep red beauty and their sharp thorns. In a way, they reminded him of life. If you grew your rose right, the blossoming bud would overshadow the prickly thorns. But, if something were to hinder its growth, such as choking undergrowth, or too little water, the bud will never open, and the ugly thorns will dominate the plant.
Jimmy had taken five rolls of film on nothing but the American Beauties. However, the remaining two rolls were special -- they were for a personal portfolio. He had poured his heart into these pictures, and he wanted to see how they turned out. But, Jimmy knew his work took precedence. Besides, if he waited, he could take his time and develop those pictures right.
Jimmy reached down under the counter and pulled out the gallon-sized container of developing fluid and deposited a bit into the first five rolls of film. He then replaced the container and closed the lids on the film and inserted them into a rolling machine. The little machine, about the size of a microwave, would shake and turn the canisters to soak the film in the developing chemical. After a three-minute cycle, Jimmy would remove the rolls from the machine, drain the fluid, and feed the individual rolls into a different machine that cropped and color-corrected the film. Then the cumbersome machine would project the images on the film onto a photochemical sensitive paper. Once this was done, Jimmy would soak the special paper in another developing chemical until it achieved the right amount of detail, then hang the new photograph up to dry. Each roll of film, depending on the total number of shots, would take an average photographer about an hour or so to develop. Jimmy, however, prided himself on developing a full roll in thirty to forty-five minutes. His favorite part of the process was soaking the photo-chemical paper and watching the image float up out of nothingness -- it was almost as if his personal memories would come to life in his work. The observer would be able to see what he saw and, if he did it right, feel what he felt at the time. This is what he loved about true photography -- he was in control of a moment in time that he captured in eternity.
Jimmy finished up his pictures of the roses and began to hang the last ones up. He was feeling good and buzzed, and he started to develop his two prized rolls.
Jimmy loved the fact that his photographs would be forever preserved in history, and this was exactly why he was so excited about these last two rolls. The past two weeks, Jimmy had been collecting shots of Superman. He was there a few days ago when Superman stopped that school bus from going over the edge of the Luthor Bridge. He was there last week when a suicidal maniac opened fire in a church, screaming, "God is dead". And Jimmy was there when that freak car accident created a five-vehicle flaming pile-up. Each time, Superman, in an extravagant display of uber-machismo, was there, tearing apart metal, saving lives, and posing statuesquely in his tight blue outfit. Jimmy knew this was how the public saw Superman, their hero. In their minds, Superman could do no wrong -- and this is how Jimmy portrayed him through his camera -- the Great American Man. But, Jimmy himself sees more than what the small scope of his lens can capture. He sees what lies beneath the glassy surface of the world, and he doesn't like it. But, for the sake of the public, he buys into the image and perpetuates it through his Nikon SLR.
Jimmy felt that dreams were better than reality -- they are more perfect. The public sees Superman as a righter of wrongs, as a champion of justice, as a god. He is infallible. This is how they must see him. He gives them hope in their desperate little lives.
"We need him. We need his massive body to protect us."
"I need him."
As Jimmy stared into the wavering pool of chemical truth that lay before him, a dark slender blob began to materialize. He recognized the shot immediately. It was a rare shot of Superman in flight. Of all of Superman's known powers, Jimmy wanted to fly most of all -- to escape the bounds of this world. He wanted to be free -- free of everything. Free of life, free of his past, of his future. He imagined his happiness in the sky... Surrounded by an infinite nothingness, soft against his skin, and inviting to his eye. True happiness wasn't in this world, but above it. He could almost feel the rush of the air around him as he floated high above the world. As he leaned forward to see the picture better, his crotch rubbed against the stiff, wooden counter. Thinking about Superman often excited him. As the picture slowly grew clearer, Jimmy reached down and laid his hand on himself. He could start to make out details -- it was a beautiful clear blue sky that day, the shot framed by a few pure white tufts. He wanted desperately to feel the soft coolness of the clouds against his bare skin, to jump out of the constraints the outside world placed on him. As he stared at Superman's muscular physique mid-flight, he closed his eyes and rubbed faster, thrusting himself into the watery azure sky beneath the chemical surface. Slowly, he began to feel himself enter the photograph. He was falling into the empty, limitless sky. His problems were rushing away from him. He was flying.
