A first line drabble for Mel. First line is hers, the rest is mine.


Eternity. That word was so elusive, so many meanings behind it.

For Clark Kent, however, there was only one meaning that mattered. He was eternal. Those he loved were not.

It was his mother's 71st birthday. Her hair was white, her skin too loose on her bones. And he still didn't look a day over twenty.

He dreamt of Cassandra Carver sometimes. He saw the tombstones stretching out before him. Everyone he loved gone.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Lex's name hadn't been in that dream, though. He didn't know what to make of that. But, then again, he and Lex didn't talk much any more.

He wanted to believe that he just overlooked Lex's name somehow. Because any other alternative would be unthinkable, wouldn't it? Lex, as an enemy. Lex, as someone to be hated and feared. Lex, as someone who hated him.

How shallow did it make him, then, if Clark was secretly glad to think of Lex in those terms? Because at least an enemy is still alive. And anything would be better than being alone.