Hello all!
This is only about a century too late. It takes place in the time between seasons 8 and 9 when Lois has disappeared and Clark has declared himself dead. (I would have posted it earlier, but I wasn't able to.)
These are a series of one-shots all chronicling that time period. Some follow each other; others have nothing in common besides the basic premise, but all can be read independently. However, they are arranged in this order purposefully.
I hope this makes sense.
Happy (hopefully) reading! And please do review. I'd love that very much.
(Oh, by the way, I don't own 'em.)
A cry woke him several days after Clark Kent's death, the first time he'd slept since burying most of himself.
Before he remembered not to feel, he realized the cry belonged to him and that he hurt like he never had before, and never would again.
Feelings were useless; they got people killed. He'd make it a mantra if he had to.
He almost wondered when he realized that wondering and feeling were like lovers, always tangled up.
He tuned his ear to emotion-filled cries, the kind that did not belong to him, and set about the new life, if one used the definition loosely, that he'd begun to create.
Brown hair, hazel eyes, camera flashes, green eyes, blonde hair, red hair and warm eyes all pirouetted and leapt and tap-tap-tap danced within his heart but he was cutting that organ out minute by ever quieter minute.
Kal-El. I am Kal-El. He'd learn to be indifferent toward it, he was sure.
He'd learn not to turn when he heard a name resembling Clark or Kent. He'd learn to dress in black without thinking and answer a plea without smiling and run without stopping and sleep without dreaming.
The nightmares of tombstones would stop because the image would be lost on him, eventually.
He'd learn not to love Lois Lane's memory and he'd learn to forget what he was supposed to forget.
Kal-EL. A bitter thought tried to form, but he took it and tore it to pieces. Bitterness required humanity and he finally did not want to be human.
Destiny. Inescapable.
He hadn't slept long enough. He'd gotten better at this the past few days.
"Clark, you coward! You always run; you always run! I need you...Did you have to add yourself to my list?"
He recalled a time, another lifetime, another person he'd been, when he would have blurred right to her at the first sound of distress she made. She'd learn as well; she'd learn not to cry for him, scream for him, shout at him. She'd learn that at last he'd meant what he'd said. She'd learn to hate this new person who wasn't her weak and stupid best friend. She'd learn the same lesson that he had—humanity was dark and hardly worth saving, but he didn't have anything better to do.
Clark Kent would have recoiled from and promptly hit anyone who would think, and say, so. Too bad, so sad.
Because Clark Kent was dead.
And he was going to stay that way.
Thanks much for reading! :)