Clive Wesson's office was what you've expect from a lawyer. Shelves of books, a neat desk with a sheaf of paper on it, a table with a fax machine on it in the corner, and a tall potted plant in another corner. Dark oak panelling on the walls made it feel very stereotypical, and Clark wondered if that was the point- to give people exactly what they expect, to put them at ease. But then, given that people usually don't go into a lawyer's office feeling at ease, it was probably a good strategy.

Clark and his mother stepped inside, following Clive, as he sat at his desk and motioned for them to do the same. When they were sat opposite him, he gave Clark's mother a smile probably calculated to be reassuring. It faltered a little as he looked at Clark, but then quickly reasserted itself.
Clark had that effect on the people he'd gone to school with. They heard stories about him, about his unusual strength and what happened to the people that upset him. He always just managed to stay out of trouble with the school, and there was never actual evidence of him doing anything wrong, but he nevertheless managed to make the entire school either avoid him or try their hardest to be his friend, depending on whether they wanted to climb the social ladder, which he was inveriably at the top of.

Clive interrupted Clark's musings by telling them, "You know that Jonathan was a proud man. He knew he was having heart problems, but I'm not sure if you knew, because he seemed intent on keeping it quiet. I don't think he told anyone aside from me, although obviously his doctor knew. Anyway, he updated his will a few months ago, when he first started having issues. This is how it reads."
He began his lawyer spiel about what was going where. As it turned out, it ended up all going to Martha.
Clive ended his reading by informing them that he'd written letters for each of them. Then he handed them the letter and said, "I'd suggest you read them in private."
Clark didn't absorb anything else that was said. But as soon as they got back in the car, he opened the letter and read it.

To Clark

Clark, I've thought long and hard about what to write here. I know my life will probably end soon. And I don't know what to say to you, because I've had twenty years to try to help you to become a man with a normal life. To some degree, I think I've succeeded, but I don't know how long that will last. I know that you want to use your powers to do what you want, and get what you want. You were never like normal boys, physically or mentally. I've never seen you show compassion, or love, or any kind of empathy, that wasn't faked in order to manipulate someone. I hope I've made you see that goodness serves a purpose, and you're better off embracing it than not. But you've always had trouble with that.

There's nothing I can really do or say to stop you if you want to take everything the world has. All I can say is to please keep in mind what I've taught you. Please, be a good man. Take care of your mother, live a quiet life, and be happy.

All my love, Dad

Clark put the letter down and stared off into the distance. His mother asked him a question, but he didn't really hear it. She didn't repeat herself and he spent the rest of the twenty-minute journey back to the farm in a silence that was entirely external. Within, there was an unceasing turmoil as forced battled it out. One that wanted him to respect his father's wishes, and another side that said, "That's what you're supposed to think, not what you really think".


Over the coming days he dealt with the problem in the time-honored tradition used with problems everywhere- he ignored it. He was staying with his mother for a few days, so there was no pressure to do anything. His job in Metropolis would wait for him. He had started working as a low-level reporter for the Daily Planet. The job was often tedious, but it was what his dad wanted, for him to stay out of trouble.
He spent his time as he often had before he'd left six months early, in a raised part of the barn, where he had a couch and a lot of his belongings. He was reading a book when he heard a car pull up outside. Someone got out and knocked on the door to the house. Clark recognised the voice of a girl he'd often spent time with when he'd lived here. Alicia Baker. He'd enjoyed her body, although not much else about her. Their relationship had been mostly sexual, although she told everyone he was her boyfriend. He didn't contradict her because he didn't much care as long as she said nothing when she found that he had been with other girls.
Clark's mother directed her to the barn, and before long she was heading up the steps. Clark put the book down. She had always been one of his favorites, so he didn't mind the idea of another go with her.
When she saw him sitting on the couch, she said to him, "Hi Clark. I'm sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man."
Clark smiled at her. "Thanks. It's good to see you. How have you been?" He didn't care, of course. But people expected these niceties.
"Good, I'm good. I just wanted to see how you were. To be honest, a lot of people are worried about you. Your father was always... uh..." she searched for words, probably trying not to offend him. Which meant that what she thought, was probably offensive. Clark's eyes narrowed. "He was what?"
She frowned, and said, "He was always the only person that could control you."
Clark gave a short, loud laugh, and leaned back on his seat. "So now everyone's worried about what I might do, right?"
Alicia paused for a moment and then said, "I came here so that you know that I understand how hard this must be for you."
Clark laughed again, then responded harshly, "Do you really? Do you really think you know anything about me? You never did, so why would you now? Let's be honest, Alicia, we were never the best of friends. We fucked. That's all. You know I can give it to you like no-one else can. That's why you're really here."
Clark heard her heart start to race as he said this, and then she started backing away. "I shouldn't have come. You need time, I'm sorry, I'll go."
Clark got up and said to her, "Sorry, please, wait. Don't go. I don't want to be alone."
Alicia cocked an eyebrow. "That's why you're here, and not with your mother? You're manipulating me, like you do everyone. Goodbye."
Suddenly, Clark was in front of her, holding her shoulder so she couldn't turn away. "You know you want to stay. You always enjoyed spending time with me. Come on, let's just relax on the couch, like old times."
She struggled against his iron-hard grip and said, "I'm leaving. Let me go."
He didn't, so she continued, "Imagine if your father could see you now."
That was the straw that broke the camel's back, and his grip tightened until it was painful, and she sank to her knees. He shouted at her, "Don't! He's not here! He doesn't control me!"
Alicia screamed in pain, until he released her a moment later, only to grab her by the throat and slam her against the wall. She started choking, but still managed to croak out, "Look at what you're doing!"
He did. It was pointless. Holding back was pointless. He could have everything he could ever want, that he had ever wanted, if he wasn't afraid to act.
So he acted. Enraged by her attempts to convince him into pacifism by using his dead father, he tightened his grip, further, and further, until he felt the bones in her neck snap. A moment later, he heard her heart stop beating.
He let go and as she slid to the floor, he launched himself into the air, breaking through the barn roof and into the sky.