Letters to a Dear Stranger
"Sincerely Yours" Part I
Fic type: Smallville
Placement: TV
Explanation/Descript: Chloe..this will be a collection of letters between
Clark and Chloe when finished
Talk: Thoughts welcome.....flame somewhere else
Writer: Manda -- bloodrosedragon@hotmal.com
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Sometimes I think you are the most insufferable southern boy I have ever met. Perfect Christmas my lilly white ass. You always say it will be a perfect Christmas. You said so last year, too. I can't believe that was my second Christmas since leaving Smallville now. Not that it wasn't good, but perfect isn't exactly compatible with Smallville I don't think. I've seen the world, breathed in its life and part of me think I will not come back till I have had it all. Perfection has grown too huge to be sated now.
Christmas was fun though. White snow with black skies and streets of flickering lights where the use of candles on the tree made the entire street seem to glow. You're more right about Lex though I realize that each time I come home. He seems more real. Not like someone you'd meet in a grocery store, but the wall around him don't seem as thick as they used to be. We even went for a few walks and talked about many things about city life and everything else we could think of.
Was it my mistake or did I notice Lana and Pete working together to set the table for the dinner and giggling like little kids with a secret? I'm not saying he's trying to steal her from you, far from it, but it's interesting how much she's grown, too. How much we've all grown up since five years ago. It feels like the blink of an eye.
Thank you again for my Christmas present.
I'm not sure where you found it and positive that Joseph is the only other person back at school who will know why I melted into a puddle when I received an old typewriter.
Joseph. An interesting subject, since it was complicated just to look at him the first few days.
Especially after it happened again. For this time I think I realize it's not just your fault. Last time I could blame my myself, maybe the spiced and spiked cider, but not me. This time. My god, Clark, are we just a surreal comfort to each other? This solace we can find for a moment before returning so abruptly to that all too real and sharp reality of our lives, our two very different lives?
I didn't tell him. I doubt you told Lana either. I think we were both baffled by the occurrence. Especially baffled by it happening again. Nothing and no one to blame this time. And yet, this is my life Clark. This room, this school, these people here. I realized that going home. It's not specifically 'home' to me anymore. I went back to Smallville but I came 'home' to this room, this school, this family.
It was disturbing and comforting to find it this way. Most people feel home sick for home, I felt homesick for this life when I was gone with it. Not to say I didn't have fun, I really did. I had a blast with you, Pete, Lex and Lana, but I missed the others Marie and Joseph among those I missed most. I wonder what they would be doing for Christmas.
It made me feel hollow and half like I'd gone to Disney World but didn't know how to enjoy it at all.
I'm not saying I've made perfect sense of it, but I though after all we've shared I should tell you the truth.
Sincerely Yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
I picked up some extra art type class for this semester a few weeks back. Will you believe it, it's an art class and a creative writing class. I thought, you know, while I have the time at school why not start trying different types of things. Other options are a new sci-fi class, an in- depth poetry group (Tracey wanted me to take this one), choral music, instrumental/band, and a million and one other random little ones. I'm taking an extra journalism class because that's the only way Cain says he'll let me start publishing articles in the paper (he runs the class).
Well, creative writing was odd, especially since they decided to start with poetry. Why isn't poetry kept to poetry classes? The study of poetry is a different thing the teacher said, trying to write it is considered creative. Then we wrote short stories, then long stories, we describe pictures put up every morning or explain quotes. We debate the meaning and philosophy behind words, which makes me glad I took Latin in high school. It's helping a lot.
Joseph thinks a lot of my writing seems to be emotional baggage I like to carry with me. He says sometimes I put too much of me into the creative pieces I'm writing; not just enough of me and a lot of the idea. We've had some interesting discussion on that one that lasted till two and three in the morning and ended with me waking up in his arms, feeling sort of out of place, and oddly comfortable and safe. Maybe my prince charming isn't meant to be a country boy.
I did surprise the hell out of him though.
My art class the teacher said she'd give extra grades to people who were willing to participate as models so we could tell the difference between normal people and studied models. I applied to it. So there are paintings of me now. In practically nothing at all. Most of me, well the front part of me, is covered by a sheet I'm holding in front of me. We're given just a piece of cloth and told to pose however we want. Show up a little early to get comfortable with it.
