SV fic: On the road to nowhere, somewhere
She leaves one morning, a dusty morning, dawn just breaking. Chloe-centric, pg, mild angst, 1340 words. Set after Legion. Timeline gets murky after that.
She leaves one morning, a dusty morning, dawn just breaking. The sky is pink and purple, pale and luminance. It promises sunshine, bright and yellow.
By the time the sun has risen she’s gone.
In the car it’s quiet, the music off. It’s just her in the car, along with her necessary things. A mug of now cold tea sits in the cup holder.
Coffee no longer appeals to her. She had loved coffee, before everything. Now the taste repels her, makes her shiver like she’s cold although the liquid is hot and she’s dressed warmly. Now she can’t stand it, now after everything it’s another thing missing, something else lost.
The highway stretches before her, open and gray and winding. She picks up the mug, sips the cold peppermint tea and tries not to think about anything but when she should take her take break.
On the road to somewhere, the destination not firmly set. In truth the destination isn’t set at all. She just couldn’t bear to stay any longer. She stayed for awhile, but couldn’t stay any longer.
It sounds like running away, only it isn’t. Running away implies disorder, secrecy, something wrong. That’s not the case here, not really.
She doesn’t leave abruptly, suddenly, randomly. She told Lois, Clark, even Jimmy. Said her goodbyes, exchanged hugs with Lois and Clark, exchanged awkward smiles with Jimmy. Packed up her apartment and put her stuff in storage, the stuff she would send for when she settled down wherever the end destination would be. She was sensible, logical, systematic.
There’s money in her purse, in her bank account. This is all planned.
This isn’t running away then. This is merely leaving, the abandonment of a place. It isn’t running away.
And only occasionally does she feel like she’s running away.
To go or to stay: that was the question she was faced with. After everything, after she thought about it all, that was the question she was left with. Everything boiled down to the question, to whether she would stay or go. To whether she could stand to stay or whether leaving was the thing she could do.
She chose the latter, to go. Car on the road, window rolled down, wind stinging her face, this is what she chose. Chose to get into the car and drive away, far away, anywhere but here, anywhere but Smallville, Metropolis, Kansas.
She told Lois, calmly, simply, said, “This is what I need to do. So much has happened and I don’t fit here anymore.”
“Be safe,” Lois said, after arguing. Then Lois hugged her, tightly, like a cousin does. “Keep in touch. I’m going to miss you.”
She told Clark, calmly, simply, said, “This is what I need to do. I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. So much has happened and I just…I need to go.”
“I’ll miss you,” he said after a moment of silence. No arguing. He hugged her too, tightly, like a best friend does. “Be happy.”
“That’s the goal.”
And it was, is. Happiness is what she desires, longs for. Who doesn’t want happiness? The pursuit of happiness is a common goal, a goal shared by many. She’s no different in the end from everyone else.
Happiness proves elusive.
She searches, on a journey for it. As intangible as happiness is she searches for it. From one town to another, the road beckoning, happiness longed for. From one place to another, from one apartment to the next, one job to the next job.
To and fro she goes, searching, on a journey.
She was restless as a child, teenager. There was always something to do, a dream to chase, a story to pursue. At the beginning of her time in Smallville she was particularly restless, eager to grow up and abandon the farming town. The town later became home, later it became hard to leave.
Twenty-one now and she’s slowed down little. Restless yet she is, jittery.
In the first place she works in a bookstore, but she leaves Rochester soon enough, leaves New Hampshire soon after that. Then it’s Richmond, Boston, Annapolis, Providence, Detroit, and so on. She finds it hard to stay in one place for any extended period of time.
She wanders, in truth. Temporarily she becomes a wander, a person with no permanent home. She goes and leaves and repeats this over and over again.
At night she would dream, if she doesn’t take the pills to chase the dreams away. Swallows the pills and she escapes the images, receives a black-ridden dreamworld.
If she doesn’t swallow her nightly pills then she dreams. Dreams in color, of death, of killing, of gripping a wrist and watching eyes open with horror. Dreams of colors: the dark scarlet of blood spilled; the ebony blackness of him, of her eyes; the death-pale ivory of her body, of the victims. She’ll dream of monsters, herself included among that group. She’ll dream and in the morning she’ll be sweat-soaked and her body will ache.
So she gets her prescription each month, fills it, swallows the pills each night. And then there’s blackness, merciful blackness.
Months pass.
