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Description
      It seems like days since the course of my life was thrown into utter oblivion—made by a single action that's resulting consequences brought about the destruction of a planet—but in reality, it has only been mere hours. Only hours since everything that I'd grown up around, been exposed to; the people I loved and would protect with my last breath were wiped from the face of the universe.
      And it was me who killed them.
      All of this is my fault.
      I float in the cold vacuum of space. I am surrounded entirely by stars that seem to stretch for eternity. Never before had I looked at them like this. I have been in space more times then I care to count, and I have seen them both from this perspective and from the ground looking up. I remember many nights where I would look up at them with hope; hope for my future, hope that I may do what is right. I remember the overwhelming rush when I first saw them up close. It was something that few ever got to experience, and they could not see them from this kind of perspective. Up close. Personally. They had to see it from behind pressurized walls. I don't. I wish they could experience it as I do; a person and the stars, planets, and the universe, nothing else. You feel as though there is something connecting everything and binding it together. Before all of this happened, it was comforting in a way. I could be alone for a while. I could think. I could clear my head.
      Now my stomach churns with the thought.
      Now I'm completely alone.
      My body hangs limply in space. I cannot find a reason to move. Grim dread keeps my limbs weighed down. The cape of my suite—my uniform—is tattered and torn and riddled with holes. There is a long diagonal burn across my chest and my symbol. My flesh still sears in hot agony from the burn. The cuts across my body and face have sealed over and the blood is dry. My aching eyes drift down to where a planet once was, where now there is only atmospheric vapor and thin trails of debris. I can see where it once was, its image burned forever into my mind. I can visualize it still there easily, to the point where I feel I could lose myself in it. Pretend nothing happened and fly back home to my loved ones. But reality came crashing down and the planet was gone. Again. My gaze returns back to the stars and my eyes drift close.
      Floating the vastness of space, I wonder when it all went wrong. Where was the beginning of the end? Where did the scales tip toward death and destruction? I start to dig through my memories to find out. It hurts to do so; my heart aches when I remember my friends and loved ones, but I press on. I need to do his. I owe it to them and their memory to figure out when everything fell apart.
      I am a man with different names:
      On the lost world of my birth, I was Kal-El,
      On the planet that I became to think of as home, I was Clark Kent, a reporter for the Daily Planet, a boy from Smallville,
      But most know me by another name. One that was known throughout the entire planet, and is still known to others out there: Superman. It's a name I feel I don't deserve anymore. That name once meant something to people, a symbol of justice and hope, one that you could look to in your darkest days and find strength from it. Now it just feels empty. Hollow.
      Like me.
      Kal-El, Clark Kent, Superman, it doesn't matter now. Whatever name or title you slap on me, I am still a guilty man. I committed an atrocity that has crippled me.  I am the one who destroyed Earth.
      Now I just need to figure out why…

Description
      It seems like days since the course of my life was thrown into utter oblivion—made by a single action that's resulting consequences brought about the destruction of a planet—but in reality, it has only been mere hours. Only hours since everything that I'd grown up around, been exposed to; the people I loved and would protect with my last breath were wiped from the face of the universe.
      And it was me who killed them.
      All of this is my fault.
      I float in the cold vacuum of space. I am surrounded entirely by stars that seem to stretch for eternity. Never before had I looked at them like this. I have been in space more times then I care to count, and I have seen them both from this perspective and from the ground looking up. I remember many nights where I would look up at them with hope; hope for my future, hope that I may do what is right. I remember the overwhelming rush when I first saw them up close. It was something that few ever got to experience, and they could not see them from this kind of perspective. Up close. Personally. They had to see it from behind pressurized walls. I don't. I wish they could experience it as I do; a person and the stars, planets, and the universe, nothing else. You feel as though there is something connecting everything and binding it together. Before all of this happened, it was comforting in a way. I could be alone for a while. I could think. I could clear my head.
      Now my stomach churns with the thought.
      Now I'm completely alone.
      My body hangs limply in space. I cannot find a reason to move. Grim dread keeps my limbs weighed down. The cape of my suite—my uniform—is tattered and torn and riddled with holes. There is a long diagonal burn across my chest and my symbol. My flesh still sears in hot agony from the burn. The cuts across my body and face have sealed over and the blood is dry. My aching eyes drift down to where a planet once was, where now there is only atmospheric vapor and thin trails of debris. I can see where it once was, its image burned forever into my mind. I can visualize it still there easily, to the point where I feel I could lose myself in it. Pretend nothing happened and fly back home to my loved ones. But reality came crashing down and the planet was gone. Again. My gaze returns back to the stars and my eyes drift close.
      Floating the vastness of space, I wonder when it all went wrong. Where was the beginning of the end? Where did the scales tip toward death and destruction? I start to dig through my memories to find out. It hurts to do so; my heart aches when I remember my friends and loved ones, but I press on. I need to do his. I owe it to them and their memory to figure out when everything fell apart.
      I am a man with different names:
      On the lost world of my birth, I was Kal-El,
      On the planet that I became to think of as home, I was Clark Kent, a reporter for the Daily Planet, a boy from Smallville,
      But most know me by another name. One that was known throughout the entire planet, and is still known to others out there: Superman. It's a name I feel I don't deserve anymore. That name once meant something to people, a symbol of justice and hope, one that you could look to in your darkest days and find strength from it. Now it just feels empty. Hollow.
      Like me.
      Kal-El, Clark Kent, Superman, it doesn't matter now. Whatever name or title you slap on me, I am still a guilty man. I committed an atrocity that has crippled me.  I am the one who destroyed Earth.
      Now I just need to figure out why…