Not that I think getting nude is something you can get all that comfortable with, but it was a pretty new experience. It's something I can say is behind me at least. I've been in school nude now and I didn't fall on my face in front of the cute boy, forget my homework or go running across a football field in it. I just stood rather still, after moving off the cold stool, holding the sheet to me in front and looking over my right shoulder.
I got to keep a few copies of the pieces done of me, and showed Joseph a few. (I even enclosed one to you. So you can baffle at the Chloe being brave, amused and in her mostly naked glory.) He said they were more real and like art, instead of baggage. Then he asked he was visualizing me naked and drawing these things. I sort of blushed and told him what I'd done. He just seemed to stare at me a while. Then he kissed me and told me we had to discuss this 'having to share Chloe's body with the rest of the world' thing.
I guess it's a good thing I didn't tell him about Christmas, huh?
Damn. Gotta run, journalism class in ten and I'm not a nude for that one, so wish me luck once you get this on getting in good with Cain even more.
Sincerely Yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Not much is new this week. It's been a wrote since I wrote you again. It's almost spring break now and I've decided I'm not going to come home this time. Probably not wise after Christmas. I know it's been long, and I've missed you, too, but I'm going to go upstate and meet Joseph's parents. We're officially an item, I think. Which is definitely great. Can't tell you how much it's improved my bank shot.
Sorry. Couldn't stop laughing for a minute. The last time I told Marie she just gave me that look that says the wheels in the dirty part of her mind are working. Then she decides to share what she's thinking. I think I like her a lot. I miss her when she's not there in the mornings. It's becomes pretty much ritual with us. Every morning we discuss news, looks over homework, talk about gossip, what's bothering us. Sometimes I don't remember anymore that she's supposed to have this ultra hard shell no one can penetrate.
Maybe she was just looking for the right friend.
Mark, Cindi, Joseph and I are going on a double date to the theatre in about an hour, so I'm sitting her half dressed up feeling all wonderful about it. Have I mentioned how much I like this attention that focus solely on me out of those beautiful eyes? No pressure, no promises, just lots of laughter and fun. I don't remember the last time I felt so free. It's kind of like falling, is this what it's like to actually fall in love for the first time after your not a teenager anymore?
Because whatever it is it's better than sex or chocolate so far in my book. I just want more of it. Cloud nine. I can't stop smiling when I think of his name. You'd thinking I was a grinning and blushing idiot. You'd laugh and I'd hit you with a pillow. Has it really been so long since the last letter? I'm getting lax in writing these letting school take over that time more. I was better at every day in high school. But then High School isn't like college no matter what they tell you.
The only thing that's stayed true from what was said in college was that everything changes.
Everything changes.
Sincerely yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Just got home from Spring Break a day ago. Have I mentioned to you the blissfulness yet? Upstate it was gorgeous. I understood that his parents were well off, I didn't know how well off till we arrived. Fountains of roses in the gardens, the drive. So many colors all over and the smell. It was heavenly. I think the scent is still clinging to the clothes I wore. This smell of country land and the light perfume of roses.
I hate to think it'll be replaced by the smell of coffee and smokey air soon. Not that I'm not used to that by now but I cling to the fading memories and scents of this past week.
Want to know the scariest thing? I've decided that once again this semester I do not have enough to do. So two extra classes, a group that counts as a class so long as I stay with it and now (drum roll please!) I'm going to have job. I'm going to where a colorful long apron in blue and red, where my hair up always and get to know well the coffee junkies of my college. That's right. Chloe Sullivan the coffee shop girl. Oh, stop it. I can hear you laughing already.
It's not such a bad idea though. A job is another good thing to get under my feet. Cindi can't believe I won't just relax and enjoy all my free time that's not out of the classroom. I sleep my nights and enjoy my evenings, but I need to be doing more. I don't have a paper to run and a room to be in doing my job all day anymore. So now I'm going to serve latte's, cappuccinos, Italian soda's, normal soda, milk, water, and all other assorted café drinks and eats.
Marie just laughs at the notion of me as the Coffee Girl and says she'll spend more time actually in the coffee shop now. (Since usually we grab coffee and sit outside watching the day become bright. It doesn't compare to Smallville sunrises, but watching the dark sky turn bright is still wonderful.) It won't be bad. She's bound to tease me all to hell tomorrow (my first day), but after that if she does come, it'll give me someone to talk to.