Christmas Eve she sits in her furnished apartment in Houston and watches It’s A Wonderful Life. The film, black and white, offers some measure of comfort. It’s a good story.
She has a small Christmas tree set up. The small tree has white lights and glittered decorations. There are presents beneath it, ones she bought for herself, one that Lois sent, two that her father sent, one that Clark sent.
At times she’s lonely. At times she misses the people from her old life. Lois and Clark and Lana and Jimmy and that’s really all she had back before everything fell apart. But only at times and missing isn’t enough to make her want to return.
Time moves forward, marches on. Eventually she settles in San Francisco, after over a year of staying in one place for no longer than a month.
She gets a job at a smaller newspaper, then moves to a larger one a year later. Human interest pieces become her speciality, her thing. She rents an unfurnished apartment and decorates it with furniture from Ikea and thrift stores. She makes friends, goes out for dinner and coffee and shops.
The days bleed into each other sometimes, blur together sometimes. She’s no longer restless, has settled down. She gets a cat, starts to date again. She volunteers, donates her time and money. She isn’t a superhero or a superhero’s sidekick, but at some point she becomes okay with this. She is what she is.
She learns what it’s like to live again.
In San Francisco she’s comfortable, okay. Happiness is elusive at times, but at other moments she knows it, vividly. It’s life, a mixture of happiness and pain.
After three years she stops swallowing the sleeping pills. Sleep is hard at first, but it gets easier. At times she dreams in color of death, of murder. Most nights she doesn’t dream of the past. Most days she doesn’t wake up to sweat-soaked sheets.
She reads of Superman, of his deeds, of all the people he saves. She thinks of the man behind Superman, thinks of opportunities lost. But she doesn’t grieve for those missed opportunities, just accepts that as life, where some things are had and others aren’t. He’s there and she’s here and she thinks maybe that’s how the story was always supposed to end.
And in the end she can live with that.
And in the end she does live.
One day, a cup of coffee in her hand, the sky gray and fog littering here and there, she turns the corner and sees him. Standing there on the sidewalk he is, a smile on his face. He walks towards her.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” she says.
Here’s the beginning, here’s a moment and maybe she was waiting for it all this time. Here it is nonetheless, the beginning, the start. Here it is.
End.
That’s all she wrote, folks! And yes I totally intended for my ending to be a bit ambiguous.
She leaves one morning, a dusty morning, dawn just breaking. The sky is pink and purple, pale and luminance. It promises sunshine, bright and yellow.
By the time the sun has risen she’s gone.
In the car it’s quiet, the music off. It’s just her in the car, along with her necessary things. A mug of now cold tea sits in the cup holder.
Coffee no longer appeals to her. She had loved coffee, before everything. Now the taste repels her, makes her shiver like she’s cold although the liquid is hot and she’s dressed warmly. Now she can’t stand it, now after everything it’s another thing missing, something else lost.
The highway stretches before her, open and gray and winding. She picks up the mug, sips the cold peppermint tea and tries not to think about anything but when she should take her take break.
On the road to somewhere, the destination not firmly set. In truth the destination isn’t set at all. She just couldn’t bear to stay any longer. She stayed for awhile, but couldn’t stay any longer.
It sounds like running away, only it isn’t. Running away implies disorder, secrecy, something wrong. That’s not the case here, not really.
She doesn’t leave abruptly, suddenly, randomly. She told Lois, Clark, even Jimmy. Said her goodbyes, exchanged hugs with Lois and Clark, exchanged awkward smiles with Jimmy. Packed up her apartment and put her stuff in storage, the stuff she would send for when she settled down wherever the end destination would be. She was sensible, logical, systematic.
There’s money in her purse, in her bank account. This is all planned.
This isn’t running away then. This is merely leaving, the abandonment of a place. It isn’t running away.
And only occasionally does she feel like she’s running away.
To go or to stay: that was the question she was faced with. After everything, after she thought about it all, that was the question she was left with. Everything boiled down to the question, to whether she would stay or go. To whether she could stand to stay or whether leaving was the thing she could do.
She chose the latter, to go. Car on the road, window rolled down, wind stinging her face, this is what she chose. Chose to get into the car and drive away, far away, anywhere but here, anywhere but Smallville, Metropolis, Kansas.
She told Lois, calmly, simply, said, “This is what I need to do. So much has happened and I don’t fit here anymore.”
