Flight
By Marnie Rowe
Rating: PG
Submitted April 2001
___________________
Flight
Clark ran at human speeds till he was out of sight from any
prying eyes, feet drumming a fast tattoo on the beaten path of
the campus. His eyes were burning with the unshed tears that he
ruthlessly suppressed. He could not see where he was going but
let instinct guide him, relying on the extra abilities that he
had but could not explain. His mouth worked around the bitter
taste that lay in his mouth, it was strong enough to make him
nearly gag.
Finally, he was in the dense underbrush of the ravine and felt
that he had enough cover. He tensed and launched his body from
the ground faster than any eye could track, be it human or
electronic. The cautions that his parents had drilled into him
were almost stronger than instinct. Or maybe it was that the
cautions were born of instinct, the instinct to survive, the
instinct to fit in, the instinct to be loved.
Lana... oh Lana, why? How can you do this to me?
The air streamed around his body as he pushed the speeds that
he was capable of. Faster and faster he went. His loose
clothing boomed with the air that it was catching and tore,
flapping behind him rent like his heart. The air became colder
and colder, making the unshed tears in his eyes feel like
molten lava and then, like a dam breaking, they began to fall,
streaming down his face like the air streaming around his body.
Clark let the fierce winds pull them from his eyes faster and
faster, and then finally, he let himself cry.
He had done what he'd known was not a good idea. He had told
Lana the *truth* about himself. The whole truth, and nothing
but the truth. She had not taken it well, to say the least.
What had he really expected? He knew that he was a freak, that
that was why he had to hide it, so that other people would not
be scared of him and so that the government would not take him
away from his mother and father and lock him in a little room
to study him.
Nobody could sustain such extreme emotions for long and Clark
was no exception to that rule. He calmed down and began to
enjoy the flight. Of all the things that he could do, this was
the one thing that made it all bearable. The freedoms, the
exhilaration, the joy of flight were some things that he could
not put into words. It was overwhelming, the pure sensualism of
the air caressing your body and stroking you, the feeling of
total control yet being at the mercy of the air currents and
weather. It was all just breathtaking.
Clark lay on his back and drifted for a while as he took stock
of the wreckage that his clothes were in. He winced. His mother
was going to pinch his ear and drag him to the sewing table and
make him sew it, he knew. She would not fix something that was
something he could have avoided.
Clark rolled up the shirt and tied it round his waist, did a
barrel roll and punched the air to give himself a heading as he
gained some speed. Peering down, he saw that he was over China
and made a quick stop to get his mother some spices that she
was running low on.
Back in the air, he emptied his mind and set out to enjoy what
the flight back home could bring to him. Clark closed his eyes
and lay flat, feeling the way that the air divided around his
body. The little sensations coming through at the slower speeds
just as good as the bigger sensations at the higher speeds. At
slower speeds he could feel how the wind that streamed around
him played with his hair giving him a scalp massage. All at
once, little fingers of wind teased every strand of hair,
making the hair follicles change directions raising a tingling
sensation that was echoed all over his body to a lesser extent.
He had gone night flying a few times naked... the memory of
those flights made him blush.
Clark began to pick up speed, and broke the sound barrier with
a sonic boom and felt a whoop of joy exit his lungs. He was
going fast enough that the sound was far behind and faint even
to his super ears. He angled his body and let the air pressure
push him in different directions, filing in his mind how each
slight adjustment made a difference at the different speeds. He
did loop de loops and barrel rolls. Back flips and dives. Clark
dove to the surface of the ocean and skimmed over the tips of
the waves, feeling the froth tickling his belly and catching at
the tips of his toes.
Swooping back into the air, Clark made a loop and angled his
body. Raising his arms back into a point above his head, he
punched into the waves, breaking through between crests. Each
time he broke through the skin of the water feeling like he was
being born all over again. Tiring of the game, he rose back
into the air and flew straight and fast to dry himself. Then,
feeling drained from all the emotions he had experienced, he
turned and headed for home knowing one very important thing:
that when life gave you lemons you had better make yourself
some lemonade.