PERRY
Perry stared out of his office window and marveled at how large Metropolis appeared from forty-three stories above ground. He would have had a magnificent view from his oversized office window, had it not been for the weather. Perry always liked his office, mostly because he felt it was just the right size for him, but partly for the large double-paned window that offered a framed view of Metropolis. Perry noticed that when one stood at the door to his office, the city rose up behind him in his desk, and gave his office a majestic feel to it. He enjoyed being able to see everything through his windows; his city and his newsroom. Presently, Perry could see that Metropolis was in for a dark and wet afternoon. The gray clouds had been creeping up on his city for a few hours now, and not even his gorgon-like glares could scatter them. Grey or not, Perry truly felt the city was his. It was his kingdom. Whenever some tragic event occurred, he felt sadness in his heart. He had been in journalism for quite some time -- forty-five years. He lived the fairy tale life in the business. Perry started working in the mailroom of the Planet when he was fourteen, under the tutelage of his uncle, Robert White, who held some position of power then. To tell the truth, he never knew what exactly his uncle did, but he was sure it was important. After Perry's father died, his uncle Robert took it upon himself to offer him a job. Since then, Perry always looked up to his uncle as a son would to a dad. And Perry always felt the need to please his uncle, as a show of gratitude for his attention. So Perry worked hard at his job, and moved up within the company. As a matter of fact, he held just about every position to be had in the Daily Planet. He gave the Planet his all, and the Planet gave Perry a chance to grow into a man, even without a true father. During his long tenure, he had the opportunity to see both sides of human beings. Through the stories printed in the Planet, Perry saw how caring some people could be to each other, and his chest swelled with pride each time he read a story of compassion. It really made him feel glorious to be a human being when he heard about heroes such as Superman. He knew that wholesome people would always exist, and as he grew, he tried to model himself after these men. In this way, Perry's father figure was an amalgam of the virtuous Everyman. He drew influence from everyday heroes, but mostly from his chief champion of justice, Superman. Yes, Superman was indeed a large role model for Perry in his later years. To Perry, Superman was a symbol of everything good in a man's heart. Yet, he knew that with light, comes shadow. Perry had seen and heard many things during his years in the business, and it is true that sometimes he wept at the atrocities committed against his "kinsmen"-- as he liked to call them. He was saddened and angered over the fact that some men could kill and injure another for greed and jealousy. This is why he admired Superman so much -- Superman fought for the righteous man. Why, he even looked like the good old American boy.
Just then Jimmy walked in. "You called for me, Mr. White?"
Perry snapped out of his deep thought and nodded his head in acknowledgement.
Perry moved to his large chair and, with a grunt, plopped down into it. Then he slowly plucked a cigar from his humidor, clipped it and lit it. As smoke escaped from his mouth, Perry gave off the impression that he forgot exactly why he called the boy in. And he had.
Ah, yes, that was it.
With a squeak of leather against cloth, he leaned forward in his chair and rotated a framed picture until he felt Jimmy could see it.
The boy was clearly uncomfortable, and for some reason, Perry enjoyed this.
Perry retracted his hand from the picture, which happened to be of himself, along with his wife and two sons.
Then, when he had gathered his words, he spoke.
"I don't think you're working hard enough, son."
Perry could tell the boy didn't know what to say.
"Your photos are satisfactory, but I don't see any visible style. Photographers -- at least good ones -- need a unique style that they can call their own. I tell you this 'cause I think you could do better."
The boy responded, "I'm not exactly sure what you mean, sir."
Perry narrowed his eyes, almost as if he was trying to look into Jimmy's head.
