TITLE: Flags in the Dust
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave
FANDOM: Smallville
PAIRING: Lex Luthor/Clark Kent.
RATING: PG
WARNING: FutureFic, Character Death
SUMMARY: This is in response to my own little The Great Title Challenge at #item36533
DISCLAIMER: The WB, DC Comics, MillarGoughInk, Tolin, Robbins, and Davola [along with whomever else] own this wonderful show. I am merely borrowing the characters to use in my own evil ways and will try to return them as mentally cognizant and stable as when I took them [with the exception of the incredibly handsome and elegant Michael Rosenbaum of whom I might never let go ;)], but I can't make any promises. The Muse controls these fingers.
FEEDBACK: Another challenge! Please, tell me what you think. Oh! And answer the challenge!!
AUTHOR'S EMAIL:
For "The Great Title Challenge"
Future Fic, Character Death
"Flags in the Dust"
By Nymph Du Pave
I lay on the ground, the sky passing by like a train for all I move. The light blue of the world turns gray quickly and the gray clouds that begin to darken remind me of a world I once destroyed.
The gray was the color of their faces, the color of the ground, the color and thickness of the air. Gray was our world.
It was the ashes of a million fighting men. It was the pallate of an unappetizing desert. It was the dust from a thousand fallen buildings.
At that point I was like a flag blowing proudly in the dust-thickened wind. I was the symbol for one fifth, one third, one half, and then one. I was the best worst, the hardest nail, the greatest killer.
And he was the flag my team could not capture.
He never seemed to attract dust. His red and blue shined throughout my gray kingdom and no matter what I did, no matter how much of that shiny green I threw in his direction, his colors always returned. He was too strong for me to over-take, too bright for me to cover.
And I have fallen for my attempts to cover the world in my ambiguity and odium. My revulsion has driven me to a distinctly fitting end. I lay here dying as the gray rain falls, covering my body. The shivering has stopped and the cold is going away. I am not getting warmer.
I am going numb.
He kneels over me and I see the anger in his eyes, his gray eyes.
How could he blame me for trying to make my world the color of my desire? I loved him and now I hate him for that, for leaving me only one feeling and as I lay here by his feet, under his reproachful gaze it is still the only thing I have left. The only thing I want.
He bends over me and speaks. Though I cannot hear his words, though I cannot feel the breath, I somehow know the words.
It didn't have to be this way.
Years and years have gone by and he is still so very naïve.
'A Luthor', I mouth, 'always gets what he wants.'
Or he dies trying.
I feel the world slipping away and my last coherent thought is sorrow at the fact that I cannot feel his hand holding mine. But at least I know it is. Like I know the words he mouths though I can no longer see him.
Lay me down, in the cold, cold ground. Where before, many more have gone.
THE END