******
Clark touched down in the same grove of trees that he had taken
off from in his earlier mental distress. He had made a quick
detour to the farm to leave the spices with his mother and a
note that he would call later. He had to call later because he
realized that he had left the remnants of the shirt at the farm
as well. Clark winced as he mentally saw how their curiosity
and worry would grow all day. He decided that he had better
make a point of going for a clandestine visit, to reassure them
rather than sticking with the antiseptic phone lines.
That brought Clark back to what he had to tell his parents. He
had to tell them about letting Lana Lang in on the big family
secret and why he had decided to do it. Lana was his girl
friend; they had always been friends, but he had thought that
there was even more.
They had known each other since they were toddlers, becoming
"bestest" friends in elementary school and junior high and
finally, in their senior years at high school, they began to
date. At first they had grown slightly apart during their first
year together at Kansas U., but then they came together again
and everything seemed to click and they had grown closer.
Closer than they had ever been at home in Smallville.
The way that she would ask him to help her do things,
physically touching him, tracing the muscles of his chest
through his shirts, letting her hand glide down to his denim
clad bottom when he would eagerly agree.... Then there was the
wicked glint of amusement in her green eyes when they would be
doing something slightly naughty that she would cozen him into,
making him feel closer to her, a co-conspirator of sorts.
Some of the pranks were innocent enough on the surface, but on
closer inspection they could really be hurtful. So Clark would
alter things just enough so no one would be hurt. Thinking that
Lana had not had a chance to think things totally through and
that she did not really want anyone hurt. But the next day when
the prank was discovered Lana would glare at Clark and avoid
him for a while like he had made a mistake somehow.
She always came back, though; that was something that he had
known. And this time he was not so certain that she would. They
had moved into a house with some other students in their second
year so that they might have some more privacy to themselves
than the dorms allowed them. It had been fantastic. Waking in
the morning to be able to see Lana walking around in her
nightwear had made him feel that they were living like a man
and his wife.
The idea had taken root in his already adoring mind and he had
decided to propose marriage to Lana, but he was not going to do
that without telling her the whole truth about himself. A
marriage was based on trust and truth and commitment; he had
given her the commitment, and now he had to give her the truth
and trust that she could keep the truth quiet.
So Clark had quietly conferred with the rest of the house
inhabitants and arranged for a night alone, with just him and
Lana in the house. He had made sure that it was a day that she
had a late class and prepared the house perfectly. The dining
room table had been set with some fancy china that he had found
in a nearby antique store, a set for two, complete with long
stemmed glasses and candelabra.
He had flowers strewn all over the house loose and in vases,
their delicate perfume wreathing around his head as he moved
through the house, making sure that everything was set up and
he had made all her favorite things to eat. Cold cucumber soup
with lemon pepper for a starter, smoked red salmon and roasted
garlic baby potatoes and asparagus for the main course, and
then for dessert he had been greatly daring. He had picked
things that you could nibble or feed to a lover, things that
were a sensual explosion of taste and texture and aroma.
Everything had been perfect, everything had fallen into place
just the way that he had seen it in his mind. Lana had come
home from her late class and stopped dead at the sight that
greeted her. Clark had given her time to appreciate the sight
and then emerged from the kitchen carrying the tureen that held
the cucumber soup. He set it down on the table and made his way
over to her and helped her take her jacket off and hung it up
for her. He took her satchel of books and set it down on the
bench by the front door and then escorted her to her chair. He
pulled her chair out for her to sit and then pushed it in for
her, the picture of a gallantry. He murmured into her ear only,
"I hope that you are hungry darling."
Lana was totally bemused and picked up the lone red rose that
was laying across her plate and held it to her nose as she
smiled slightly. Clark served her the cucumber soup and then
they made light talk. It was the same with each course; as they
finished Clark would get up and serve the next. Then he brought
out the dessert tray and suggested that it might be better
appreciated in the living room.
