"Miss Sullivan?" The teacher asks, looking at the small fourteen year old blonde girl who appears more focused on doodling on a piece of paper than paying any attention to the lesson.

Yet, hunched over her drawing as she is, she answers concisely without ever looking up. "Why should I help those who are unwilling to help themselves?"

"And what if they are unable to?"

Now the girl pauses and raises her eyes. "That's interesting." After a moment she turns her head back to the paper, continuing as she was before. "Well, I guess that would depend on your definition of 'unable'."

"How so?"

"Well, are they a prisoner, bound and trapped, mentally or physically wounded, in a coma, or is it merely that their fear response is to freeze?" She turns the paper on an angle, tongue now poking out the side.

"Freeze?" One of the other children said, smiling and barely holding back from laughing, "Who would freeze?"

But before anyone can respond another student pipes in; "I thought it was only 'fight or flight'?"

"No." The teacher said, looking to them all, "It is now thought to be that there are the three responses, and though it is more or less an instinctual response a person's brain is clever enough to search for and find the one that is most successful. Be that to fight, freeze, or flee."

"Batman would fight." a student at the back shouted, "Batman'd take them all on no matter what!"

"Yeah," the student next to him said, "But that's because he's Batman."

"He probably froze as a kid." the blond girl said, still focused on her drawing.

"You take that back!" the other kid shouted.

"Why? What are you gonna do?"

"Fight!" The kid kicks the chair back as he stands, though more in jest than really meaning it. "And you?"

"Flee, probably."

"Alright Peter, sit down." The teacher said, taking control once again. "And besides, Batman's just a story the police over in Gotham made up to scare the criminals, just like your parents told you a bunch of things that aren't true to get you to do things when you were younger."

"What!" One kid says, "You mean I can sit two inches from the TV and I won't get square eyes?"

"I can pull a face and it won't get stuck that way?"

"The world won't end if I don't go to school?"

It was now that the teacher saw one child with a hand raised, nervous, unsure, waiting for permission. "Yes Clark?"

"I was just wondering..." He paused a moment, unsure and even more nervous now that they were all actually listening to him, but now with no choice he bulldozed on. "What if someone, well, chose not to?"

"Not to what?"

"Well, if a person's instinct was to fight, but what if they just, um, chose not to?"

The only person not looking at him was the blond girl across the room, yet she was the first to open her mouth, "You probably made a bad choice then."

A group at the back snickered until the teacher shot them a severe look before she turned on the blond girl. "Miss Sullivan." The voice was as severe as the look, commanding attention, but all she got from the blond girl was that she froze. "If something ever happened to you to make you this way we can talk about it later, but as of now, in my classroom, I will not have you belittle that someone is making a conscious choice not to fight. Do you understand me?"

The girl turned her head upwards at the teacher, and though Clark could not see her face he did see the momentary confusion on the teacher's before the girl stood up and looked across the room at him. "If someone is making your pathetic little life hell and you're actively doing nothing about it then that's not choosing not to, that's fleeing. But, if however you are referring to helping other people, rather than just yourself than you're an even larger lump of waste because you're then implying that you actually have the ability to help someone but are choosing not to, and personally, I have no time for someone like that."

"Sullivan! Out now!" The teacher said fiercely, pointing at the door. "I don't care where, just get out!"

Pouting, the girl turned back to her desk, scooped all her stuff into her bag except for what she had been drawing, and eyes on the floor strode out the door. The teacher stepped a little over to Clark, opened her mouth, and then the girl stalked back into the room, over to a corkboard on the wall and pinned her drawing on it, standing there long enough to scribble a few words before stalking back out again.

When she was gone again the teacher looked at Clark once more, and said, "Clark, if you truly are able to make a conscious decision to not fight someone, no matter the situation, that is a very admirable thing, and I wish there were more people in the world like you." She then withdrew, taking the attention of the class once more, but Clark's was on the drawing.

Too far away for anyone else, it wasn't an issue for Clark, eyesight always far better than the average he could see even the black and white sketching across half the room with ease. To him it looked like in one corner was a planetoid with a domed city, in another were two sorrowful faces separated by a wall of some sort, and beneath those were what were presumably – contextually anyhow – those two people running hand-in-hand. And the words, hastily scribbled in the space between; They've got guns! And below that; And I haven't. Which makes me the better person, don't you think? They can shoot me dead, but the moral high-ground is mine.

The words, carefree dismissive nature of the danger with the joy of the running contrasted so sharply with the sorrow of the faces that Clark just could not grasp it. He turned away, looking out the window as he disregarded whatever the teacher was saying, mulling the words, the joy, and the sorrow. The entire world fell away as he let time flow by, just waiting for it to end.

Soon he stopped thinking about it, and he was thinking about nothing, hearing nothing, saying nothing, not really seeing anything, just waiting as he saw, but didn't really look outside. And then, suddenly, he heard, everything. Literally, everything. His teacher's words, his classmate's whispers, the scratching of pens and buzz of the bees beyond the window, even the steady drip, drip, drip of water echoing in pipes.

The next he knew his hands were on his ears, trying to shut it all out. Thinking the world was ending he opened his eyes, and saw that everyone else was fine. He opened his mouth but he heard nothing come out, yet seeing a handful of his classmates turn to look at him only made him panic more. He squirmed in his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again everything seemed to fade away, and suddenly he could see through everything, everyone in the room little more than skeletons. He looked up to see the skeleton of his teacher walk over to him, reaching out to him. Horrified, he opened his mouth and ran from the room.

Suddenly he found himself closing a door and was squatting on the floor of a dark closet, though it was quietened somewhat the sounds weren't letting up. Suddenly there was a knock that reverberated in his skull, followed by a girl's voice, "EXCUSE ME, ARE, ARE YOU OKAY?"