"Jimmy, you put too much of yourself into your photos. When you photograph a subject, you try to take a picture that shows the viewer what you think about the subject, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well don't. Your personal feelings don't matter. Your ultimate goal is to take pictures that show the facts. But I'm not saying not to have style. Style is something different. Find your style, independent of your personal feelings and utilize that."
"I still don't quite understand what you mean, sir." came the bland and nervous reply.
Perry sighed from slight frustration, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs.
His eyes floated toward the ceiling as he thought for a moment. His stout, rough fingers flicked a few ashes into an ashtray.
"You see this picture here?" Perry pointed to the photo he had turned a few moments earlier.
The boy's eyes darted away from Perry's white-streaked temples to the framed photo as he nodded shortly.
"This is my family. I care about them."
Perry paused a second to make sure Jimmy was paying attention.
"Years ago, I was out with my wife for dinner and a show. We were headed to the car, going home, and we were robbed by a couple niggers."
Perry noticed the boy wince at the n-word.
"They took all our money and pushed my wife, Lara, to the ground. They probably needed the money for crack or a forty ounce of malt liquor. That night I realized that all this stuff that we write in the paper actually happens. It happens to people like me -- honest, hard-working people like me and my wife. While good people are out working, there are criminals stealing from them. Most of them are no-good niggers. I hate them. I hate them not only for what they did to me and my wife, but what they do to others like me."
"Now," Perry relaxed a little, as his body seemed to become tense earlier, "I'm sure not too many people, especially them negroes, would appreciate what I have to say about them, if I chose to put my feelings in the paper. You get my drift?"
Jimmy nodded again.
"You see this window?", Perry stated, rather than asked, as he gestured behind himself. "This window doesn't interpret what it sees to convey it to the viewer, it simply allows the person to see the view itself. That's what you need to do. Be a clear, unobstructed, and unbiased window for our readers."
The old man let the analogy sink in, as if he was proud of its efficacy. Then, he went on to explain himself further.
"You see, the public doesn't want to hear what the reporter thinks about on a certain subject. They want the facts, and it's your job to give just the facts. It's my job to make sure that's what they get."
Perry puffed on his cigar and thought a moment, before resting his hand back on the desk, perched above the ashtray.
"What the public does like to hear is stories of good people. People like Superman."
Perry did not notice that the boy's red head shook in disagreement.
"You see, people like to read about him because he is the symbol of everything good. He's perfect. He's a strong, moral, white man that helps out the little guys. And he's damn good-looking, too, don't you think, Jimmy? Superman is exactly what this city needs to bring out the best in us. He's somebody to look up to. Almost like a father to our city -- to us. You know, protecting us."
Perry tensed again and moved forward in his plush chair.
"You'd never see a nigger saving lives and such. They're too concerned with themselves to give a damn about anybody else. All they want is their own welfare. I mean, look at these black organizations -- they always want more. They say that we mistreat them when we really only treat them as criminals should be treated. Then they want special treatment 'cause of their color? They think that just because a couple centuries ago they were sold into slavery they need special treatment now? You know what? It was their own people that sold them to white traders in the first place. See, they're always self-serving. Very selfish people."
The boy said nothing, but he was obviously distraught, and Perry now realized that he had lost restraint.
His tone lightened as he fell back into his relaxed position, legs crossed. "You see? You don't want to hear what I have to say. And our readers don't care what you have to say. I don't mean to sound so abrasive, but do you get my point?"
"Yes, sir."
Perry's tone lowered another notch, as he returned back to his business tone.
"Your photos tend to have a bit of cynicism -- sometimes hostility -- in them. Try to see the subject plainly. Okay?"
Jimmy answered in the affirmative as more ash fell into the glass bowl resting under Perry's fingers.
"Now get your narrow butt outta my office and get some work done." Perry motioned towards the door of his office. "And shut the door behind you."
Perry watched through his glass window as the boy shuffled clumsily out of his office and headed across the floor towards the elevators.