Clark had really gone all out with the d‚cor in the living
room. He was hoping that if he over stimulated her senses
enough that it would not be as much of a shock to Lana to learn
that he was a bona fide alien from outer space. The living room
had been emptied of all its furniture except for the square
coffee table and the walls swagged with yards and yards of
satin. Pillows were strewn all over and the lighting was the
soft romantic glow of oil lamps that flickered and danced.
They had piled up some pillows and sat down and fed each other
the tangy strawberries, dipping them first in the warm
chocolate sauce and then licking the drips off from where they
fell, giggling at the sound effects that were produced when
they did. They popped whole grapes into each others' mouths
with fingers and tongues, and even tried tossing them from a
distance for a bit, but didn't have much luck. Then they
nibbled on tiny squares of baklava and shortbread and dipped
bananas and kiwi into the chocolate sauce and fed that to each
other as well. Finally, they could not even think of having
another bite, lick or even crumb.
A comfortable silence fell as they just cuddled for a while and
let their digestive systems work. Then Clark tensed and Lana
moved out of the cradle of his arms to look up at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
Clark looked deep into her eyes and Lana thought that she knew
what was coming next and she started to panic. She loved
Clark, really she did, but she knew for a fact that she was not
ready to marry anybody yet. But then he surprised her with what
he said.
"Lana, I want to tell you something. It's something really
important and I have wanted to tell you for a while now, but
before I do, I have to know that you will never ever tell
another soul what I am about to tell you."
Lana blinked. That was certainly not what she had been
expecting. She nodded her head slowly as she racked her brain
for what this was about. Clark sat back, took off his glasses,
put them on the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose the way
that so many people do who wear glasses. Suddenly, she
remembered something.
Right before Clark had started wearing glasses, she had been on
the edge of the Kent property line and had seen Clark running
blindly...literally blindly. He had been covering his eyes
with his arm and they were squeezed shut. She had been
concerned and followed as he called for his dad. Jon Kent had
come running out, his face white, when he heard the note of
terror in his son's voice and asked him what was wrong. Clark's
voice had dropped but he would only open his eyes after his
father put a lead-painted bucket in front of him with water in
it. Lana had kept her eyes open after that and had seen a
number of small things that could only be described as odd. But
she liked Clark; she liked him a lot, and so she pushed them to
the back of her mind.
Clark dropped his hand from the bridge of his nose and brought
her back to the present. 'He is going to explain it all to me
now,' Lana thought, not sure if she really wanted to know.
"Lana, I want you to know that you are my closest friend and
that you are the first and only person that I have even
considered telling this secret to. I love you, and I hope that
you know that I would never do anything to hurt you."
Lana jumped again when he said that he loved her; she loved
him, too, but say it aloud to him...? Yet another thing that
she did not think she was ready for. And 'hurt her'? How would
he hurt her? Why would he say that?
Clark kept going, plowing through an obviously pre-prepared
speech, telling her how his parents had found him in Schuster's
field after seeing what they thought was a comet. He told her
how he had started to find that things stopped being able to
hurt him at a very young age and how he had started to get
stronger and stronger and faster and faster. He told her of how
he had first found out about each gift that he had.
But none of it was really registering--hearing it and
remembering, that much she could do. She was stuck on the first
part, the spaceship part. Clark, her babyhood pal, was a creepy
crawlie from outer space. He was a little green man, he was
everything that she had been terrified of and never told anyone
about. All those late night movies that Gramps had let her
watch when he was too lazy to put her to bed.... There really
were other 'things' out there and Clark was one of them!
Her face must have shown some of her inner turmoil because
Clark was asking, "Lana? Are you okay? I promised that I would
never hurt you and I meant every word... Lana?" He reached for
her to draw her to him for a comforting hug like many they had
shared over the years and she let out a little scream, jerking
back away from him violently. Clark looked like she had kicked
him where it hurt, but she was in the grip of a very powerful
phobia and could not stop herself.
"Don't touch me, don't you ever touch me again, whatever you
are!" The poisonous words shuddered from her shaking frame and
Clark moved away from her like he had been physically hit by
each word. She regretted the words as soon as they were out of
her mouth but still she could not do anything about it.
