Life just hadn't been the same since the divorce, Clark thought as he took another swig of pitifully useless alcohol. He could've sworn that the worst day of his life was--and always would be--the day the doctors had pronounced him completely sterile do to over-exposure to Kryptonite. That stabbing pain in his heart *surely* could not be topped... But he had been wrong. Losing Lois had been infinitely worse---*was* infinitely worse.
He downed the remainder of what was in his glass, sucking the very dregs from the bottom, and ordered another, growling when the barkeep almost refused.
Life sucked.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to banish the dull ache that was forming in his head, and muttered a foul curse. She was a ruiner of men---that's what she was. He would never forgive Jimmy Olson for proposing to her the very *day* that the papers were signed, but it was a moot point now, since her refusal had finally tipped the young man over towards suicide. Clark had been there the night he jumped.
Superman could have saved him...
Superman didn't.
He wished his parents were alive to give him counseling in his hour of need, but Jonathan had died of a heart attack just two weeks prior, and Martha had shortly thereafter died of grief. He was alone---*completely* alone, with an empty house whose mortgage he couldn't afford to pay on his salary alone. Perry would have probably given him a raise to help him out, had he still been the editor. The new guy didn't care about him at all; didn't even care about the work he had done for the Planet in years passed. The only thing he cared about was layoffs, and Clark had gotten the pink slip that afternoon.
A smile twitched at the corner of Clark's lips. He'd have his revenge. No force on earth could stop him from completely annialating the Daily Planet! He would start at the top, with the owners. A burst of well-aimed heat vision should take care of them. Then, he would work his way down to the smarmy new editor. Clark became almost gleeful at the thought of forcefully feeding the man Ralph's shirt. It was only fitting, since Ralph was now the only member of the old gang who worked there, these days. After the editor, Clark would freeze the reporting staff, the researchers, the copy boys, and then he'd disembowel the janitors!
He slammed his newly-emptied glass down, shattering it. All the bar patrons whirled around as Clark let out a mighty roar and ripped his shirt open, revealing the 'S' to a room full of slacked jaws. With a 'Woosh', he was gone, leaving a sonic boom in his wake, and a doomed Planet in his path.
Life would never be the same.
