"And now, for something completely different…"
With these words, my sense of humour was irrevocably set in stone. The voices of the ages cried out as one, and were silenced. Many puppies starting kicking children.
Basically, the point I'm trying to get across here is…
I'M BA-ACK!
(Cue "Liberty Bell March)
Title: But Can You Fly?
Rating: T (for lowbrow humour, nad-kicking, eye-poking, sarcasm, and just plain wrongness)
Disclaimer: I refute it, thus! (kick)
Explanation: It's been a year and a half since I last wrote new material to post here, so I decided to go with a fresh area. However, since the creators of "Smallville" apparently felt they could completely rewrite everything Superman, I figured I would do the same to their own creation. That, and I just really enjoy watching Clark's face while he tries to avoid Chloe's questions in the earlier seasons. This leads me to my next topic; i.e., this story is set in an alternate season one, with possible, less tongue-in-cheek stories with the same basic idea in the future.
I've put off getting started for long enough, so here we go.
And now, for something completely different…
"But I must, I must tell my friends of my powers," Clark exclaimed dramatically, "for I am sorrowful at keeping such a secret from them!" He unconsciously posed in a very dramatic, angst-ridden fashion, legs splayed out, arm thrown up to his forehead. It was a wonder he hadn't accidentally knocked himself out.
"No, Clark," said his father, Jonathan Kent. "You cannot tell anyone; especially those Luthors!" He quietly growled to himself, "I HATE those Luthors!"
"What do the Luthors have to do with anything?" asked Clark, puzzled. "I just want to tell Lana, and Pete, and Chloe, and maybe Whitney, and some of the bullies, and maybe a few hot girls, cheerleaders, and…"
"No is no!" exclaimed his father, angrily. "You cannot tell anyone! No one but us must know!"
"It isn't fair!" cried Clark. "What good is having these powers if I can't show off to hot cheerleaders?"
"You can put fences up and bale hay like nobody's business," explained his father.
"But that's boring!" whined the teenager.
"Too bad!" yelled Jonathan. "You can't tell anybody, and that's final!"
"Unfair! Unfair! Unfair!" chanted Clark, before racing out into the yard and East, toward the setting sun.
Meanwhile, Chloe Sullivan was sitting in her car outside the high school, thinking out loud to herself.
"I know Clark is hiding something from me," she mused, "but what can it be?"
She suddenly threw up her hands in anguish. It was in anguish, because she hit them violently on the roof of her car. As she cradled them under her armpits, she continued, "Surely I can use my honed reporter's instinct to figure it out. He often appears out of nowhere, accompanied by gusts of wind. He can take a hit and keep going. He's been known to lift several tonnes worth of objects simultaneously. Why can't I figure out what his secret may be?"
As she opened the door and stepped out, Clark appeared out of nowhere, accompanied by a gust of wind. A passing senior hit him in the shoulder, then cradled his hand, whining piteously, as Clark didn't even notice. He lifted a small truck out of his way, and walked to stand next to Chloe.
"I have a secret, but cannot tell you what it is," he told her. "Instead, I must keep my distance, and act mysterious, while driving you crazy with wondering, for several more years."
"Or… I could do THIS!" shouted Chloe, and she kicked him in the balls.
"How's your foot?" Clark asked a little later.
"I think the swelling has gone down a little," replied Chloe, gingerly shifting the icepack on the sore extremity.
"How are your fingers?" asked Clark.
"I don't think they're actually broken," Chloe told him. "In retrospect, it was pretty stupid to do a follow-up test."
"It really was," agreed her friend.
"So, I think I've got a handle on your powers," Chloe said, "but there's one thing that's bothering me."
"What's that?" asked Clark.
"Well, you're strong, fast, and invulnerable, but can you fly?"
THE END