This time when his mouth formed words he heard them so loud he tasted blood in his nose, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" even though he never remembered screaming. There was a click and a screech in his skull, and when he looked up he saw the skeleton of a small girl – had he been able to process anything at the moment, he would have guessed she was maybe a bit younger then himself by her size – looking down at him. He felt himself cringe and try to pull back, though there wasn't much room for it.

The girl shuffling to sit in front of him seemed almost as loud as the door closing, and when she opened her mouth again he instantly wished she hadn't. "WHAT IS IT?"

"I... CAN'T... CAN'T... SHUT IT... OUT!" Somehow, he knew he was barely speaking, but when he did it felt as though his head was breaking.

There was a soft touch on his shoulder, and another on his head before he heard the girl speak, much softer this time, though nothing else was. "Shut what out?"

"THE SOUNDS!"

"What sounds?"

"ALL OF THEM!" It was beyond overwhelming, "IT'S TOO MUCH... I CAN'T..." It seemed to be forever before the girl spoke again.

"Everything?" the word seemed to hang out there before she continued, "What about my heartbeat?" It was there, along with the rest, no louder or softer. He nodded emphatically, it was all he felt he could do. "Why don't you try focusing on that?"

Figuring that nothing could possibly make it worse he tried it, doing all he could to push out all the sounds except for the steady thump-thump, thump-thump of the girl's heartbeat. When those sounds started to increase in his skull he opened his eyes, and finding himself looking through the girl he tilted his head upward, until he was actually looking at her heart. Thump-thump, thump-thump. He could literally see it as it beat, oddly calming, and, he realised, the sound of life itself.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Clark found himself immersed in the rhythm, and before he knew it there was nothing else, just him, the girl, and the beat of her heart. Then, slowly, the room around him returned, the girl's muscle and skin with it. His eyes drifted further upward, and he found himself staring at the blond girl from his class earlier. "Better?"

He nodded, but was overcome with an immense sense of deja vu as he looked her in the face. "You remind me of someone."

"Yes." she said, more than a little patronisingly. "We've been in the same grade, at the same school, for eight years."

Clark sat back, looking at her face, still more focused on trying to figure it out. "You noticed me?"

The girl snorted, with her pixieish face it could only be described as hilariously emphatic. "It shouldn't take a genius to notice something you see every day for the better part of a decade." Then she looked at him once more, and seeing he was looking far away, she offered her hand, "I'm Chloe."

Brought back to the present, and unable to be anything but courteous, Clark took her hand in his, "I'm Clark. But you probably already knew that."

"Probably."

He let go of her hand, shyly looking at his feet. "Sorry, I can be a little, self-involved."

"Don't worry about it. We all have our own problems to deal with. It would seem some more than others." As Clark sat back, just trying to catch his breath Chloe sat across from him, cross-legged, appearing to look into him, he got the clear impression that she was trying to figure him out. "If I may ask, what was it?"

"I don't know." He said quickly, "It's, never happened before."

"Liar." She said, almost as quickly. When he looked up at her defensively she continued, "No, its alright. Like I said, we all have our own problems. And if you don't want to share that's your own business, I just, well, kind of want to know if you're head is liable to explode again any time soon."

He took a few more breaths before he answered, deliberate, considering. "No, I think I got it now, thank you."

"Okay." She said, he could see she was a little disappointed, but she didn't push it again. She turned, half-risen before he opened his mouth. He didn't even know why he did, he just suddenly felt compelled to talk. He knew he needed to talk to someone, why not her? She seemed kind enough.

"I'm different." His head hung down, he couldn't even look her in the eye, he thought if he did he might have stopped. "I don't know why, but I can do things. I'm stronger than I should be. Stronger than anyone should be. I could see and read your drawing perfectly from across the room. I can sometimes hear things from all the way on the other side of the farm, and now, it seems I can see through things."

"Through things?" Chloe asked, "As in walls? And clothes?" already moving her arms as if to cover herself.

"Yes, but more like x-rays." He said hurriedly, looking up a little. "I mean, I saw your heart." With that his head drifted down, his eyes seemingly far away. "It was beautiful."

"Thank you?"

Clark looked up to see Chloe completely befuddled. "No, not your heart, just, the heart. It was steady, peaceful, rhythmic. I mean, it was a living, beating human heart."

"I... I couldn't even imagine." Chloe replied softly. For the longest time the two of them just sat there, staring at nothing, the silence eventually broken by Chloe. "My mother's in a psych ward."

That completely stumped him. The longer he met her eyes, the worse it got, so he said the only thing that he could think of, "Is it... bad?"

Before she could answer him the bell rang. The moment it finished she turned to him, away from anything they had been talking about, already rising to her feet. "C'mon. The halls'll be filled in a few seconds." And then she was out the door.

Clark waited only a few seconds before pushing himself up and returning to the classroom, more than a few of the children in the halls giving him weird looks, ranging from a little freaked to mockery. One group even laughed and winked at him, shouting after him once he had walked by, "Clark Kent! Makin' it with the weird chick!"

Disregarding everyone he was back in the classroom soon enough, everyone else already gone but for the teacher. While he was putting all his stuff away she came over to check on him. "Is everything alright Clark?"

"Yeah," he replied, never raising his eyes. "Sorry about that. I'm alright now."

The teacher touched him on the shoulder, getting him to look her in the eyes. "You sure? You can let me know if there's something wrong, okay? Any time."

Meeting her eyes he replied with; "I'm okay, really."

"If you're sure. Hurry along then." As he left the room again his eyes passed over the corkboard and he felt compelled to stop, eyes once again sucked into Chloe's drawing. The joy, the sorrow, the sad beauty and the message. Still more than a little confused he took the drawing and folded it, stuffing it into his bag as he left the room.