“Be safe,” Lois said, after arguing. Then Lois hugged her, tightly, like a cousin does. “Keep in touch. I’m going to miss you.”
She told Clark, calmly, simply, said, “This is what I need to do. I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. So much has happened and I just…I need to go.”
“I’ll miss you,” he said after a moment of silence. No arguing. He hugged her too, tightly, like a best friend does. “Be happy.”
“That’s the goal.”
And it was, is. Happiness is what she desires, longs for. Who doesn’t want happiness? The pursuit of happiness is a common goal, a goal shared by many. She’s no different in the end from everyone else.
Happiness proves elusive.
She searches, on a journey for it. As intangible as happiness is she searches for it. From one town to another, the road beckoning, happiness longed for. From one place to another, from one apartment to the next, one job to the next job.
To and fro she goes, searching, on a journey.
She was restless as a child, teenager. There was always something to do, a dream to chase, a story to pursue. At the beginning of her time in Smallville she was particularly restless, eager to grow up and abandon the farming town. The town later became home, later it became hard to leave.
Twenty-one now and she’s slowed down little. Restless yet she is, jittery.
In the first place she works in a bookstore, but she leaves Rochester soon enough, leaves New Hampshire soon after that. Then it’s Richmond, Boston, Annapolis, Providence, Detroit, and so on. She finds it hard to stay in one place for any extended period of time.
She wanders, in truth. Temporarily she becomes a wander, a person with no permanent home. She goes and leaves and repeats this over and over again.
At night she would dream, if she doesn’t take the pills to chase the dreams away. Swallows the pills and she escapes the images, receives a black-ridden dreamworld.
If she doesn’t swallow her nightly pills then she dreams. Dreams in color, of death, of killing, of gripping a wrist and watching eyes open with horror. Dreams of colors: the dark scarlet of blood spilled; the ebony blackness of him, of her eyes; the death-pale ivory of her body, of the victims. She’ll dream of monsters, herself included among that group. She’ll dream and in the morning she’ll be sweat-soaked and her body will ache.
So she gets her prescription each month, fills it, swallows the pills each night. And then there’s blackness, merciful blackness.
Months pass.
Christmas Eve she sits in her furnished apartment in Houston and watches It’s A Wonderful Life. The film, black and white, offers some measure of comfort. It’s a good story.
She has a small Christmas tree set up. The small tree has white lights and glittered decorations. There are presents beneath it, ones she bought for herself, one that Lois sent, two that her father sent, one that Clark sent.
At times she’s lonely. At times she misses the people from her old life. Lois and Clark and Lana and Jimmy and that’s really all she had back before everything fell apart. But only at times and missing isn’t enough to make her want to return.
Time moves forward, marches on. Eventually she settles in San Francisco, after over a year of staying in one place for no longer than a month.
She gets a job at a smaller newspaper, then moves to a larger one a year later. Human interest pieces become her speciality, her thing. She rents an unfurnished apartment and decorates it with furniture from Ikea and thrift stores. She makes friends, goes out for dinner and coffee and shops.
The days bleed into each other sometimes, blur together sometimes. She’s no longer restless, has settled down. She gets a cat, starts to date again. She volunteers, donates her time and money. She isn’t a superhero or a superhero’s sidekick, but at some point she becomes okay with this. She is what she is.
She learns what it’s like to live again.
In San Francisco she’s comfortable, okay. Happiness is elusive at times, but at other moments she knows it, vividly. It’s life, a mixture of happiness and pain.
After three years she stops swallowing the sleeping pills. Sleep is hard at first, but it gets easier. At times she dreams in color of death, of murder. Most nights she doesn’t dream of the past. Most days she doesn’t wake up to sweat-soaked sheets.
She reads of Superman, of his deeds, of all the people he saves. She thinks of the man behind Superman, thinks of opportunities lost. But she doesn’t grieve for those missed opportunities, just accepts that as life, where some things are had and others aren’t. He’s there and she’s here and she thinks maybe that’s how the story was always supposed to end.
And in the end she can live with that.
And in the end she does live.
One day, a cup of coffee in her hand, the sky gray and fog littering here and there, she turns the corner and sees him. Standing there on the sidewalk he is, a smile on his face. He walks towards her.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” she says.
Here’s the beginning, here’s a moment and maybe she was waiting for it all this time. Here it is nonetheless, the beginning, the start. Here it is.
End.
That’s all she wrote, folks! And yes I totally intended for my ending to be a bit ambiguous.