Hello again! As you may have noticed, there is no longer a question mark for the number of parts for this story. It is officially done! My plan is to post a new chapter each day (as long as RL doesn't interfere). Without further ado, here is the next chapter of Stuck in the Dark.
The newsroom hummed with familiar sounds—the steady clacking of keyboards, the low murmur of conversations, the occasional ring of a desk phone cutting through the noise. Though not as chaotic as the Daily Planet, The Oklahoman still had its own steady rhythm, a pulse that Kal had grown accustomed to since moving to Moore. It was different from the high-stakes, fast-paced world of Metropolis, but here, he could still be a journalist, still tell stories that mattered.
At least, he thought he could.
Today, he was struggling.
Seated at his desk, Kal’s fingers rested lightly over the refreshable braille display, the article he was supposed to be finishing waiting for him to focus. The piece—a breakdown of flood mitigation efforts in rural Oklahoma—was straightforward. He had already conducted the interviews, gathered all the data, even structured the main points in his head. Writing it should have been as routine as breathing.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, his mind kept slipping backward, replaying moments he wasn’t ready to relive. The distant echo of applause from the Kerth Awards, the way his fingers had brushed over the engraved lettering of his own name. The sharp click of Lois’s heels as she had stopped in front of him, saying his name with the kind of certainty that left no room for denial. The unmistakable note of frustration in her voice when she finally left that hotel room, the door closing behind her like the final sentence of a conversation that neither of them had been ready to finish.
He should have said something. He should have found the words, stopped her from walking out, told her that he—
Kal flexed his fingers, pushing the thought away before it could solidify into anything dangerous. He needed to work. That’s what he did, what he had always done. He was a journalist. He told other people’s stories. Not his own. He exhaled, letting his fingers settle over the keyboard. Just get the first sentence down.
The impact of seasonal flooding on small communities… He hesitated. Something felt off. He backspaced, tried again. Flood prevention has long been a challenge in—
“Ellis.”
Kal lifted his head slightly, tilting it in the direction of the familiar voice. Mark Anderson, his editor. A no-nonsense journalist with a sharp eye for weak writing and an even sharper instinct for knowing when one of his reporters was off their game.
“You got that flood piece ready for me?” Anderson asked.
Kal hesitated just long enough for it to be noticeable. “Almost,” he said, keeping his tone even. Anderson was silent for a second too long. Kal couldn’t see the look his editor was giving him, but he could feel the scrutiny. Anderson was the type to smell hesitation a mile away.
“You good, Ellis?” Anderson finally asked, his voice laced with mild suspicion.
Kal forced a small, practiced smile. “I’m fine.”
Anderson exhaled through his nose, a sound that managed to be both skeptical and vaguely amused. “You don’t sound fine.”
Kal tilted his head. “How does ‘I’m fine’ sound, exactly?”
There was a brief pause, then a snort. “You know,” Anderson said, “I’ve been an editor a long time. Long enough to know when a reporter is sitting on something. And you? You’re sitting on something.”
Kal kept his expression neutral. “I’m just finishing the article.”
Anderson let the words sit between them for a moment before exhaling another amused sigh. “Right. Well, I need it by the end of the day.”
Kal nodded. “I’ll have it to you.”
Anderson didn’t leave right away. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, press a little further. But then he just grunted and walked off, leaving Kal alone at his desk once more. Kal exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. His fingers hovered over the keyboard again. He wasn’t sitting on a story. Not one he could print, anyway.
The rhythmic clicking of the keyboard filled Kal’s quiet home office, each keystroke deliberate and purposeful. He paused, letting his fingers hover over the keys, searching for the right words to close out his thoughts. Writing had always been second nature to him, something he could do swiftly and efficiently. But now—now he had to be precise, each sentence weighed carefully before committing it to the page. There was no rushing through it anymore, no relying on instinct alone. Every article mattered, not just for its content, but because it grounded him, gave him a purpose in this new life.
He flexed his fingers and rubbed his wrist absently before returning them to the keyboard. Even the smallest motions had become more intentional since his accident. He no longer typed at lightning speed, allowing his thoughts to flow unchecked. Instead, every phrase had to be considered, measured. He had to ensure that his message was clear, his meaning unmistakable.
With a final keystroke, Kal leaned back, releasing a slow breath as he absorbed the moment. The article was complete.
It wasn’t the most thrilling piece he had ever written, but it was necessary. People needed to understand how short-term policies were failing to meet long-term needs. His editor, Anderson, had given him a strict deadline for the final draft, and Kal wasn’t about to miss it. He had never missed a deadline before, and he wasn’t about to start now. The discipline of journalism had always been a constant in his life, a tether to who he had been. Even now, it was one of the few things that felt familiar.
He reached for his earpiece, activating the screen reader. The familiar robotic voice read his last few paragraphs back to him, allowing him to assess the rhythm and clarity of his work. As he listened, he let himself settle into the routine that had become his new normal.
Write. Edit. Submit. Repeat.
It was methodical, structured. Safe.
But even in the safety, something stirred.
