Because she's just freakin' wrong!!
Superman is so much angstier than Lex.he just hides it better.
***************************************** 'And that brings me to Ophelia, whom I thought to be the most tragic character in Hamlet.' Clark groaned and leaned back in his chair rolling his shoulders and rubbing at his eyes.
Hours. He'd been at this for hours. For him that was insane, he could write eight pages in a minute, if he didn't set the paper on fire. But he _still_ wasn't done this _one_ page. How was anyone supposed to describe Hamlet in a one page essay was beyond him. Didn't they know there were intricacies and subtle threads through out the play that just _begged_ to be contemplated? He'd had to rewrite it three times trying to make it shorter.
His head snaps up suddenly and he's off, Hamlet forgotten for the moment. He heard it clearly now, a cry for help. A pleading, begging cry for help from the east.
No, wait now the west. Wait...it wasn't the same. He stopped; it was coming from all over now. From beneath him, above him, surrounding him. The last labored cries of people drowning or suffocating in smoke. The terrified screams of people being hit by cars or falling off bridges. The tortured wails of people burning in fires or being crushed under five thousand pounds of metal as their cars rolled across the ground.
He ran towards them, all of them, only to be turned around by a new one, or a louder one, or one from a child. He raced down roads and across grass and through tree's searching, scanning for them. He didn't know where he was now, but it didn't matter. They came in different languages now, prayers for gods, he didn't know existed, mercy. He heard them all, he felt their pain, and he couldn't help them.
He dropped to his knees then, back in his 'Fortress of Solitude', the old barn he had tested his powers in and wept for them.
He could still hear them when he finally passed out that night. He heard them when he graduated high school and moved out of his parents' home. He heard them when he traveled to Metropolis and when he started working at the Daily Planet. He heard them when he lost his closest friend and gained an archenemy. He heard them as he helped the ones he could, in blue tights and a flowing cape, while they praised him as "Superman"...the "Man of Steel". He accepted their praise and tried to live his life the best way he knew how.
But he heard them louder every time he closed his eyes, and he cursed his inability to save them all.
Gah, I need to write better -.-'
***************************************** 'And that brings me to Ophelia, whom I thought to be the most tragic character in Hamlet.' Clark groaned and leaned back in his chair rolling his shoulders and rubbing at his eyes.
Hours. He'd been at this for hours. For him that was insane, he could write eight pages in a minute, if he didn't set the paper on fire. But he _still_ wasn't done this _one_ page. How was anyone supposed to describe Hamlet in a one page essay was beyond him. Didn't they know there were intricacies and subtle threads through out the play that just _begged_ to be contemplated? He'd had to rewrite it three times trying to make it shorter.
His head snaps up suddenly and he's off, Hamlet forgotten for the moment. He heard it clearly now, a cry for help. A pleading, begging cry for help from the east.
No, wait now the west. Wait...it wasn't the same. He stopped; it was coming from all over now. From beneath him, above him, surrounding him. The last labored cries of people drowning or suffocating in smoke. The terrified screams of people being hit by cars or falling off bridges. The tortured wails of people burning in fires or being crushed under five thousand pounds of metal as their cars rolled across the ground.
He ran towards them, all of them, only to be turned around by a new one, or a louder one, or one from a child. He raced down roads and across grass and through tree's searching, scanning for them. He didn't know where he was now, but it didn't matter. They came in different languages now, prayers for gods, he didn't know existed, mercy. He heard them all, he felt their pain, and he couldn't help them.
He dropped to his knees then, back in his 'Fortress of Solitude', the old barn he had tested his powers in and wept for them.
He could still hear them when he finally passed out that night. He heard them when he graduated high school and moved out of his parents' home. He heard them when he traveled to Metropolis and when he started working at the Daily Planet. He heard them when he lost his closest friend and gained an archenemy. He heard them as he helped the ones he could, in blue tights and a flowing cape, while they praised him as "Superman"...the "Man of Steel". He accepted their praise and tried to live his life the best way he knew how.
But he heard them louder every time he closed his eyes, and he cursed his inability to save them all.
Gah, I need to write better -.-'