Part 2
Inside their kitchen, a middle-aged couple sat, their only son lying unconscious between them. His head rested upon his mother's lap, as she slowly threaded her fingers through his soft hair. A thick red blanket covered his wounded body, as his shallow, raspy breathing gave a constant reminder to his parents of the trauma he had only just recently experienced.
The mother's eyes were lightly closed, but a grim look of worry was etched into her kind features. "Hey, sweetheart?" Her husband whispered to her. At this, she opened her eyes and gave a silent nod in response. "How are you doing? Do you want to go up to bed for a bit, I can stay here with him," He suggested kindly.
"No, I'm fine. I'm staying with him until he wakes up," She informed him, a forceful, determined edge in her answer.
"Alright. Do you think we should try and move him up to his room? Or at least to the couch?" He asked her.
Martha gazed down at her son. "Wherever you think is best," As an afterthought, "Though I don't think you should try to get him upstairs. Your heart, Jonathan," She reminded him.
"You're right. Here, let's move him into the living room," He answered.
Martha stood and watched as her husband carefully placed his arms behind Clark's back and under his legs and lifted him up, so he was carrying their son like a small child. He then walked into the living room and placed the 'super' teen onto the couch, once again covering him with the bright red blanket. Martha then took a seat on the couch by Clark's legs, smoothing his hair away from his closed eyes. With a heavy sigh, Jonathan sat upon the adjacent coffee table, and rested his elbows upon his knees.
"How could this have even happened, Jonathan? Was there kryptonite around, because if so, the effects shouldn't have lasted this long, right? We were sure it was the only thing able to make him invulnerable, but now this..." Martha began, talking rapidly and waving her hands about.
"Shh, shh. It's alright, sweetie," Jonathan interrupted, attempting to calm her down. "I don't know how it happened, but Clark did say he was going to try and use the meteor rocks to control Jeremiah. My guess is it didn't work, or Jeremiah got the upper hand and caught him off guard." He placed a comforting hand upon hers. "It'll all work out, Martha. Clark's tough. He can make it."
Little did the couple know, their son's saboteur knelt just outside the window listening in. He had heard everything.
"You're still alive, Fake Prophet. I guess I'll have to go find me some of them green rocks so I can finish you off once and for all." With that, he sped off across the fields.
Silence echoed through the Kent household, reverberating off the coloured walls. The first light of morning peaked through the attractive curtains of the living room and onto the legs of the sleeping teen. His parents were situated on a nearby armchair, they too off in slumber after the long night prior.
Outside the farmhouse, cautiously walking up the front porch was a man in his mid-twenties, of obvious native descent. His motives were suspicious as he peaked into a window to locate his prey. He found the family peacefully asleep, in discordant to the aboriginal man's deference. With a quick snap of his wrist, the man opened the locked door and silently stepped inside. Putting his plan into action, he quickly sped over to the couple, knocking both their heads and rendering them unconscious.
At the sound of bone hitting bone, the injured teen stirred. His eyes slowly flickered open before he squeezed them shut again at the luminance of the room. With a groan, he rolled his head to the side, and once again lifted his eyelids.
"Wake up, fake prophet," A voice spoke out into the room.
The teen jolted fully awake and sat forward, only to yelp out at the sudden flare of pain the movement brought. Still though, he turned his head towards the source of the voice. "What-What are you doing here?" He gasped out.
"I failed in killing you last night. I've come back to make sure you do not survive this time." The native replied.
"What are you talking about, Jeremiah?" The teen questioned, "Why don't you just leave me alone?" It was then he noticed his fallen parents. With shock evident in his voice, he yelled to the intruder, "What did you do to them?"
Jeremiah chuckled. "Oh, they'll be fine—maybe. It's you that I worry about now," He spoke, "Are you going to come with me on your own, or do I have to force you?"
A steadiness in his voice, as he slowly turned fully towards the native, "I am not going anywhere with you," Eyes locked onto the immoral elder man's, "You cannot make me do anything."
"Yeah, we'll see about that," He answered smugly. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fairly large chunk of green meteor rock, "Your mother and father really need to be more careful about what they say, Clark. You never know who could be listening in," he smiled.
The teen cringed, feeling the effects of the kryptonite take its toll on his already weakened body. "No, you can't do this," he gasped, falling back to the couch, his hands pressed firmly to his abdomen as if to hold his insides within him.
With a laugh, Jeremiah reached out and grabbed Clark's upper arm. "Let's see how you like it being normal and on your deathbed," pressing the rock against the teen's neck, "You'll pay for ever interfering with my people's prophecy." Practically dragging him to a standing position and across the hardwood floor.
"No, no," Clark rasped in pain, "Please, stop."
With a swift knee-jab to the teen's stomach, Jeremiah sent him falling into unconsciousness. "All for the better, I presume." He taunted, then picking up the 'super' teen and tossed him onto his shoulder. He then walked out the damaged front door of the Kent house and sped away with the injured Clark, with all intentions to never return him to his family ever again.
