CLARK

As he sat in his favourite diner in Metropolis watching the people pass by the large glass window, he caught sight of his own reflection in their faces.  

Nothing made Clark more happy than being anonymous. Knowing his own super human capabilities as Superman was more than enough of an existential concept to keep inside his own head, let alone sharing it with the rest of the world.

In some ways he considered himself the loneliest man in the world and possibly the loneliest superman (was he the only one?) in the universe. But he couldn't justify any notion of self-pity.

"You're superman," he thought to himself, "self pity is not on the menu."

The green haired waitress arrived with his stack of pancakes and greeted him with a flashbulb smile.

"Why thank you, miss."

"You're welcome, Sir. Enjoy."

Clark grabbed some maple syrup and poured it over the half dozen pancakes in front of him.

"Even Gods like pancakes, don't you know?"

"What did you say?"

The waitress doubled back, thinking he was calling out to her.

"Oh nothing," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. " Just a little private joke to myself."

As the waitress walked away for the second time, Clark cursed himself for being so complacent.

"Perhaps it's hubris on the menu today, Mr Kent."

Tucking into his tower of pancakes, he found himself paying attention to the lyrics of the song playing through the speakers.

How can you stand the silence
That pervades when we all cry?
How can you watch the violence
That erupts before your eyes?

Music held a particular fascination for Clark. It wasn't something that even existed on his home planet of Krypton but it was definitely something that he, as an alien, envied of humans. That and their capacity for compassion which he reckoned mostly countered their reckless destruction.

As he ate another forkful of food he also reflected on the ingenious culinary delights that the human race had devised, especially his beloved pancakes which he easily worked off by flying several rotations around the earth.

Although Gods had incredible, and to mere mortals improbable super powers, they didn't always have much creativity or humour. In his attempt to make himself appear human in the guise of Clark Kent he had found himself becoming increasingly fond of the vulnerability of humans.

His affection for humans had complicated his own feelings about being immortal but after giving up his superpowers as a way of sacrifice to his beloved Lois Lane, he'd learnt that the trade off between his own mortal feelings and rescuing humanity from destroying itself was one that couldn't be reconciled.

Now all he was left with was the loneliness of being a human imposter in a superman's body with the knowledge he was the only one who could save the world.

Watching from the kitchen, the bald headed short order chef checked the time on the steamed up kitchen clock.

"Go check on table 12. He should be done now."

The green haired waitress nodded and went to check on the handsome customer wearing glasses.

As she approached his table she noticed his silver fork on the floor just by his feet. and his face pressed against the table. He was completely unconscious.

She quickly cleared out the other customers from the diner,  flipped the open sign to closed and locked the door.

Returning the plate to the chef, the waitress watched on as Lex Luthor proceeded to separate the small specks of kryptonite from the half eaten pancakes as he laughed to himself.

"The dose makes the poison. Paracelsus."