"September Kryptonite"
by David J Rust ©2001

The Man of Steel flew through the early morning sky, speeding like a bullet, South, out of Metropolis. His superhuman senses virtually burned with the distant cries of panic and fear, carried from so far away that no terrestrial beast, man or machine could have detected them. Only the ears and eyes of the Last Son of Krypton were keen enough to see the billowing smoke enwrapping the distant tower like a black wreath; tongues of flame lapping at the sky as if from the mouths of Cerberus.

Still, he pushed himself onward, faster and faster towards his destination in the nearby city of New York. Normally, it was only a six minute flight on an average day; today, it took him a quarter of that time.

He'd reacted as soon as he'd heard; the plane colliding with the building in a deadly, pyrotechnic display. Not all his vaunted power and ability could have stopped that ... rolled back the clock. All he could do was fly as fast as he could and try to salvage what he could after the fact. Already countless lives had been endangered ... possibly lost. His eyes narrowed at the thought, his black hair pressed flat against his scalp from a wind speed that would incinerate a normal human.

But Superman wasn't "normal".

Even from a hundred miles away, he could see the structural cracks and shuddering support beams deep within the building. He could hear the cries of fear and desperation as alarms went off from floor to floor. His cape virtually tore from his shoulders as he arced down from the sky and slowed in order to avoid leaving a trail of sonic booms in his wake over the city. It delayed him by 2.4 seconds, but it was necessary.

His all-too-human eyes surveyed the carnage and he felt a well of sadness at the sight. Man's inhumanity to man; this was worse than a thousand Lex Luthors ... a million Brainiacs. This was nightmare incarnate.

The brief reverie cost him another second before he sprung into action. X-ray vision told him where the weakened supports were, but at the speed required to reach them all and shore them up, he'd rip the building apart in the attempt. Cracks spread through concrete and mortar as metal beams creaked and moaned. Desperately, he flew towards the topmost floor and began evacuating the tower. Shudders and booms rocked the building and with each one a chorus of fearful cries erupted into the morning sky.

It was almost beyond his ability to bear. For all his strength, the plaintive calls for help were what haunted him at night; the fear that he'd arrive too late ... his superhuman powers, inadequate. His attention, preoccupied by his efforts to save the masses, suddenly turned.

Another plane.

Telescopic vision told him it was in the grip of hijackers: a full load of terrified passengers in their grasp. Superman paused, his mind racing for alternatives ... solutions.

He felt paralyzed. What was he doing, just watching this? What could he do to stop it? Indecision gripped his mighty muscles as he hung in the sky and listened to the building creak and sway behind him while the new plane bore down on the neighboring tower. He couldn't move.

What was he doing watching this?

"Adam," his mother asked, "what are you doing watching this?" Christa walked briskly across the room where her 7-year-old son was coloring a Superman coloring book, the CNN coverage of the terrorist actions still repeating the horror from several days before. "I told you not to turn on the TV while I'm doing the dishes..."

Wiping her hands on the towel she carried with her from the kitchen, she sighed as Adam looked up at her with his deep, brown eyes. She brushed her blonde hair back into a pony tail and walked over to sit down on the couch next to him. His eyes were a mystery to her and, like most mothers, she rarely knew what was really going on behind them. It was probably her imagination, but she swore she could see reflections of her own fears in his young face, anxieties left over from when he'd first seen the news footage and she'd been too slow with the remote.

"Mom, why couldn't Superman stop this?"

She sighed at the question, feeling her son's confusion and fear in those few, simple words. "Honey, Superman's a comic book character; you know he's not real." She put her hand on Adam's shoulder and pulled him close.

He looked up her her, his face looking contemplative and sincere. "Yeah, but ...well... if he were real, he could have stopped it, couldn't he?"

"I don't know, dear. Probably..." She patted the box of crayons in his lap and forced a smile. "Why don't you put your coloring books away and get ready for bed?"