"That boy..." Perry shook his head as he took one last puff of his cigar and extinguished it in his dirty ashtray.
LEX
A sharp buzz from his intercom snatched Lex Luthor from a relaxing trance as he was surveying his view of Metropolis, like a lion that presides triumphantly over his prey.
Lex established his bearings for a second while a whiny female voice -- his assistant, Miriam -- reminded him that "a Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane" were there to see him. Lex spun around in his tall chair, away from his window, and buzzed twice -- a signal for Miriam to send them in.
With the help of a small mirror on his desk, Lex straightened himself, and while he was at it, he removed some papers from his desk and stashed them away from view.
Supposedly, these two journalists were visiting to learn about a certain object that recently came into Lex's possession -- a large chunk of meteorite.
However, Lex was sure there was probably another reason for the interest.
A few years ago, Luthorcorp entered into a five-year contract with the Lo Padi, an Iraqi companion cell to the Al-Qa'ida organization. Luthorcorp was obligated to supply the Lo Padi with thousands of rifles a year, plus numerous explosives and incendiary munitions, all in return for a considerable amount of untraceable assets. For a while, the deal was lucrative for Luthor. That is until he discovered that most of the weaponry was being funneled to the Al-Qa'ida to be used in a ridiculous "Holy War" against the United Sates. After this news, Lex was agitated at the possibility that the supplies would be linked back to him. The repercussions would be fearsome, even for him. He would be blackballed, lose countless dollars of funding, hundreds of contracts, and most likely be forced to do business solely outside the U.S. Once he learned of the Lo Padi's near breach of contract, he restated the terms of supply and demanded an enormous raise in compensation on his behalf. The Lo Padi, who themselves were under pressure to supply these arms, were forced to conform to Luthor's new deal in order to remain under the aegis of the Al-Qa'ida.
After surviving twenty-four years in the business world -- half of those during the cutthroat 80's -- Lex knew just where and when to apply pressure.
Unfortunately, if he weren't careful, Lex himself would be feeling pressure. Following the terrorist attacks on the U.S., Americans were becoming dangerously patriotic, and the government was itching to bring down any big corporation as a scapegoat -- never mind the fact that Uncle Sam had been heavily arming the terrorist cells indirectly for much longer than Luthorcorp. The White House couldn't have gotten a better opportunity to get rid of its biggest competitors. You see, once organizations such as Luthorcorp were listed as traitors, they would be broken up into smaller companies, and sold to the highest bidders, mostly the government itself. This new-age McCarthyism allowed Uncle Sam to acquire more money-generating assets without the strain of concocting a reasonable cover.
The media, also anxious to feed off the public's bloodthirst for un-American individuals, had eagerly jumped on the bandwagon as well.
All the public needed was a name to their enemy.
That's why Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane were here.
Why else would two award-winning journalists want to speak with Lex Luthor? Certainly not for a piece of rock.
Nevertheless, Lex was anxious for the challenge, and looked forward to putting on a good show for these two.
Lex took his mark in front of his immense cherry oak desk as his audience entered.
"Ms. Lane! Mr. Kent! How are you? Would either of you like some coffee?" Lex motioned towards a small area that housed an expensive-looking coffee machine, a cappuccino machine, and assorted blends of coffee beans.
The couple strolled into the lavish office, trying to take it all in at once.
The black marble floor was flawless and beautifully matched the white oak pillars that ran up to the convex ceiling.
Bookcases, paintings, and oriental rugs adorned the walls and floor. However, Clark noticed that there was a complete lack of personal items in the room. It felt sterile. Like a doctor's office, or a mausoleum.
On the wall adjacent to the desk, Lois noted there was a large-screen television, which was curiously blank at the moment.
"No thank you", Lois declined as she quickly advanced toward Lex, offering her hand.
Lex recognized her intentions immediately. She had moved in first, grabbing his attention with her response and her extended arm, all the while Clark explored the other side of his expansive office, partially hidden by Lois herself.
