This is not speculation on when or how it will happen (though I'm pretty sure it'll be soon)...just a little flight of fancy as to what happens afterwards.
"You think that
can stop me, you idiots? Nothing
can stop me! I'm SUPERMAN!"
"They did stop you, Clark."
He turned towards the soft, gentle voice beside him, and was surprised to see a petite, pale woman. The whiteness of her skin stood in sharp contrast to her wild, ebony mop of hair and her ensemble--black camisole, black leather belt, black pants, black boots, offset only by the gleaming silver ankh pendant around her neck. More surprising than her sudden appearance, though, was the way she carried herself. He had grown accustomed to looks of terror or unbridled fury...but this woman was smiling casually.
Instinctively, he knew what she was...no, who
she was. And yet, he still couldn't quite bring himself to accept it.
"I'm not dead," he insisted, "and you're
not Death. Death is supposed to be a skeleton in a robe and hood. You don't even have a scythe!"
She had occasionally heard this before, but most spoke these words with relief or bemusement. This time, though, there was a tone of whiny, bitter petulance, as though this were simply one more way the universe had failed to meet his preconceptions.
"I tried a scythe once," she chuckled. "I met a farmer who let me borrow his. It was pretty awkward, and I couldn't quite get the hang of it...but it was fun."
"Wait a minute," he protested. "Death isn't supposed to smile! Unless..." a glimmer came to his eyes as he drew upon his knowledge of this comic-book world. "I get it! The white skin, the completely opposite behavior...you've got to be Bizarro-Death!"
She laughed out loud. "Wow, I never heard that
one before! I've got to tell that to my sis...she'll really appreciate it."
"Great, even Death is laughing at me," he pouted. "Why should I be surprised? Everyone hates me."
"Oh," she said, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, "I don't hate you. I don't hate anyone."
"Why were they all against me? All I wanted was to bring back the real
"Clark," she said, "I know how easy it can be to think that yours was the only real world, and the rest were only imaginary...stories...but believe me, they're all
real." She looked directly in his eyes. "And I meet everybody on every single one of them."
"You're judging me," he snapped. "I thought you said you didn't hate me! You're just another liar, just like everyone else in these messed-up universes."
"Oh, Clark," she smiled. "I wasn't lying. But sometimes, being a friend means calling you on your bullshit."
For once, he could muster no response to this.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded sullenly.
"Clark," she said as she took his hand, "I'm sorry you never got to grow up."
Labels: death, superman-prime