The Phantom Zone. Three words to define hell. Or to name it, she couldn't know it. Kara wasn't quite sleeping, she was in the stage between awake and asleep. Incapable to move, to even open her eyes, just breathing and hearing and feeling. The pod was unstable, she could see the bright lights of Krypton explosion through her eyelid. She wish she could open and then burn her eyes.
The time didn't really existed there. At some point, she started to wish that she stayed. That she just had died with her parents. With her people and her planet. With her future as a genius. With her dreams. Just died with it all and not being in hell.
She didn't know if Kal-El was trapped there with her or if he made his way to Earth. If he was there, oh poor boy, in a hell and he was just a baby. Maybe he was really sleeping and if - or when - he got out of there, he wouldn't know anything, wouldn't remember anything. If he wasn't there, she had already failed in her mission. Maybe he was already on earth. Growing up alone with all those powers, just an alien, an outcast from somewhere beyond the stars without memory. Without knowing who he was, from where he was. The whole planet, the foreign world, gone forever.
Then Kara could open her eyes.
The pod was moving, she could move. Had she found the way out? What happened? But there she was, flying to this new home. With another languages, another people, another history, another culture. Even another sun. A bright and yellow sun (it was white, actually, but who really cares?).
She was out, anyway, it was going to be better.
There was things about earth that Kara actually enjoyed. Things like birds. They were cute, small and delicated. She didn't want to touch them, she could smash too easily. The sounds of nature, the colors of nature. The blue sky and the blue sea, the bright sand, the shining sun. The heat, the wind.
But she loved art. The drawings, the music, the paintings.
Her favorite? The japonese represatation of the sun. The sunrise or the dawn, that huge and red ball in the horizon. Red, she loved it. She had one of these drawings in one of the walls in her bedroom. Wasn't really like Rao, that was just the sun with a different color, but she didn't really care.
She would sit with Alex, side by side gazing the red ball in the raining days. Two children. The last daughter of a dead world and the girl that now had too much responsibility. But they were there for each other.
For now and forever.
Kara was trying her best, of course. But she was struggling anyway, she felt alone anyway. Kal-El - Clark - promised to visit at least twice a month. Has been seven months since the last time that the man of steel came to see her.
And she was angry.
And sad.
She was too sad.
She took off the drawing form the wall. Ripping it apart into little pieces. Not angry, just sad. Melancholic. She knew that when would regret one day. Maybe in the next morning. But who really cares?
She misses her place. Her home.
She didn't talked to Alex, the poor girl just had lost her father, she couldn't make everything about her and about Krypton. So all she could do was cry. Cry and think about everything that could be. Remember the days in the phantom zone.
She was in the hell again. Maybe she never left .
Your own mind. Three words to define hell.
Kal-El knew how lonely you can feel when you're the only one of your kind.
Kara is not really the last one, it's what he tries to believe. Because he knows that they are from the same planet, not from the same world. He's an earthling. He's powerful. He can fly, he's strong, bulletproof. But he grew up in America. He never saw another planet. Another world. He's just a superhuman.
But Kara? No, she was a kriptonian. In more than one way, she was the last of her kind. With a legacy, a whole culture in her shoulders. She's the one who remembers perfectly how Kryptonese sounds. How Rao's light shine. How the life is there.
And Kal-El couldn't tell her about the kryptonite.
She wasn't human, of course, but she was a child. Just a broken child. And he knew: you don't give to a broken person something that they can use to physically hurt themselves.
He don't tell her about the kryptonite. The pieces of a dead world that can kill the children of this world. A bright green rock.
He don't tell her the thing that can hurt her. And he have his reason. He doesn't know what Kara would do about it. He's far away, he's not the most close person. But there's one thing he know: people.
He saw it. He saw broken people dealing with pain in different way. With rough sex, so hard that could hurt. With alcohol, some drinking so much that ended up in a alcoholic coma or causing a tragic accident. With cigarettes, smoking until their lungs be rotten.
And with psychical pain.
Punching walls until rip the skin of their knuckles. He saw people that died from this pain. Hanging from the ceiling. Dozens of pills. A gun shot. Jumping from the bridge, in front of a train, from a cliff. Cutting too deep to stitche up.
People too broken to be fixed.
So he didn't told her.
He won't tell her.
Because he's afraid that she's one of those people.