The way was clear for her to run to her room and she took it,
breaking down on the way into shuddering sobs that did not let
up. She got into her bed and wrapped herself in her quilt from
home and rocked, crying. Vaguely in the background, she heard
the door open and close, and then came the sound of running
footsteps. She knew that Clark had fled. Finally, she fell
asleep, still crying.
******
Clark walked into the house that he shared with Lana and the
other students just as the first tendrils of the predawn were
creeping up over the horizon. He was tired, not something that
he was used to feeling since his powers had become constant,
but it was only a tiredness of the body and not of the soul. It
made him feel more human than anything else did so he welcomed
the sensation.
Clark wondered why it was only the physical aspect that he was
feeling the exhaustion from. He had certainly been through an
emotional wringer over the night, so why would he not feel
drained and heartsick too?
The bulk of his and Lana's roommates must have all returned
together late in the night, Clark guessed from the mess in the
front foyer. Shoes and coats and bags were piled haphazardly
where they fell mostly out of the way. Clark tidied up as a
matter of course. Then he decided that he might as well erase
the remnants of his disastrous evening with Lana. His roommates
would assume that he had cleaned up when they were asleep,
which was the truth. They just would not know how fast he did
it.
Clark reflected on his use of his powers while he made his way
up the stairs to his room ten minutes later. He had been moving
a bit slowly due to his fatigue and because he was trying to be
cautious and not make any sound so as not to wake anyone. He
did not know where he came from and where he had gotten these
abilities, but if you were given a special ability, weren't you
supposed to use it? After all, is that not what made you decide
what to do with your adult life?
Musicians were gifted with the ability to play or sing or
compose, and life would certainly be a lot less without music,
wouldn't it? And then there were farmers like his folks. His
father could tell you what the land was going to yield in any
given year due to the conditions around him and he had a
genuine affinity for the earth. Clark himself had the talent
for writing, and his natural curiosity made his choice for a
career in journalism clear. It was the same curiosity that
doctors had for what lay inside bodies and made them work. The
professions of the world were endless, and so were talents of
the people that inhabited it.
Clark reached his room and lay down on his bed after locking
his door. It would not do to have someone wander in and see him
floating in his sleep, which was probably a good possibility
tonight. Sighing, he pillowed his head on his folded arms and
stared at his much-mended ceiling. He floated more when his
mind was heavy or if he was really thinking hard about
something, and during these last few years, his ceiling had
begun to look like a war zone. He kept a tub of spackle and a
knife under his bed now so that he could do the spot repairs as
needed, and thought that the longer that he stayed in one place
lately, the worse things got. Maybe he should become a nomad,
constantly on the move. That way nothing or no one would be
hurt by him. Or vice versa, if he did not stay too long in one
place, there would not be the chance for him to develop
emotional attachments either, which probably was not a bad
thing. Lana had shown him what to expect if he let anyone get
too close, and invulnerability on the outside did not mean that
his heart was armored.
'Never again,' he thought to himself. 'I can't do that ever
again. I laid out my soul and she just trampled it.' Clark
vowed to himself that he was not going to tell another living
soul about his differences. It just hurt too much.
His mind went back to the nomad idea. He had been just venting
to himself when he first thought of it, but after thinking of
Lana again, it made it seem more appealing. He had always
wanted to travel and when he finished school in a few months,
what better way to get experience than to freelance for
numerous newspapers around the world?
It wasn't like he would have to really worry about money. If he
did become a world wanderer, transportation and shelter were
not really all that important for him, or food, for that
matter. He could fly himself wherever he needed to go. As long
as he stuck to night flying, he would not be spotted. Weather
did not affect him, either, and of late, he noticed that he
really did not even need to eat anymore. Everything that he
needed he could carry on his back and barely notice it.
The more that Clark thought of it, the more the idea became
something that he really wanted to do. It felt... right. There
were a few things that he still needed to work out about it but
now that he had a plan for the future again, he was falling
asleep. He made a mental note to fly home in the evening to
talk to his parents and tell them everything that had happened.
But then he could not keep his eyes open any longer and fell
asleep himself, sure that he was not going to be floating
anywhere.
