TITLE: Superman is dead. Long live Superman.

by by Kirk S. Koll

DISCLAIMER: Clearly, I didn't invent these guys. I just torture them.

ARCHIVE: Be my guest... I'd just like an e-mail at "pridian@comcast.net" to tell me where.

WARNINGS: Profanity! I wish washing one's hands worked like washing one's mouth out with soap, but apparently it doesn't help in the same way. ::Grins, holds up hands dry from washing.::

TYPE: Slash, AU

RATING: R

PAIRING: Superman/Jimmy

STATUS: WIP, I guess. I re-read it a few times, but that doesn't mean it's perfect.

Notes: I stole this little pre-questionnaire from Lady Q's last e-mail :) Besides that, I just felt a little depressed after skimming through my "Death of Superman" comics. This was the result. The disjointed confusion is purposeful. No, I'm not trying to cover up bad writing, just trying to convey grief. This AU splits from the canon on page 22 of the "World Without a Superman" trade paperback.

Series: The first of an unknown number.

Superman is dead. Long live Superman
by Kirk S. Koll

"Superman is dead. Long live Superman.

Were we all to bow down at his grave, I would be the unlucky soul left to weep in silence, unable to commiserate among supporting friends. Chaste in my sorrow, I would merely shed a tear, for fear of my secret – our secret – escaping.

These lonely streets buzz with activity. We are without Superman, and it is evident. The scum that have for so long trembled in the shadows of their tenements have come out to play. For, the heroes of Metropolis are together tonight, stunned – griefstricken. The heroes have their community. The weight of the world is a difficult one to bear indeed. They, I suppose, deserve their togetherness. He was one of theirs: a stranger in a strange land. At this moment, I hate them for it. I hate them for the metaphorical room they share.

I hate them, for, I walk alone here. I am a mere mortal. I have no community to call upon. Tonight, Lois, Lana, the Kents, are all gathered in Smallville. Who would think to find me? I was a token. Just a joke to them all. The tag-along… the fool… the one who always got in the way.

Superman is dead, and now I am alone.

Each tap of my foot on this barren concrete is a second lost in the hour of life. I am a mere mortal, and there is no escaping that. My hair will gray, my face will wrinkle, my mind will be lost.

God… listen to this shit. Waxing prophetic is all I can conjure.

Superman is dead. Damnit... He’s dead.

I stop and look around. The sluminess of this area is nothing surprising. Everything looks dirtier without a hero. As I clench my fists, I can’t help but wince in pain – my fingers are so cold, even in the tepidness of this night.

I need him. I need him. Oh… I need him. I can’t fucking do this alone. I can’t fucking be here, on this street. I can’t fucking think without him. This life is so dark, and I need him here. My own personal fucking savior. Lois be damned. Shit on Metropolis. He was mine, and he was stolen from me. Where’s the insurance for my soul?

This whole city is a toilet. The world is vortex of suffering that I can’t bear to consider anymore. There’s nothing but insanity here, and I’m lost in the hallways of this asylum. It must have been the bliss of ignorance before him, because I just can’t imagine myself any other way. One, plus
him, equals me.

Look at these rats – people and rodents. They stare with beady eyes and gnaw at the flesh of my grief. They can bear the sins of my friends, who accepted a ‘No’ when companionship was offered. This scum can be crucified for all those bastards who left me alone. Let them all burn for watching him die.

I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here, and I’m the mortal. I’m the one with freckles and moles. He’s gone. Clark's gone, and I have no one to tell."

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Kirk S. Koll
pridian@comcast.net
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