Lex shook her hand and made eye contact, allowing Clark ample time to scrutinize his office.
He had nothing to hide. He smiled at Lois. At least not in plain sight.
All Mr. Kent would find is a couple Dali sketches on his wall and a huge oaken bookcase filled with an impressive collection of well-worn books.
Oh, and there was the rock.
"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Kent?", Lex asked as Clark came upon the lead box that contained the meteorite.
"No thank you, Mr. Luthor. I'm just admiring these sketches you have here. Dali?"
"Correct, Mr. Kent. Quite rare, and very expensive. You like them?"
Clark grunted in the affirmative as he tried unsuccessfully to look through the mysterious leaden box.
Lois stepped toward Lex once again, onto a marvelously rich Persian rug, and attempted to regain eye contact.
"Thank you for having us today, Mr. Luthor, I know you're a busy..."
Clark cut her off from across the room, "Mr. Luthor, what's this box made of?"
"That box is constructed of pure lead, Mr. Kent."
"Call me Clark."
"Of course, thank you, Clark."
"And you may call me Lois, Mr. Luthor", Lois shifted into Lex's view of Clark a third time.
"Why lead?", Clark queried, curiously eyeing the box over his rimmed glasses.
"Well it obviously shields against contamination, as well as protects its contents. But chiefly, lead's dense composition filters out the small amount of radiation emitted by the meteorite inside."
"Radiation?", Lois and Clark repeated in unison.
"It's a terribly small amount, and doesn't affect any terrestrial organisms, save for a certain species of gnats. However, I store it in that box because I'm told electronics may react to it."
Lex strode over to the box, followed by Lois.
"Would you two like to see it?"
"Sure."
"That's why we're here, right?", Lois added a bit too nervously.
Lex pulled a key ring out of his front pocket. On it were three small, insignificant-looking keys, one of which he chose and unlocked the box.
Before he unlidded the strange black box, Lex returned the keys to his pocket.
Lex placed his well-manicured hands on the top and studied the pair of faces as he lifted the heavy lid.
A green glow moved across their eyes, and Lois gasped lightly as she inched toward the box.
Clark, however, remained in his spot a few paces away and began to sweat.
In a few seconds, while Lois and Lex studied the meteorite, Clark moved his hand over his stomach and turned away from the green glow.
It seemed to pulse and prod at him -- through him.
Lex glanced up and noticed Clark slink quickly to the entrance.
"Is everything alright, Clark?", Lex called as the door shut in response.
Lois turned towards Clark's abandoned post, then back to Lex.
"Maybe it was the tuna we had before we came", Lois shrugged.
"So where'd it come from?"
"My guys tell me it's from a previously undiscovered planet somewhere in the Gemini constellation. They calculated the trajectory of the piece and estimated where the planet was. We haven't actually seen it though."
"How do you know it's there?", Lois asked.
"Well first off, there are numerous ways you can mathematically prove where a planet is, without actually spotting it. However, we're never going to actually be able to see the planet, as it is extinct."
"What do you mean? How do you know?"
"Well, Lois, this meteorite has been studied and tested thoroughly, and my scientists hypothesize that this particular piece is from the interior of the planet it came from, which we are calling Krypton, as the meteorite contains a rich amount of solid Krypton -- an element we have here on Earth only in gaseous form. Well, the fact that such a large chunk of the interior has come this far -- about three hundred million miles -- highly suggests that the planet met with an untimely demise. We've been doing more work on it, and they have also calculated that this Krypton was about half the size of Jupiter, and was possibly hit by a very large piece of debris."
"Supposing this did happen, how long ago was it hit?", Lois prodded, entranced by the rock.
"Well we're not exactly sure yet. I'm trying to acquire more pieces, if possible, to compile more data. They estimate this happened anywhere from five thousand to a thousand years ago."
"And why does it glow like that?"
