Shining brightly red-rimmed and
Red-lined with the time
Infused with the choice of the mind
On ice skates scraping chunks
From the bells
- The Velvet Underground, "The Black Angel's Death Song"

"We Killed Bart Allen"
This is a dangerous time to be a comic book character.

It used to be you only had to worry about dying if you were a father figure like Thomas Wayne or a romantic interest like Gwen Stacy. And even the heroes that died used to be unwanted third stringers. (Sorry Black Goliath, but it's true.) Maybe a second stringer if you wanted to make it an event.

Nowadays, the frakkin' icons are falling, and it doesn't even always rate significant media attention anymore.

Bart Allen, the fourth man to take the mantle of the the Fastest Man Alive has joined the hallowed halls of the quick and the dead, and I'm kind of bummed. I've been entertaining wild fever dreams of writing the Mark Waid sized definitive run of the little speedster that could, and now those dreams are as dead as the-hero-formerly-known-as-Impulse.

And I hate to speak ill of the dearly departed, but Bart kind of went down like a bitch. And let's face it, his only crime was being relaunched by the schmucks who created that stupid Sentinel show Jones used to be in love with, and just because they're the guys who put Dawson's dad in the ol' red and gold back in the day. Bart never had a chance!

Godspeed, Little Allen.