The Morning After
Chloe Sullivan opened her eyes very slowly. The morning sun cut through a veil of mist and smoke and fog in disorganized rays. She hurt. That much she knew. Her eye had swollen, and the more she woke, the more aware she became of just how much and where she hurt. Soon, she could feel the cold pavement pressing into her bruised hip. As she opened her good eye, she became half-aware of her surroundings. She was surrounded by McDonald's wrappers and half-rotten food and the occasional ratty mattress. In the distance, she could almost see the street, half-lit by the rising sunlight, full of people much like herself-bruised, battered, but alive. She sat up, slowly. She felt light headed as the whole world swirled around her. She stumbled to her hands and knees, and began to crawl through the mess, unable to stand. Her knees were scraped up, and her shirt had been half ripped off. Her hair was a mess and her lips stung loudly. Her face was coated and dirt and sweat. The smell was suffocating her. No time to think. Just. Get. Out.
Lana Lang woke to light jazz and the smell of rose petals. She squinted the morning sun surrounding a dark silhouette out of her eyes. As she blinked them open again, she followed the burgundy carpet to the back of a cream-colored arm chair. From her vantage point, she could see slightly tanned hand holding a full wine glass. She smiled. Drawing the deep purple stain sheets around her, she stepped lightly to the windows. Still feeling the satin flow around and over her bare skin, she let one hand snake over his bald crown, firm cheeks, and then down his sleek, 100 silk-covered chest. A smooth, sophisticated voice found its way into her ears "Morning beautiful." Deep green eyes peered into hers. The wine glass gestured toward another chair next to his. "Here. Come watch the show." She took the glass from his hand with an appreciative kiss. His breath tasted as rich as it sounded. She couldn't wait to try. She raised the rose-colored drink to her lips as she let the satin fall. As she settled into the rich fabric, the perfumated smell dancing in her nose, her eyes slowly, seductively, peered over. What she saw both amazed and frightened her. Then she looked out the window.
Chloe knew she was bleeding internally. She could feel it. What worried her was where she felt it. The small stain forming on her inner thighs was beginning to confirm her worst fears. Finally feeling barely stable enough to stand, Chloe slowly raised her herself to her feet, slowly. As she tripped and stumbled her way out of the alley behind her, she suddenly didn't feel so stable. Smoke poured from the buildings around her, in various stages of disrepair. The streets were covered in seas of small shards of broken glass gleaming In the morning. Bits of shredded paper still fell from the sky in dancing drifts like snowflakes in winter. It went on for miles, peppered with abandoned car wrecks and the occasional corpse. The smell never left her: death and disease and destruction and Chaos. It burned her nose to inhale, but she couldn't seem to breathe without going into a coughing fit. The small red stains on her sleeves after told her not to breathe through her mouth again. She stumbled for several blocks through the eerie morning twilight. With each passing moment, more and more of the devastation unveiled itself. She paused to catch her breath when she felt a sharp, sudden pain struck her at the top of her head. Everything went black again. Everything went quiet again.
Chloe Sullivan opened her eyes very slowly. A mixture of moonlight and a burning haze framed a silhouette above. The silhouette crouched down to her. At first she wanted to scream, to cry, to shout. Not this not again. But she could hardly move, hardly even breathe. Her jeans were nearly soaked now, and she felt a small, slick pool soak into the pavement pressing into her face. As the broad silhouette lifted her bruised body off the pavement, she just barely saw the blood-stained, half-crumbled brick that had lain next to her. Half-conscious, she looked at the half-lit face holding her tightly in his arms. She wasn't going to go down without a fight. She looked him straight in the eye. Straight into those cool, calm, green eyes.
"Clark?"