"Intoxicating, isn't it? Our atmosphere seems to partially break down the solid Krypton into a gaseous state. The green luminescence is caused by a reaction between the surrounding oxygen and the Krypton."
They both stood silent a moment to admire the mystic light.
"Why are you so fascinated by this piece of rock, Mr. Luthor?"
"Why are you so fascinated by it? I simply have no idea, Lois. There's just something about it that I find intriguing. Doesn't it just seem to pull you in?"
Lois nodded in acknowledgement as she stared into the glowing green meteorite.
"Are you sure this radiation does no harm?", Lois pressed.
"Quite sure, Ms. Lane."
Lois stared at the odd meteorite for a few seconds before remembering Clark's absence.
"Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. Lane?", Lex offered, hoping this fish had some fight still left in her.
She shook her head silently.
"Perhaps you should check on Mr. Kent?", Lex suggested as he closed the lid, almost on Lois' nose.
Lois seemed to return to normal.
"Yes sir, Mr. Luthor. Thank you for your time."
Lois slid her empty notepad and pencil into her purse and shook Lex's hand before heading towards the office door.
Lex began to lock the box back up, but paused a moment. He couldn't believe how much of a disappointment the interview was. As soon as he opened the box, the green rock seemed to conquer their spirits.
Well, Lois' spirit, at least.
Clark disappeared once the meteorite was uncovered.
"What was that about...?"
Lex reopened the box and stared at its contents, hoping it would reveal its secret.
"I wonder..."
LOIS
Lois sat alone in bed, adrift in warm comforter blankets.
The only sources of light were from the cool moonlight that trickled through her window and an old black-and-white television.
Images of a sitcom flickered across her blank eyes. Lois felt jealousy when she thought of how the make-believe family never had any problems that couldn't be fixed in half an hour. She teared up at the thought that her problems would never be solved. She was forever flawed.
The laugh track murmured into the darkness.
She curled up into her covers and imagined she was back in her mother's womb.
Her womb... Lois slid a trembling hand to her belly.
Lois wasn't yet three months into her pregnancy, but she was sure she could feel something inside her.
It was sort of a queasy, upset stomach feeling. She felt it the first time the day she went over to Mr. Luthor's office. At the time, she figured it was the tuna she and Clark had before they met with the man. But it had persisted for weeks since then, and she was uneasy.
Lois had met Mr. Luthor for the first time that day, and she could feel just from his presence the power he wielded -- he owned nearly a quarter of the property in Metropolis. The man oozed power, and that made Lois feel weak in the knees. She once felt this way for Clark, but Mr. Luthor's power was of a different kind. His power was exciting and dangerous. As soon as she had walked into the ornate office, she felt as if she were in a lion's den, entirely at his mercy. The extravagant fashion in which the room was decorated made her wonder at what Mr. Luthor had to conquer to pay for all of it. The rugs were probably a company takeover; the Dali sketches, profits from a buyout. They were like trophies of his hunts.
Another thing she noted was that Mr. Luthor always stood solidly, she fancied as a king would. She remembered how small and frail her hand felt in his when they greeted each other, and she felt she needed to be in his arms.
Lois suddenly felt guilty. She couldn't believe she was thinking of another man this way.
She wondered where Clark was. She missed him. It seemed she was always missing him.
The laughs came louder this time.
Her eyes began to water again, so she curled up into a tighter ball. She didn't want to cry -- her daddy always told her not to.
She wanted to be strong for her daddy. She wanted to show him that she was as tough as her brothers. Most of all she wanted his approval. But he would never be proud of her if she cried, no he wouldn't. Even though her father had died more than ten years ago, Lois felt he was always watching her, and she was ashamed at what he saw. But she wouldn't cry. Never.
She had learned her lesson the day her mother left. She was twelve. Lois cried for hours, up until daddy told her she had to be a good girl, or else daddy would leave too.
Lois lay quiet for a while and soon slid into a sticky sleep.
One moment she was laying in bed, and the next she was in Mr. Luthor's office again.
