The end of the word is no longer nigh.
Wally West is back in Keystone, a town just getting back on its feet after being nearly snuffed out by the R'as Al Ghul germ warfare attack. The world almost died, and sometimes it still feels touch and go.
He'd just bolted pathetically away from Jesse, flaking out after a tender moment, then left an equally pathetic message on her machine, then spent a stupid amount of time waiting to see if she'd call back to confirm she at least GOT it, then realized she's not going to call him back EVER. He's pushed her away too many times now.
Stupid Ivy. Random flashbacks of her breath and that obnoxiously fake seduction voice in his ear, her fingers - urghhh SICK. So nauseating. Goddamned brain spores.
He's sitting on some unresolved feelings about the tribunal, the sickening debate of whether he should be happy that his friends were not suspended or whether he should be pissed that they got off so lightly.
So he's about to go do what superheroes do when they're chock full of frustration and sadness that they can't vent - go out and find some bad guys to smack around.
As he opens the door, he realizes the mail's come. ALL the mail, backed up for a month, finally made its way through after the horror of the plague. There's a huge stack of it. He brings it all in and starts rifling through it, thinking he'd never been happier to get credit card offers.
Bill, bill, college catalog, bill, chinese takeout menu, about four thousand of those coupon packet things that even HE won't make time to deal with, the latest Maxim ooh-la-la, bill, bill, please do not discard, cookies from Joan...
He stops short.
He opens the manila.
He has to read the words.
The divorce is final.
...
Ten seconds later, he's atop Mt. Everest. Screaming at the top of his lungs.
"CAN I PLEASE HAVE A LIFE THAT *DOESN'T* SUCK NOW?!"
He'd just bolted pathetically away from Jesse, flaking out after a tender moment, then left an equally pathetic message on her machine, then spent a stupid amount of time waiting to see if she'd call back to confirm she at least GOT it, then realized she's not going to call him back EVER. He's pushed her away too many times now.
Stupid Ivy. Random flashbacks of her breath and that obnoxiously fake seduction voice in his ear, her fingers - urghhh SICK. So nauseating. Goddamned brain spores.
He's sitting on some unresolved feelings about the tribunal, the sickening debate of whether he should be happy that his friends were not suspended or whether he should be pissed that they got off so lightly.
So he's about to go do what superheroes do when they're chock full of frustration and sadness that they can't vent - go out and find some bad guys to smack around.
As he opens the door, he realizes the mail's come. ALL the mail, backed up for a month, finally made its way through after the horror of the plague. There's a huge stack of it. He brings it all in and starts rifling through it, thinking he'd never been happier to get credit card offers.
Bill, bill, college catalog, bill, chinese takeout menu, about four thousand of those coupon packet things that even HE won't make time to deal with, the latest Maxim ooh-la-la, bill, bill, please do not discard, cookies from Joan...
He stops short.
He opens the manila.
He has to read the words.
The divorce is final.
...
Ten seconds later, he's atop Mt. Everest. Screaming at the top of his lungs.
"CAN I PLEASE HAVE A LIFE THAT *DOESN'T* SUCK NOW?!"