End.
By Marnie Rowe
Rating: PG
Submitted April 2001
___________________
Flight
Clark ran at human speeds till he was out of sight from any
prying eyes, feet drumming a fast tattoo on the beaten path of
the campus. His eyes were burning with the unshed tears that he
ruthlessly suppressed. He could not see where he was going but
let instinct guide him, relying on the extra abilities that he
had but could not explain. His mouth worked around the bitter
taste that lay in his mouth, it was strong enough to make him
nearly gag.
Finally, he was in the dense underbrush of the ravine and felt
that he had enough cover. He tensed and launched his body from
the ground faster than any eye could track, be it human or
electronic. The cautions that his parents had drilled into him
were almost stronger than instinct. Or maybe it was that the
cautions were born of instinct, the instinct to survive, the
instinct to fit in, the instinct to be loved.
Lana... oh Lana, why? How can you do this to me?
The air streamed around his body as he pushed the speeds that
he was capable of. Faster and faster he went. His loose
clothing boomed with the air that it was catching and tore,
flapping behind him rent like his heart. The air became colder
and colder, making the unshed tears in his eyes feel like
molten lava and then, like a dam breaking, they began to fall,
streaming down his face like the air streaming around his body.
Clark let the fierce winds pull them from his eyes faster and
faster, and then finally, he let himself cry.
He had done what he'd known was not a good idea. He had told
Lana the *truth* about himself. The whole truth, and nothing
but the truth. She had not taken it well, to say the least.
What had he really expected? He knew that he was a freak, that
that was why he had to hide it, so that other people would not
be scared of him and so that the government would not take him
away from his mother and father and lock him in a little room
to study him.
Nobody could sustain such extreme emotions for long and Clark
was no exception to that rule. He calmed down and began to
enjoy the flight. Of all the things that he could do, this was
the one thing that made it all bearable. The freedoms, the
exhilaration, the joy of flight were some things that he could
not put into words. It was overwhelming, the pure sensualism of
the air caressing your body and stroking you, the feeling of
total control yet being at the mercy of the air currents and
weather. It was all just breathtaking.
Clark lay on his back and drifted for a while as he took stock
of the wreckage that his clothes were in. He winced. His mother
was going to pinch his ear and drag him to the sewing table and
make him sew it, he knew. She would not fix something that was
something he could have avoided.
Clark rolled up the shirt and tied it round his waist, did a
barrel roll and punched the air to give himself a heading as he
gained some speed. Peering down, he saw that he was over China
and made a quick stop to get his mother some spices that she
was running low on.
Back in the air, he emptied his mind and set out to enjoy what
the flight back home could bring to him. Clark closed his eyes
and lay flat, feeling the way that the air divided around his
body. The little sensations coming through at the slower speeds
just as good as the bigger sensations at the higher speeds. At
slower speeds he could feel how the wind that streamed around
him played with his hair giving him a scalp massage. All at
once, little fingers of wind teased every strand of hair,
making the hair follicles change directions raising a tingling
sensation that was echoed all over his body to a lesser extent.
He had gone night flying a few times naked... the memory of
those flights made him blush.
Clark began to pick up speed, and broke the sound barrier with
a sonic boom and felt a whoop of joy exit his lungs. He was
going fast enough that the sound was far behind and faint even
to his super ears. He angled his body and let the air pressure
push him in different directions, filing in his mind how each
slight adjustment made a difference at the different speeds. He
did loop de loops and barrel rolls. Back flips and dives. Clark
dove to the surface of the ocean and skimmed over the tips of
the waves, feeling the froth tickling his belly and catching at
the tips of his toes.
Swooping back into the air, Clark made a loop and angled his
body. Raising his arms back into a point above his head, he
punched into the waves, breaking through between crests. Each
time he broke through the skin of the water feeling like he was
being born all over again. Tiring of the game, he rose back
into the air and flew straight and fast to dry himself. Then,
feeling drained from all the emotions he had experienced, he
turned and headed for home knowing one very important thing:
that when life gave you lemons you had better make yourself
some lemonade.