The room was coated in a beautiful green light that seemed to be coming from a ring on Mr. Luthor's hand.
She grasped it in her hand and suddenly it was large and heavy. She had to use both arms to carry it.
The rock pressed hard into her stomach. It was hurting her.
Mr. Luthor smiled proudly at her, and when she looked down, her belly was enormous.
She was scared and confused.
What was in her?
Now she was in a hospital room, in labor, while her unseen father yelled at her from behind.
Her legs were in stirrups and she felt so ashamed, but she had to know what was in her.
The nurses and doctors gasped as a green glow emanated from between her legs, but she couldn't see what it was.
She struggled and screamed to see it, but it was taken away from her, while she remained tied down to the gurney.
Then everyone was gone, and she was alone in the dark.
She began to cry.
Suddenly, Lois was sitting up in bed and she became aware she was screaming.
Her heart felt like it was about to burst.
Lois breathed deeply for a second before she noticed Clark's silhouette at the bedroom door.
"Are you okay, Lois?"
"Clark!", she called, arms outstretched.
Clark inched closer.
"Hold me please!"
Clark moved to the bed and stiffly put his arms around Lois.
He felt her thin body shake against his.
Lois had no idea how long she had been asleep. It felt like an eternity had gone by in the blink of an eye.
"Please hold me."
"I am."
Lois knew she should feel safe with Clark, but she didn't.
"I'm so scared, please hold me."
In the back of her mind, Lois heard the laugh track roar.
She didn't calm down until she imagined sitting in Lex's arms, although she never admitted to it -- not even to herself.
After a few silent moments, Clark finally asked.
"What are you so scared about?"
"I'm afraid that there's something really wrong."
"Wrong? Wrong with what?"
Both Clark and Lois braced themselves for the answer.
"I'm pregnant."
"What? No. You can't. How?
"I don't know. I know our DNA isn't supposed to match, but I'm sure I'm pregnant."
Clark rose from the bed.
"You haven't been...? No, you haven't. I would have smelled it on you."
Lois avoided his piercing stare. His eyes were dark blue, like her daddy's.
Clark began to pace.
Lois covered her belly and looked away when she felt his azure eyes flood her womb with x-rays. She felt so vulnerable and utterly humiliated.
There it was -- a tiny, wretched little blotch in Lois' stomach.
It was a baby.
CLARK
Clark was standing restlessly atop the roof of the Daily Planet, the fat breeze tearing through his coarse black hair. It was a drearier day than usual, and from forty-five stories up, the towering clouds and shifty winds seemed even more menacing. Clark couldn't really feel the humidity in the air -- he was numb to certain acute senses, but it was almost as if he could smell it. The anticipation was hanging heavily in the air, and the aching expectation almost reminded Clark of the few moments just before you sneeze. Rain was imminent any minute now, but one never knew how long the sky would hold out. This was the kind of weather that made you feel loathe to go outside; the type that you gaped at from inside, behind the fragile safety of a pane of glass. This was the type of weather that made you wonder why the hell you were perched atop the Daily Planet with an odd red-haired college kid dressed in a bed sheet. Twenty feet in front of Clark sat Jimmy, clad in a homemade Superman costume, sobbing, head in hands. As Clark eyed the painted maroon 'S' on Jimmy's blue tee shirt, he couldn't help but guess at what the boy had planned. Jimmy's flaming red bed sheet flapped zealously in the wind.
"What the hell's going on, Jimmy? Why'd you ask me to join you up here?"
"James", Jimmy muttered.
"What?"
"James, damnit! James, not Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy! James! My name is James!" he shrieked as he struck at his temples.
"Alright, fine, Jimmy... James, whatever. What's going on? Why are you dressed like Superman?"
Jimmy wiped his face and began to stand. Even at full stature, he was barely up to Clark's chin.
"I've realized that there's two truths in this sorry world." he stated sadly.
"There's the glassy illusion of truth that everyone wants to believe in, then there's the dark, sick reality," he continued.
