Title: Terma

Author: Jeanny

Feedback: Please. jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Distribution: I don't mind, just credit me and let me know where it's going.

Rating: PG

Character: Lana

Spoilers: Through Obscura

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Warner Bros., DC Comics and/or Tollin-Robbins. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on their copyright.

Author's Note: According to information about the X-Files episode title, "Tyurma" (pronounced Terma) is Russian for prison or jail, also a Latin conjunction of "death". It has also been suggested that the title refers to the Tibetan Buddhist term "Terma", meaning hidden or buried truth.

Summary: “Experiences like this change a person, down to their essence.” (Response to the Smallville X-Title Challenge: http://www.debchan.com/livia/smallville/xtitle.html)

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Everyone thought she was fine, and Lana meant to keep it that way.

She had been through a horrible ordeal, and there would be concern and fawning over her for a few days, worrying not just about her but about all of them. Wondering how such a thing could happen in a town like this. Wondering about Deputy Watts...and they would want her to tell them. She had seen through his eyes, after all. Surely Lana knew why this happened...but she didn't know. She couldn't know. Just as they could never really know what it was like. What she'd seen.

Clark. Clark always worried. But he also always believed her; after all she'd convinced him she hadn’t loved him, right? Even though she thought it had to be obvious...so, yes, she was a pro at convincing Clark that up was down and blue was yellow and she loved Whitney and everything was fine.

The good news was, she had a plan. And a date. The Spring Formal. She would go with Whitney, and smile and be the perfect girlfriend, and watch Clark with Chloe and pretend that that was perfectly fine, too. Until then she would go to her classes and serve coffee and generally be...Lana Lang. She thought she could manage it. She knew how to be Lana Lang. She had a lot of experience.

She wished she could laugh at that.

Lana smiled into the mirror, practicing. Her imitation was perfect, as it should be. Of course, she didn’t smile all the time; she knew better after what she had been through. Experiences like this change a person, down to their essence. They (Clark) knew she had seen Watts’ death through his own eyes; it was expected that she might be shaken by that. She wasn’t, though. She hadn't felt it...no, she was only an observer in this, not a participant. She thanked God every night for that, that she couldn't feel anything.

She had a dress all picked out. She’d thought about getting a new one, but this one had always been her favorite. There were instructions, and explanations, all prepared. She admired her own ability to be so thorough and organized. And methods had been carefully chosen for maximum effectiveness with minimum unpleasantness. The Internet was a wonderful thing. Lana felt cool and efficient and thoroughly numb.

She cursed God every night for that, that she couldn't feel anything.

She had worked hard on the explanations. It was only a short note, but it was the best she could offer them when they came with more questions, more wondering. She told them she knew death was not the end, but she was pretty sure no one would find that comforting. After all, she was so unshakably certain of that because she could still see through his eyes. Watts’ horribly damned eyes. Lana had seen Hell, and she didn’t need to feel what he felt, she knew what it was.

Hell was indescribable. Unbearable. Hopeless.

And now so was she. The meteor shower had taken everything from her, starting with her parents. It had ripped away at her until it had finally made it all the way to her soul. It seemed only fitting it should take her life as well.

The only thing she worried about now was that someone (Clark) might realize and try to help. They couldn’t help, none of them could. None of them (Clark) could ever understand, and she didn’t want them to, not like she did. Understanding wouldn’t help, but they’d (he’d) never be able to see that. No, all she wanted was for this to end. It was the only way that she would ever feel anything again, (I loved you Clark, I did) the way they would have wanted.

She imagined she might be sorry, after. Sorry that she’d had to die to bring herself back to life. Because she was nothing inside but a perfect imitation of girl that had once smiled for a different reason. That girl had felt something. But her deadened emotions had enabled her to smile, even over her visions of that unimaginable bleakness. She’d smiled, and no one had asked if she was alright, not even once. Not even Clark.

Everyone thought she was fine, and Lana meant to keep it that way.