******
Clark touched down in the same grove of trees that he had taken
off from in his earlier mental distress. He had made a quick
detour to the farm to leave the spices with his mother and a
note that he would call later. He had to call later because he
realized that he had left the remnants of the shirt at the farm
as well. Clark winced as he mentally saw how their curiosity
and worry would grow all day. He decided that he had better
make a point of going for a clandestine visit, to reassure them
rather than sticking with the antiseptic phone lines.
That brought Clark back to what he had to tell his parents. He
had to tell them about letting Lana Lang in on the big family
secret and why he had decided to do it. Lana was his girl
friend; they had always been friends, but he had thought that
there was even more.
They had known each other since they were toddlers, becoming
"bestest" friends in elementary school and junior high and
finally, in their senior years at high school, they began to
date. At first they had grown slightly apart during their first
year together at Kansas U., but then they came together again
and everything seemed to click and they had grown closer.
Closer than they had ever been at home in Smallville.
The way that she would ask him to help her do things,
physically touching him, tracing the muscles of his chest
through his shirts, letting her hand glide down to his denim
clad bottom when he would eagerly agree.... Then there was the
wicked glint of amusement in her green eyes when they would be
doing something slightly naughty that she would cozen him into,
making him feel closer to her, a co-conspirator of sorts.
Some of the pranks were innocent enough on the surface, but on
closer inspection they could really be hurtful. So Clark would
alter things just enough so no one would be hurt. Thinking that
Lana had not had a chance to think things totally through and
that she did not really want anyone hurt. But the next day when
the prank was discovered Lana would glare at Clark and avoid
him for a while like he had made a mistake somehow.
She always came back, though; that was something that he had
known. And this time he was not so certain that she would. They
had moved into a house with some other students in their second
year so that they might have some more privacy to themselves
than the dorms allowed them. It had been fantastic. Waking in
the morning to be able to see Lana walking around in her
nightwear had made him feel that they were living like a man
and his wife.
The idea had taken root in his already adoring mind and he had
decided to propose marriage to Lana, but he was not going to do
that without telling her the whole truth about himself. A
marriage was based on trust and truth and commitment; he had
given her the commitment, and now he had to give her the truth
and trust that she could keep the truth quiet.
So Clark had quietly conferred with the rest of the house
inhabitants and arranged for a night alone, with just him and
Lana in the house. He had made sure that it was a day that she
had a late class and prepared the house perfectly. The dining
room table had been set with some fancy china that he had found
in a nearby antique store, a set for two, complete with long
stemmed glasses and candelabra.
He had flowers strewn all over the house loose and in vases,
their delicate perfume wreathing around his head as he moved
through the house, making sure that everything was set up and
he had made all her favorite things to eat. Cold cucumber soup
with lemon pepper for a starter, smoked red salmon and roasted
garlic baby potatoes and asparagus for the main course, and
then for dessert he had been greatly daring. He had picked
things that you could nibble or feed to a lover, things that
were a sensual explosion of taste and texture and aroma.
Everything had been perfect, everything had fallen into place
just the way that he had seen it in his mind. Lana had come
home from her late class and stopped dead at the sight that
greeted her. Clark had given her time to appreciate the sight
and then emerged from the kitchen carrying the tureen that held
the cucumber soup. He set it down on the table and made his way
over to her and helped her take her jacket off and hung it up
for her. He took her satchel of books and set it down on the
bench by the front door and then escorted her to her chair. He
pulled her chair out for her to sit and then pushed it in for
her, the picture of a gallantry. He murmured into her ear only,
"I hope that you are hungry darling."
Lana was totally bemused and picked up the lone red rose that
was laying across her plate and held it to her nose as she
smiled slightly. Clark served her the cucumber soup and then
they made light talk. It was the same with each course; as they
finished Clark would get up and serve the next. Then he brought
out the dessert tray and suggested that it might be better
appreciated in the living room.
