Chapter 3
From the images I'd seen of her recently, I sensed myself praising the work they'd done with me.
In almost every way possible we were superficially different.
Name, height, hair color, eye color, nose shape, and facial structure.
There was nothing in common, nothing you could point out and question. Anything you thought was remotely similar could be played off as a trick of the eye or a likeness inherited by the filial relation.
Except the relation of Lois Lane and Chloe Sullivan was far deeper.
I took off my contact lenses and replaced them in their hard plastic case as I trudged off to bed; a routine I have dutifully performed every night and had done since that day I'd assumed my new persona all those years ago.
Except now the mirror forced me to confront my fragmented past.
Whenever I looked into those eyes, I now saw her staring back at me.
Her eyes were mesmerizing, enthralling, and captivating. A vivacious blue-green speckled with streaks of faint silver. A vast sea that possessed a history I can not comprehend.
They were simply unforgettable.
And they were not my own. They did not remain stagnant. They did not appear expressionless. They were not exhausted from the perpetually laborious guarding of a secret.
They had an innocent, playful feistiness in them that made the truth of my double life more real than anything I knew. More than the Planet was a newspaper, Superman was a hero, and I was a reporter.
More than anything I understood to be true, I was two invariably disparate people, living perplexingly as one whole entity.
TBC…