It's odd having a girl best friend. Growing up it was always you and Pete. Growing up almost like I was one of the boys, just not so much a boy. Bare feet on logs and leaves from the trees. Marie. Well, she's different. She's wild laughter, odd ideas and spontaneous adventures in driving. We do all sorts of spur of the moment things at any hour of the day. Her most fond hour seems to be about two am right after I've gotten thirty minutes of sleep after four or five hours of studying something hard.
She is a breath of fresh air though. I realized that when I was running from Joseph car to hug her and start gushing about the trip. I missed her when she wasn't there in the morning. (I'm sorry I wasn't there in the morning.) We take long walks sometimes in the morning and debate the oddest things. I even told her about my Wall of Weird one morning. I really a Box of Weird now. It's open under a blank wall. It's everything and anything I did for so many years. My proof that everything was all in my story.
I look at that blank wall, remembering the filled one, and I try to imagine whether I'm supposed to have a new wall to go with this new life in college. Nothing gets put on the wall though. Not posters, not notes, not reminders, not Wall of Weird stuff, but the box sits open just beneath it. I can't decided whether to put it up and I can't bring myself to just close the box and put it away. Sometimes it feel like that would be closing the last door on my life in Smallville.
It hasn't even been a full year yet, Clark. How is it that it feel like I'm been gone longer?
Sincerely yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Finals once again. I should be studying but instead I'm writing an article on the newest art gallery showing the school put on. It's not meteor rocks and portfolio's that would look terrific being handed to the Planet people, but its my first step. At least I've gotten to break him into letting me write. I get two small pieces in every article now. I keep pushing for more. Cain laughs and says there's no room.
He's not so bad a guy actually once you get to know him. He's a workaholic. He likes daisies (don't ask!). He drinks too much coffee, sleeps too little, and has a very small life that exists outside the papers' rooms. You can tell already that I'll get along with him terrifically. (He's only metioned it in passing but one of the older girls graduates this year and I may get her slot.)
So a zillion paintings and displays later I'm wondering whether I actually remember anything from the art class I'm taking. Some of this stuff looks like it was constructed in someone's kitchen out of just what they could find near them and I don't mean just the one titled "Ode to My Kitchen". Joseph laughed when I started sputtering and making up my own titles for each piece on what it said to me. He said my eye for art isn't as good as my pen for journalism.
He's right. Adorably so usually. I don't think I've felt this way over someone in a longer time.
Summers coming up and he's talking trips again. He said he wanted to look into doing Europe for a month or so. Can you believe it, Europe?!?!?! The boy thinks he should just check out Europe. He makes it sound like he's just checking out a library book to see if he'll like the first few pages. Then he suddenly asks me today when we're saying goodnight if I'd like to come with him as a guest, completely free of charge.
Did you hear that? Me, Chloe, asked to go to Europe. I laughed, I felt like I was going to faint.
Europe. I've been invited to Europe. For free.
I feel giddy. I can't concentrate on this piece at all.
Sincerely Yours, Chloe.
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Sometimes I think you are the most insufferable southern boy I have ever met. Perfect Christmas my lilly white ass. You always say it will be a perfect Christmas. You said so last year, too. I can't believe that was my second Christmas since leaving Smallville now. Not that it wasn't good, but perfect isn't exactly compatible with Smallville I don't think. I've seen the world, breathed in its life and part of me think I will not come back till I have had it all. Perfection has grown too huge to be sated now.
Christmas was fun though. White snow with black skies and streets of flickering lights where the use of candles on the tree made the entire street seem to glow. You're more right about Lex though I realize that each time I come home. He seems more real. Not like someone you'd meet in a grocery store, but the wall around him don't seem as thick as they used to be. We even went for a few walks and talked about many things about city life and everything else we could think of.
Was it my mistake or did I notice Lana and Pete working together to set the table for the dinner and giggling like little kids with a secret? I'm not saying he's trying to steal her from you, far from it, but it's interesting how much she's grown, too. How much we've all grown up since five years ago. It feels like the blink of an eye.