Clark had really gone all out with the d‚cor in the living
room. He was hoping that if he over stimulated her senses
enough that it would not be as much of a shock to Lana to learn
that he was a bona fide alien from outer space. The living room
had been emptied of all its furniture except for the square
coffee table and the walls swagged with yards and yards of
satin. Pillows were strewn all over and the lighting was the
soft romantic glow of oil lamps that flickered and danced.
They had piled up some pillows and sat down and fed each other
the tangy strawberries, dipping them first in the warm
chocolate sauce and then licking the drips off from where they
fell, giggling at the sound effects that were produced when
they did. They popped whole grapes into each others' mouths
with fingers and tongues, and even tried tossing them from a
distance for a bit, but didn't have much luck. Then they
nibbled on tiny squares of baklava and shortbread and dipped
bananas and kiwi into the chocolate sauce and fed that to each
other as well. Finally, they could not even think of having
another bite, lick or even crumb.
A comfortable silence fell as they just cuddled for a while and
let their digestive systems work. Then Clark tensed and Lana
moved out of the cradle of his arms to look up at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
Clark looked deep into her eyes and Lana thought that she knew
what was coming next and she started to panic. She loved
Clark, really she did, but she knew for a fact that she was not
ready to marry anybody yet. But then he surprised her with what
he said.
"Lana, I want to tell you something. It's something really
important and I have wanted to tell you for a while now, but
before I do, I have to know that you will never ever tell
another soul what I am about to tell you."
Lana blinked. That was certainly not what she had been
expecting. She nodded her head slowly as she racked her brain
for what this was about. Clark sat back, took off his glasses,
put them on the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose the way
that so many people do who wear glasses. Suddenly, she
remembered something.
Right before Clark had started wearing glasses, she had been on
the edge of the Kent property line and had seen Clark running
blindly...literally blindly. He had been covering his eyes
with his arm and they were squeezed shut. She had been
concerned and followed as he called for his dad. Jon Kent had
come running out, his face white, when he heard the note of
terror in his son's voice and asked him what was wrong. Clark's
voice had dropped but he would only open his eyes after his
father put a lead-painted bucket in front of him with water in
it. Lana had kept her eyes open after that and had seen a
number of small things that could only be described as odd. But
she liked Clark; she liked him a lot, and so she pushed them to
the back of her mind.
Clark dropped his hand from the bridge of his nose and brought
her back to the present. 'He is going to explain it all to me
now,' Lana thought, not sure if she really wanted to know.
"Lana, I want you to know that you are my closest friend and
that you are the first and only person that I have even
considered telling this secret to. I love you, and I hope that
you know that I would never do anything to hurt you."
Lana jumped again when he said that he loved her; she loved
him, too, but say it aloud to him...? Yet another thing that
she did not think she was ready for. And 'hurt her'? How would
he hurt her? Why would he say that?
Clark kept going, plowing through an obviously pre-prepared
speech, telling her how his parents had found him in Schuster's
field after seeing what they thought was a comet. He told her
how he had started to find that things stopped being able to
hurt him at a very young age and how he had started to get
stronger and stronger and faster and faster. He told her of how
he had first found out about each gift that he had.
But none of it was really registering--hearing it and
remembering, that much she could do. She was stuck on the first
part, the spaceship part. Clark, her babyhood pal, was a creepy
crawlie from outer space. He was a little green man, he was
everything that she had been terrified of and never told anyone
about. All those late night movies that Gramps had let her
watch when he was too lazy to put her to bed.... There really
were other 'things' out there and Clark was one of them!
Her face must have shown some of her inner turmoil because
Clark was asking, "Lana? Are you okay? I promised that I would
never hurt you and I meant every word... Lana?" He reached for
her to draw her to him for a comforting hug like many they had
shared over the years and she let out a little scream, jerking
back away from him violently. Clark looked like she had kicked
him where it hurt, but she was in the grip of a very powerful
phobia and could not stop herself.
"Don't touch me, don't you ever touch me again, whatever you
are!" The poisonous words shuddered from her shaking frame and
Clark moved away from her like he had been physically hit by
each word. She regretted the words as soon as they were out of
her mouth but still she could not do anything about it.
