I, too, love this, but like Patrick, I have no idea what is going on.
Your stories always have an impressive specific weight. They are not to be trifled with. In this story, there is Lois's unusual strength, her unfamiliar appetite, her fatigue which makes her sleep for nine hours straight with her head on Clark's shoulder...and there is, perhaps, blood on her hands. You certainly make me wonder, Shayne. And then there is the mystery and the incomprehensible tragedy of the collapsed city of Sunnydale. (Consider that name, people. Roll it on your tongues and taste it.) It's like a sunken Atlantis sitting like an unfathomable bogeyman in the middle of this story. And then there is the celebration of life and joy symbolized by the Mexican family with its many children, who try to embrace an unwilling Lois, and whose home is a symphony of pictures of children, lovely Spanish rugs on the floor and walls painted in reds and pinks, the colors of blood, life and love.
In the midst of all this, the appearance of an amazing man from Krypton who hasn't even revealed himself to the world seems almost mundane.
The feeling of melancholy and mystery is very strong here, and I very much want to read the rest of it. The lack of a tbc at the end of the story, as well as the missing figure one after the title, was a mistake, I'm sure.
Ann