No matter how much he tried to live as Kal Ellis, some part of him—something deeper, older, truer—kept whispering beneath the surface. A presence that didn’t fade just because he refused to name it.
He could write articles, file stories, keep his head down—but the truth of who he was wasn’t something that could be buried forever.
Metropolis felt like another lifetime, a different existence he could barely touch anymore. The memories were there, lurking beneath the surface, but he kept them at bay. He had to.
With a small nod to himself, Kal navigated to his email and attached the document. One more article filed. One more deadline met.
And just like that, another day in his new life carried on.
The scent of coffee still lingered faintly in the air as Kal set his empty mug in the sink, rinsing it out with practiced efficiency. His days had fallen into a steady rhythm—work, coffee shop, home. Simple. Predictable. Stable.
The evening air was cool as he opened the back door, stepping onto the small patio. The neighborhood was quiet, the occasional chirp of crickets filling the spaces between the distant hum of traffic. He took a slow breath, appreciating the crispness of the Oklahoma night—different from the thick, electric buzz of Metropolis.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed the space until he had it.
His fingers brushed the back of the chair before he sat, settling in with a notepad and a digital recorder at his side.
Anderson’s latest assignment was still on his mind. Rezoning scandals. Property flips. Developers and politicians with too much money and not enough oversight.
He pressed the recorder button. A soft beep confirmed it was on.
“Potential leads—Norman zoning committee meeting minutes, recent property sales, legislative records…” His voice was steady, methodical, falling into the familiar cadence of investigative work.
It was strange how easily it came back to him, as if no time had passed.
That should have made him uneasy. It didn’t.
The Oklahoma wind was different from Metropolis. It carried the scent of earth and grass, not steel and concrete, and moved with a steady persistence that never quite died down. The mornings here were quiet, unhurried, the sun rising over an open horizon instead of being swallowed by towering skyscrapers. The sounds were different, too—the rustling of leaves, the occasional chirping of birds, the hum of a distant highway rather than the honking of impatient city traffic.
Kal had adjusted to it—to the slower pace, the vast stretches of land, the feeling of anonymity that came with being just another man living his life. Here, no one expected Superman to be among them. No one asked him questions he couldn’t answer, at least not out loud. Whether they wondered, whether they speculated in silence, he couldn’t say—and that was freeing in a way, even if it was also isolating. It was freeing in a way, even if it was also isolating. There were no urgent calls for help, no city watching his every move. Just quiet days that bled into quiet nights, his world reduced to articles, radio broadcasts, and the solitude of a life rebuilt from the ground up.
He moved through his kitchen with practiced ease, making coffee, settling into the morning. His home was arranged for functionality, everything placed with careful intention to accommodate his needs. There wasn’t much room for nostalgia, but there were traces of his past tucked away in small reminders. A small clock ticked in the corner of the room, an old but familiar sound that had filled his apartment back in Metropolis. He hadn’t thought much about it when he brought it here, but now, he found comfort in its steady rhythm.
A Braille-marked copy of one of his Kerth-winning articles rested among his belongings, its presence both an achievement and a relic of another era. A small radio played softly in the background, filling the quiet with distant voices and faint melodies. Some days he kept it on all day, just for the company. It was one of the few ways he stayed connected to the world outside his own small existence.
His life had become something quiet. Predictable.
Then the radio broadcast shifted, the tone urgent.
Late this evening, an explosion in downtown Metropolis has left multiple people injured, including Daily Planet journalist Lois Lane. Authorities have not confirmed the intended target of the attack, but sources say Lane was near the blast site at the time of detonation. She was transported to Metropolis General Hospital, where she remains in serious but stable condition. No fatalities have been reported."
Stable. But serious.
Kal didn’t realize he was gripping the phone so tightly until his knuckles ached.
The air felt thinner, the steady hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud, the silence of the house too empty.
Lois was hurt.
And he wasn’t there.
His instincts fired on reflex—heat blooming in his chest, power stirring beneath his skin like a muscle too long ignored.
For a split second, he felt it all—the pressure shift that came just before takeoff, the wind curling around his frame, the impossible ache to rise.
But that part of him had been locked away.
He didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust himself.
The sky had once answered him, bent to his will.
Now, it was just a memory.
A dangerous one.
His thoughts fractured—what hospital room was she in? Was she alone? Were Perry and Jimmy with her? Was she—
He cut the thought off before it could form.
She was alive. That was all that mattered.
His grip loosened, and he set the phone down, inhaling deeply, forcing his thoughts to organize.
Panic wouldn’t help. He needed information.
He swiped through his contacts, hovering over Perry White’s name before hesitating. What would he even say?
He hadn't spoken to Perry in two years.
Hadn’t spoken to anyone from Metropolis, except Lois, in two years.
And yet… here he was, ready to break all of it in an instant.
Kal straightened, jaw tightening with resolve.
Metropolis wasn’t his world anymore. But this? This was Lois.
And that meant something.
It always would.
He stood frozen in the kitchen, pulse racing. The old way—the fast way—flared up like muscle memory.
But he couldn’t. Not like this.
Not blind.
I hope you enjoyed the latest segment. Please review!
aPurpleOkie
