Superman screamed across the Atlantic, going at a speed undetectable by human eyes. He got a late jump on the missiles, and he actually worried if he would make it on time. Superman narrowed his eyes and focused hard on trying to fly faster, thinking if he could hit the speeds in which he could essentially turn the Earth the opposite direction on its axis, and turn time back to just a few minutes ago, to where he could hope to prevent the launch of these nukes. But as hard as he flew, he couldn’t catch up.
He was within visual sight of the first two mushroom clouds that emerged from Moscow. Superman slouched in failure, as the savior of the world couldn’t prevent such destruction. This moment of desperation was ill-timed, however, as screeching right past his head were several more missiles, headed in the opposite direction, at an amazingly fast speed. Superman took off, hoping to intercept these Russian missiles, but again, his moments of hesitation proved to be costly. By the time he got within visual of the remains of the New York skyline, all he saw were clouds of smoke, and dark skies.
I wake up in my dad’s old Caprice Classic station wagon. My family is together, my mother, father, and sister.
“We’re here,” my dad says. Where is “here,” I’m thinking? It’s our new home, it’s explained to me.
New home? What happened to my old home?