Adam shook his head, unconvinced. "But Mom, he'd break the building if he tried to catch it... And if he tried to stop the other plane, wouldn't he hurt the other people in it?"

Christa bit her lower lip and tried not to let the knots in her stomach get the upper hand. Comfortingly, she pulled her son into her lap and brushed back his auburn hair, gently. "Oh, Adam ... he's Superman... He can do anything, right?"

"He can't do everything, Mom... If he could, there'd be no Lex Luthor..."

Stymied by her son's comic-book logic, she raised a finger to his lips. "Shhhh... It's too close to bedtime to be thinking of things like this, bug..." She made a smile and tickled him, trying to get him to laugh. "Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "I just want to know, why Superman couldn't save them all?"

Christa sighed. "I don't know, Adam," she admitted. "Maybe it's because in Superman's world, things aren't as complex as they are here. Maybe things work better for him because he's a superhero. Maybe someone gave him some kryptonite..." She hugged him tightly and looked into his brown eyes. "Why is it so important to you?"

Adam shrugged. "I just want to know..." He grew silent for a minute and finally looked up into her face once more. "Is our apartment going to fall down?"

"No; no, Adam, it won't," she said with conviction she didn't quite feel. "You can't think that."

"But the guy on TV said it could happen anywhere; anytime..."

"Look, I'm telling you our apartment is going to be safe." She pulled her son into her lap and held his hands together in hers. "Look, Adam, Superman may not be here, but I am. You don't have to be afraid; I won't let anything happen to you..."

"But you can't fly and you don't have heat vision..."

She nodded, a small tear in the corner of her eye. How much easier life would have been if she did have super-powers. "Yes, and I'm not faster than a speeding bullet, either. But, Adam; I have one thing Superman doesn't..."

He stayed silent and looked into her face, curiously.

"I love you..." she said, hugging him to her. "I love you and I can't -I won't- let anything happen to you. Do you understand?" She held him tightly, the week's-worth of images, sounds and news held at bay in her tight embrace. Her face unseen by her son, she felt a few tears seep from the corners of her eyes as she held him.

Adam's small arms wrapped themselves around his mother's waist as he hugged her close and buried his face in her sweater. "I do," came the muffled reply. "I love you too, Mommy..."

Together, they sat in each other's arms until Christa could feel his breathing become quieter and his muscles grow limp with exhaustion. The late hour had coaxed him to sleep and she sighed in relief.

Carefully, she stood and carried him to his bedroom. The wallpaper was decorated with fire engines and air planes, all poised as if in motion offering a comforting security that she no longer felt. She laid him down in his bed and got him into his pajamas before kissing him on the forehead. He stirred briefly, his dreams restless and fitful. "Good-night," she whispered, as she rose to return to the kitchen. At the door, she paused and turned around. Adam squirmed in his sleep under the covers and kicked at the small teddy bear he kept at his bed's foot.

The dishes could wait until tomorrow.

As quietly as she could, she pulled a large, over-stuffed recliner into her son's room to the space next to his bed. Sitting down, she cradled Adam's small hand in hers. He didn't really understand everything that had happened yet, and probably wouldn't for a long time. But he would, some day. She couldn't protect him from TV, newspapers or idle talk at school forever... Kissing him on the forehead one more time, she leaned back in her chair and after several hours sadly pondering the week's events, finally fell asleep.

Gradually, Adam's dreams were calmed; the warmth of his mother's hand around his own, influencing his dreams.

He was flying.

He could see the city, shining and safe; damaged but -somehow- not quite as badly as he'd thought. He smiled as he saw, in his sleeping mind's eye, the blonde blur of Supergirl soaring protectively over the city. Her blue eyes sought out trouble and -with a flash- made everything all right again. She had the bluest eyes, just like his mother, and the same long pony tail she sometimes wore. He smiled as he watched Supergirl soar across the skyline, protecting the city while -at the same time- cradling in her arms all the small children she could carry.

The End

Written on September 15th, 2001
In memory of September 11
and dedicated to the friends, families and victims
of that fateful day