The way was clear for her to run to her room and she took it,
breaking down on the way into shuddering sobs that did not let
up. She got into her bed and wrapped herself in her quilt from
home and rocked, crying. Vaguely in the background, she heard
the door open and close, and then came the sound of running
footsteps. She knew that Clark had fled. Finally, she fell
asleep, still crying.
******
Clark walked into the house that he shared with Lana and the
other students just as the first tendrils of the predawn were
creeping up over the horizon. He was tired, not something that
he was used to feeling since his powers had become constant,
but it was only a tiredness of the body and not of the soul. It
made him feel more human than anything else did so he welcomed
the sensation.
Clark wondered why it was only the physical aspect that he was
feeling the exhaustion from. He had certainly been through an
emotional wringer over the night, so why would he not feel
drained and heartsick too?
The bulk of his and Lana's roommates must have all returned
together late in the night, Clark guessed from the mess in the
front foyer. Shoes and coats and bags were piled haphazardly
where they fell mostly out of the way. Clark tidied up as a
matter of course. Then he decided that he might as well erase
the remnants of his disastrous evening with Lana. His roommates
would assume that he had cleaned up when they were asleep,
which was the truth. They just would not know how fast he did
it.
Clark reflected on his use of his powers while he made his way
up the stairs to his room ten minutes later. He had been moving
a bit slowly due to his fatigue and because he was trying to be
cautious and not make any sound so as not to wake anyone. He
did not know where he came from and where he had gotten these
abilities, but if you were given a special ability, weren't you
supposed to use it? After all, is that not what made you decide
what to do with your adult life?
Musicians were gifted with the ability to play or sing or
compose, and life would certainly be a lot less without music,
wouldn't it? And then there were farmers like his folks. His
father could tell you what the land was going to yield in any
given year due to the conditions around him and he had a
genuine affinity for the earth. Clark himself had the talent
for writing, and his natural curiosity made his choice for a
career in journalism clear. It was the same curiosity that
doctors had for what lay inside bodies and made them work. The
professions of the world were endless, and so were talents of
the people that inhabited it.
Clark reached his room and lay down on his bed after locking
his door. It would not do to have someone wander in and see him
floating in his sleep, which was probably a good possibility
tonight. Sighing, he pillowed his head on his folded arms and
stared at his much-mended ceiling. He floated more when his
mind was heavy or if he was really thinking hard about
something, and during these last few years, his ceiling had
begun to look like a war zone. He kept a tub of spackle and a
knife under his bed now so that he could do the spot repairs as
needed, and thought that the longer that he stayed in one place
lately, the worse things got. Maybe he should become a nomad,
constantly on the move. That way nothing or no one would be
hurt by him. Or vice versa, if he did not stay too long in one
place, there would not be the chance for him to develop
emotional attachments either, which probably was not a bad
thing. Lana had shown him what to expect if he let anyone get
too close, and invulnerability on the outside did not mean that
his heart was armored.
'Never again,' he thought to himself. 'I can't do that ever
again. I laid out my soul and she just trampled it.' Clark
vowed to himself that he was not going to tell another living
soul about his differences. It just hurt too much.
His mind went back to the nomad idea. He had been just venting
to himself when he first thought of it, but after thinking of
Lana again, it made it seem more appealing. He had always
wanted to travel and when he finished school in a few months,
what better way to get experience than to freelance for
numerous newspapers around the world?
It wasn't like he would have to really worry about money. If he
did become a world wanderer, transportation and shelter were
not really all that important for him, or food, for that
matter. He could fly himself wherever he needed to go. As long
as he stuck to night flying, he would not be spotted. Weather
did not affect him, either, and of late, he noticed that he
really did not even need to eat anymore. Everything that he
needed he could carry on his back and barely notice it.
The more that Clark thought of it, the more the idea became
something that he really wanted to do. It felt... right. There
were a few things that he still needed to work out about it but
now that he had a plan for the future again, he was falling
asleep. He made a mental note to fly home in the evening to
talk to his parents and tell them everything that had happened.
But then he could not keep his eyes open any longer and fell
asleep himself, sure that he was not going to be floating
anywhere.
End.