"Nobody ever openly recognizes the other side to humanity. They all just sweep it under the rug and will it to disappear.
"Society is too wrapped up in the comfort of its own glory to acknowledge that things aren't perfect." Jimmy began to pace back and forth.
"Who's gonna help those caught on the under the polished surface? Huh?"
"You? You, Clark, with your life of lies and your shitty ways?"
As Clark struggled for an understanding of the situation, he interjected.
"Jimmy..."
"Shut up, Clark! I'm tired. I'm tired of masquerading like there's only one happy truth." Jimmy began to approach Clark.
"Jimmy", Clark pointed a threatening finger, "if you know something, you'd better tell me right now."
"I know who you really are!" Jimmy ripped open Clark's white Oxford shirt to reveal half of a bold red 'S'. Jimmy shrank back like he'd seen a ghost; almost as if he were surprised the 'S' was really under Clark's clothes. It glared back at him -- through him -- and as Jimmy moved back, Clark shot out and grabbed Jimmy by the shirt, pulling him up to his level.
"If you tell anyone..."
Jimmy continued, as if he were oblivious to everything around him -- Clarks piercing eyes, the boiling clouds, the popping of his cape as it flailed in the rusty-odored winds.
"I see a lot more than you give me credit for, Clark. I see you there hiding under the glassy truth. I see you out having sex with whores while your wife's pregnant with your child."
Clark paused while Jimmy went on, stunned by the boy's energy.
"People worship Superman. They think he's perfect. But he's not. He's out there in the same world as them, demoralizing women and lying to the very people that thank him."
"Who the hell do you think you are, you little prick?" Clark seethed.
"I know!" Jimmy sobbed, almost teasing Clark. "I know! I know you're Superman! I know who you are!"
The tears overtook the laughter. "I know!"
"I know!"
He began to break down.
"I know!...
No!...
No!...
No! Stop, daddy! Don't", Jimmy collapsed onto Clark, hugging him tightly.
"Save me from him, Superman! Please! Help me!"
Disgusted, Clark began to push him away, but suddenly, the boy clasped his head and kissed Clark's unfeeling lips.
"You little faggot!" Clark shoved him a bit too roughly, and Jimmy tumbled away, tangled in his beautiful crimson bed sheet.
Jimmy pulled himself up, unsteadily, wiped his face on his shirt, and smiled through crying eyes.
Just then, the heavy wind picked up and began to billow in Jimmy's faux cape.
Closing his eyes, Jimmy sighed and opened his arms to accept the breeze.
Clark could hear him whisper, "I can fly."
Clark got that feeling of anticipation again, and he watched silently as Jimmy ran to the edge of the roof and disappeared over the side.
"I can flyyyyyyy!"
Jimmy threw himself into the nothingness, and his mind raced as the freedom enveloped him. He tumbled in its instability, and he was happy. He was a small, strange spot in the sky. As he listened to the world rush past him, he began to think back on his life -- the life he was fast falling away from. A vision of his frustrated mother clutched at him from the darkness, then a painful memory clawed its way back into his mind.
Jimmy reached out and opened a heavy door. On the other side was his beautiful mother, naked, screaming in agony while his father severely beat and raped her. Jimmy could make out every curve of her face as if it were a foot in front of him. He could see the lines of anguish in her brow, and the desperate plea for help in her lovely sky blue eyes. Her blue eyes... So comforting and so painful all at once. They cried out to him. Jimmy felt overwhelmed with helplessness and insignificance. He screamed in a child's voice for his father to stop.
Then there was nothing.
Back up on the roof, Clark started the other way, buttoning up his white oxford shirt and wiping the taste of Jimmy's salty tears from his thin lips. Just as he opened the door to return to the interior of the Planet, Clark could hear a group of people scream as Jimmy hit the pavement below.
"Faggot."
After Clark stepped inside, the metal door slammed shut, the sky opened, and it began to rain cold, fat tears for a fallen hero.