Inside their kitchen, a middle-aged couple sat, their only son lying unconscious between them. His head rested upon his mother's lap, as she slowly threaded her fingers through his soft hair. A thick red blanket covered his wounded body, as his shallow, raspy breathing gave a constant reminder to his parents of the trauma he had only just recently experienced.
The mother's eyes were lightly closed, but a grim look of worry was etched into her kind features. "Hey, sweetheart?" Her husband whispered to her. At this, she opened her eyes and gave a silent nod in response. "How are you doing? Do you want to go up to bed for a bit, I can stay here with him," He suggested kindly.
"No, I'm fine. I'm staying with him until he wakes up," She informed him, a forceful, determined edge in her answer.
"Alright. Do you think we should try and move him up to his room? Or at least to the couch?" He asked her.
Martha gazed down at her son. "Wherever you think is best," As an afterthought, "Though I don't think you should try to get him upstairs. Your heart, Jonathan," She reminded him.
"You're right. Here, let's move him into the living room," He answered.
Martha stood and watched as her husband carefully placed his arms behind Clark's back and under his legs and lifted him up, so he was carrying their son like a small child. He then walked into the living room and placed the 'super' teen onto the couch, once again covering him with the bright red blanket. Martha then took a seat on the couch by Clark's legs, smoothing his hair away from his closed eyes. With a heavy sigh, Jonathan sat upon the adjacent coffee table, and rested his elbows upon his knees.
"How could this have even happened, Jonathan? Was there kryptonite around, because if so, the effects shouldn't have lasted this long, right? We were sure it was the only thing able to make him invulnerable, but now this..." Martha began, talking rapidly and waving her hands about.
"Shh, shh. It's alright, sweetie," Jonathan interrupted, attempting to calm her down. "I don't know how it happened, but Clark did say he was going to try and use the meteor rocks to control Jeremiah. My guess is it didn't work, or Jeremiah got the upper hand and caught him off guard." He placed a comforting hand upon hers. "It'll all work out, Martha. Clark's tough. He can make it."
Little did the couple know, their son's saboteur knelt just outside the window listening in. He had heard everything.
"You're still alive, Fake Prophet. I guess I'll have to go find me some of them green rocks so I can finish you off once and for all." With that, he sped off across the fields.
Silence echoed through the Kent household, reverberating off the coloured walls. The first light of morning peaked through the attractive curtains of the living room and onto the legs of the sleeping teen. His parents were situated on a nearby armchair, they too off in slumber after the long night prior.
Outside the farmhouse, cautiously walking up the front porch was a man in his mid-twenties, of obvious native descent. His motives were suspicious as he peaked into a window to locate his prey. He found the family peacefully asleep, in discordant to the aboriginal man's deference. With a quick snap of his wrist, the man opened the locked door and silently stepped inside. Putting his plan into action, he quickly sped over to the couple, knocking both their heads and rendering them unconscious.
At the sound of bone hitting bone, the injured teen stirred. His eyes slowly flickered open before he squeezed them shut again at the luminance of the room. With a groan, he rolled his head to the side, and once again lifted his eyelids.
"Wake up, fake prophet," A voice spoke out into the room.
The teen jolted fully awake and sat forward, only to yelp out at the sudden flare of pain the movement brought. Still though, he turned his head towards the source of the voice. "What-What are you doing here?" He gasped out.
"I failed in killing you last night. I've come back to make sure you do not survive this time." The native replied.
"What are you talking about, Jeremiah?" The teen questioned, "Why don't you just leave me alone?" It was then he noticed his fallen parents. With shock evident in his voice, he yelled to the intruder, "What did you do to them?"
Jeremiah chuckled. "Oh, they'll be fine—maybe. It's you that I worry about now," He spoke, "Are you going to come with me on your own, or do I have to force you?"
A steadiness in his voice, as he slowly turned fully towards the native, "I am not going anywhere with you," Eyes locked onto the immoral elder man's, "You cannot make me do anything."
"Yeah, we'll see about that," He answered smugly. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fairly large chunk of green meteor rock, "Your mother and father really need to be more careful about what they say, Clark. You never know who could be listening in," he smiled.
The teen cringed, feeling the effects of the kryptonite take its toll on his already weakened body. "No, you can't do this," he gasped, falling back to the couch, his hands pressed firmly to his abdomen as if to hold his insides within him.
With a laugh, Jeremiah reached out and grabbed Clark's upper arm. "Let's see how you like it being normal and on your deathbed," pressing the rock against the teen's neck, "You'll pay for ever interfering with my people's prophecy." Practically dragging him to a standing position and across the hardwood floor.
"No, no," Clark rasped in pain, "Please, stop."
With a swift knee-jab to the teen's stomach, Jeremiah sent him falling into unconsciousness. "All for the better, I presume." He taunted, then picking up the 'super' teen and tossed him onto his shoulder. He then walked out the damaged front door of the Kent house and sped away with the injured Clark, with all intentions to never return him to his family ever again.