Hey all! Back with another groovy story. This one is a psychedelic alternate universe tale of Superman and numerous other DC characters (none of which I own, of course). This first section is very brief – it's the prologue, and the first real chapter will be coming soon, but I thought I'd post it as a preview of what is to come (and, more importantly, to motivate myself to actually write it!). Enjoy!

I decided to give this an M rating since the story will contain violence, sexuality, drug use, profanity, and possibly blasphemy.

Sunshine Superman

Prologue: Eve of Destruction

Metropolis, USA

2001

The city is burning.

I stand in awed silence, staring at the sky, watching smoke billow from the broken towers. All around me, there is pandemonium. People scream, people run, people fall to their knees and cry as their world comes down around them like a house of cards. But I can do nothing but stand, my heart beating, and marvel at the terrible destruction wrought before my eyes.

"It's the end of the world," I whisper. "It's Judgment Day."

"Nah, man, I don't believe that shit." The voice is little more than a harsh whisper, but it is somehow clear above the chaos surrounding me. "Ain't no judgment day. Not here in America. Ain't no armies of angels, ain't no devils from hell. We got all the devils we need right here."

I turn. The speaker is crouched at the street corner beside me, and I know him. His clothes are ragged and tattered, and his skin is weathered, the colour of rich soil. I recognize his long grey dreadlocks, his unkempt beard, the old, battered guitar he holds. I see him every day on this corner, once on my way to work and once on my way back, but I have never spoken to him.

"Ain't no shinin' city gon' descend from on high either," he continues. "Not here in America. The shinin' city, we livin' in it, and it ain't all that pretty up close."

He shuffles to one side, as if to make a space for me to sit next to him. Feeling as if I am sleepwalking, I crouch next to him, leaning against the corner of the building. The old man rummages through his pocket and pulls out a half-burnt spliff and a lighter.

"Partake of the herb with me?" he asks. I stare blankly. I smoked marijuana only once, when I was in college, and swore that I would never do it again. But I look at the smoke-filled sky and watch the flow of screaming, panicking Metropolitans, and realize that my world has changed in a fundamental way. "What the hell," I say, sitting cross-legged.

He lights the spliff and takes a draw, letting the sweet-smelling smoke out slowly. "Here in America, we got our own gods."

"Yeah. George Washington. Benjamin Franklin. Lincoln." I take a draw, and the warm smoke fills my lungs. There is dust and smoke in the air, and I realize I am breathing the residue of the attack. I begin to cough violently.

"And Superman," the street person says, taking the spliff.

I hold my breath, regaining my composure. "Superman. Yeah. Wish he was here now."

"He's coming back." The man takes another draw.

"Yeah, so the tabloids tell us." I grin. "He's off with Elvis right now."

The man turns to me, and there is a burning intensity in his eyes. "Nah, man. He's coming back. He told me himself."

I stare at him for a moment, then laugh nervously. Is he joking? I wonder. Is he trying to make me think he's some crazy hobo who thinks he talks to Superman? I cough once more. Maybe he actually is?

"He said there'd be signs," the man continues, his attention focused once more on the spliff. "Trials and tribulations. He said there'd be troubles, but we should fear not, 'cos it's all signs of the New Revolution."

"Yeah?" is all I can manage. He hands me the spliff, and I take another draw.

"Damn straight." He extends his hand to me, and I shake it. "Name's Jimmy, by the way," he says. "Jimmy Olsen."

I drop the spliff and my eyes widen. "No shit."

He smiles, revealing yellow, crooked teeth. Somehow, I know he is telling the truth.

"You were there," I gasp. "You knew him. Tell me about it!"

Idly, he strums his guitar, and the dissonance of the strings provides accompaniment to the sounds of pandemonium in Metropolis. Jimmy and I are an island of calm in a sea of panic and chaos. I turn my gaze to the sky once more, searching through the smoke as if I might see him there, up in the sky.