My Name Is Not Superman

by Prairiedog

I stand beside the window in my broken down apartment which I moved into today and look out at the city outside. The children run along the streets playing stick ball and yet I hide within my room alone, afraid to go outside. The room smells slightly of long term habitation, and it is not really intended for human habitation. This abandoned building is longer over due to be either rebuilt or demolished. But then again this is the place where *he* cannot find me.

He can find me if I bought a apartment. He can destroy my life if he could find me. The dark haired giant, the pleasant man known to the world as the Superman. They worship him in their cathedrals, they give homage to their king. Sad is the day that he assumed his throne, sadder is the day that he took my identity and forced me into a life of hiding. I, Clark Kent am that one.

Down below in the swiftly approaching night, people scurry to hide from the elements that come out of the darkness to prey upon them. Predators worse then the animals they are derided as being, I hide among them to protect myself from a demon man who is the worse predator the world has ever known.

I hear the sirens in the distance, the police are approaching. They are under his control, everything that makes civilization - civilization, it seems is. I do not know why they are approaching this location, they usually do not care that much about the criminal element to risk coming down here at this time of night.

I lean back into the shadows, it protects me from their light. I was not used to this sort of life, this sort of running. It had all started a long time ago, but it also seems like it has started a short time ago. I was born in Smallville many years ago, in 1904. My family was the Kents, I was their child. I had a normal life, even though my lack of aggression made me the target of those who were. I left home in the 20's, and found a job in the Daily Planet. My physical features are somewhat paunchy and I am unfortunately going somewhat bald. My wife Lois tells me I shouldn't worry about that... but then I wonder sometimes. Because I was the man with the unfortunate fate to be born looking like the man the world knows as their god.

I hear noises outside in the hallway, I slowly creep across the floor and hide in a closet, without shutting the door lest the sound let them know where I am. I do not know who is out there.. I do not know why the Superman has chosen to steal the best parts from my life, and claim them as his own. I do know that he is the master of deception, a false miracle worker capable of intense charisma and animal magnetism. He rules the realm of electronics with a iron fist... that is why I could not rent a apartment. He would have known... and I cannot rent a apartment with false ID since the identification protocols went into place. I am alone.. I say a few prayers to my God. I know he is listening, even though the world is like a living hell outside. Well, not that bad. I've seen hell and this place even at its worse isn't as bad as that place. I wish I had eaten more today.. old bones cant live on scraps of bread.

I am interrupted in my thoughts by a voice, familiar to me saying my name. It is Lois, she is old... to old to be out here at this time of night. I wonder how she has found me. But I recognize the voice, even though it is a little cold as if she were... in pain. I walk carefully out of my hiding place, careful in case it is a trap. I scoot around a corner slowly and look through the keyhole of the door into the hallway. I do not see much, only a few moving gobs of light. Then a shadow turns towards me and jumps. The door collapses against me as the man leaps against it and crashes into me. I am dazed... and I am old. Too old to run in the city, where they are at the height of their control. I sense from far away, through the dark haze that clouds my mind a man clothed in blue, he is not the one... merely a servant of him. I stop thinking, and drop into a hazy cloud of sleepless dreams as I am dragged down the floors of the building.

We stop outside, he supports my weight. There is a open van, with the flashing bubble of their authority affixed to its top. I cannot think... I do not move. There are harsh popping sounds, and the support is removed and I collapse awkwardly on the pavement, bringing up my hands barely in enough time to stop a rather nasty impact. I see figures clothed in white around me... and then I lose my connection with this world.

When I wake up I am in a rather clean room, I do not know where I am. There are figures around me, I know that I am safe here. I must have been rescued.. this is not one of his places. The room is calm and peaceful, a bed in which I lay, a chair, a desk. No windows. It is almost completely dark... darkness cover me, God hide me. My Angel comfort me. It is a Night upon the World, a night in which it seems will never end. We all live long lives... Superman himself claims to be born around the same time I was, although he never really made a appearance until the First European War of the 20th Century.

A figure steps into the room, I sense that they are safe. They come and stand near me, looking down with what I can feel are beneficial eyes. Then they sit beside me, they the stranger, I the hunted man. But we are all hunted here... because we oppose the one they call god.

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