RIPPED
Ripped from life. When he was alive, I could only focus upon the hardened glint in his eyes, those orbs that had seen far more anguish than they should have. Yet now that I look back upon those memories, examine them through my utter emptiness, I can discern so much more.
The soft affection in them, hidden beneath the shadows in his soul. So many people had hurt him, so many had trampled him over the years. It was so difficult for him to trust.
Yet he trusted me.
I remember when I heard the news. It was the first time in weeks I'd managed to rip the kryptonite ring from my finger, and sudden doubts and fears were swirling in my mind. My world was now Metropolis, dark and hard. I wanted home, I wanted my family.
And then I saw the newspaper.
It was a scrap, lying half-soaked on the wet cement. "Lex Luthor Dead". Dead.
There were so many things I should have said to him, so many opportunites I lost.
I put the ring back on. Thoughts of Lex crept to the back of my mind as the red kryptonite took over once again, like a retreating school of goldfish. But they never left me.
He'd been ripped from me, forever.
(A/N) What do you think? Should I write a sequel?
Ripped from life. When he was alive, I could only focus upon the hardened glint in his eyes, those orbs that had seen far more anguish than they should have. Yet now that I look back upon those memories, examine them through my utter emptiness, I can discern so much more.
The soft affection in them, hidden beneath the shadows in his soul. So many people had hurt him, so many had trampled him over the years. It was so difficult for him to trust.
Yet he trusted me.
I remember when I heard the news. It was the first time in weeks I'd managed to rip the kryptonite ring from my finger, and sudden doubts and fears were swirling in my mind. My world was now Metropolis, dark and hard. I wanted home, I wanted my family.
And then I saw the newspaper.
It was a scrap, lying half-soaked on the wet cement. "Lex Luthor Dead". Dead.
There were so many things I should have said to him, so many opportunites I lost.
I put the ring back on. Thoughts of Lex crept to the back of my mind as the red kryptonite took over once again, like a retreating school of goldfish. But they never left me.
He'd been ripped from me, forever.
(A/N) What do you think? Should I write a sequel?