Here is just another one-shot I made while in 'a mood'. A big thanks to xkyoxdiex turning the original shabby piece into a work of art :D
Go.
His final words were definite.
Purposeful.
Dying.
But he couldn't leave.
He felt the man's pulse slow to a near halt, as his own sped up.
It couldn't be happening.
He reached over the man's body to trace the gash along his side with the pads of his fingers.
Blood leaked out, forming dark red puddles that sharply contrasted the cold grey concrete floor.
'Stay, please... Don't go'. He wished silently to himself.
He wished and prayed but ultimately knew vain words weren't enough.
The man's eyes flickered open, staring up at him before closing for the final time.
His mouth opened, blood trickling done from the corner as though he were trying to say something but the words never came out.
They were left unspoken and with a final breath, he left.
With the newfound silence came rage.
The young boy clenched his fists, feeling a hidden emotion begin to surge up within in him.
He screamed, looking up to the sky, cursing whoever had let this happen.
Whether it was a God, or a devil, it didn't matter, they were wrong.
For his own sake, he landed this burden upon the latter - only evil could look away without stopping something so clearly wrong.
He screamed again and again because even after his voice gave out because it didn't matter. It would still be his secret that he'd been weak.
They were alone.
No one could hear him and he wanted it that way.
Next, he roared, punching the nearest wall, blinded by a pounding anger
He heard a crunch, not knowing if it was his hand or the wall.
He couldn't find it in him to care either way.
He couldn't feel anything.
His entire body was numb and riddled with shock.
Then came his futile attempts denial.
He grabbed at the lifeless body, yelling at it to stop faking, stop pretending.
He thought that this was just another stunt, and any second now he was going to come sputtering back to life in the young boy's arms.
But deep inside him he knew different.
The truth, as the man himself had once told him, always prevails.
Finally came a familiar feeling when it came to the man: sadness.
A feeling that he couldn't escape, it was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
It made him feel heavy, hopeless.
He fell to his knees, slumping over towards his father's body.
The dead man before him, no matter how much the man had tried to deny it, was his father.
He had tried so hard to please him, and yet all he got was hatred in return.
He shouldn't have been crying for the first time in his life over the death of a person that never loved him.
He shouldn't have been feeling those wet, unknown things falling down his face and landing on the big red S.
He wiped his eyes, staring at the man who had only caused him hurt and ultimately been the source of his depression.
And then, he almost smiled.
He smiled because he knew he was kidding himself.
"I love you... Dad" he whispered.
He felt that deep down, hidden inside a place he'd tried to ignore, that he wasn't lying.
With a final sigh and a weary glance, the boy of steel stood.
And then, he left. He turned away forfeiting his prayers for the lifeless corpse at his feet.
He knew Superman, even in death, would never reply. His feelings would be eternally one sided and he was ready to accept it.
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