Thank you again for my Christmas present.
I'm not sure where you found it and positive that Joseph is the only other person back at school who will know why I melted into a puddle when I received an old typewriter.
Joseph. An interesting subject, since it was complicated just to look at him the first few days.
Especially after it happened again. For this time I think I realize it's not just your fault. Last time I could blame my myself, maybe the spiced and spiked cider, but not me. This time. My god, Clark, are we just a surreal comfort to each other? This solace we can find for a moment before returning so abruptly to that all too real and sharp reality of our lives, our two very different lives?
I didn't tell him. I doubt you told Lana either. I think we were both baffled by the occurrence. Especially baffled by it happening again. Nothing and no one to blame this time. And yet, this is my life Clark. This room, this school, these people here. I realized that going home. It's not specifically 'home' to me anymore. I went back to Smallville but I came 'home' to this room, this school, this family.
It was disturbing and comforting to find it this way. Most people feel home sick for home, I felt homesick for this life when I was gone with it. Not to say I didn't have fun, I really did. I had a blast with you, Pete, Lex and Lana, but I missed the others Marie and Joseph among those I missed most. I wonder what they would be doing for Christmas.
It made me feel hollow and half like I'd gone to Disney World but didn't know how to enjoy it at all.
I'm not saying I've made perfect sense of it, but I though after all we've shared I should tell you the truth.
Sincerely Yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
I picked up some extra art type class for this semester a few weeks back. Will you believe it, it's an art class and a creative writing class. I thought, you know, while I have the time at school why not start trying different types of things. Other options are a new sci-fi class, an in- depth poetry group (Tracey wanted me to take this one), choral music, instrumental/band, and a million and one other random little ones. I'm taking an extra journalism class because that's the only way Cain says he'll let me start publishing articles in the paper (he runs the class).
Well, creative writing was odd, especially since they decided to start with poetry. Why isn't poetry kept to poetry classes? The study of poetry is a different thing the teacher said, trying to write it is considered creative. Then we wrote short stories, then long stories, we describe pictures put up every morning or explain quotes. We debate the meaning and philosophy behind words, which makes me glad I took Latin in high school. It's helping a lot.
Joseph thinks a lot of my writing seems to be emotional baggage I like to carry with me. He says sometimes I put too much of me into the creative pieces I'm writing; not just enough of me and a lot of the idea. We've had some interesting discussion on that one that lasted till two and three in the morning and ended with me waking up in his arms, feeling sort of out of place, and oddly comfortable and safe. Maybe my prince charming isn't meant to be a country boy.
I did surprise the hell out of him though.
My art class the teacher said she'd give extra grades to people who were willing to participate as models so we could tell the difference between normal people and studied models. I applied to it. So there are paintings of me now. In practically nothing at all. Most of me, well the front part of me, is covered by a sheet I'm holding in front of me. We're given just a piece of cloth and told to pose however we want. Show up a little early to get comfortable with it.
Not that I think getting nude is something you can get all that comfortable with, but it was a pretty new experience. It's something I can say is behind me at least. I've been in school nude now and I didn't fall on my face in front of the cute boy, forget my homework or go running across a football field in it. I just stood rather still, after moving off the cold stool, holding the sheet to me in front and looking over my right shoulder.
I got to keep a few copies of the pieces done of me, and showed Joseph a few. (I even enclosed one to you. So you can baffle at the Chloe being brave, amused and in her mostly naked glory.) He said they were more real and like art, instead of baggage. Then he asked he was visualizing me naked and drawing these things. I sort of blushed and told him what I'd done. He just seemed to stare at me a while. Then he kissed me and told me we had to discuss this 'having to share Chloe's body with the rest of the world' thing.
I guess it's a good thing I didn't tell him about Christmas, huh?
Damn. Gotta run, journalism class in ten and I'm not a nude for that one, so wish me luck once you get this on getting in good with Cain even more.
Sincerely Yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Not much is new this week. It's been a wrote since I wrote you again. It's almost spring break now and I've decided I'm not going to come home this time. Probably not wise after Christmas. I know it's been long, and I've missed you, too, but I'm going to go upstate and meet Joseph's parents. We're officially an item, I think. Which is definitely great. Can't tell you how much it's improved my bank shot.
Sorry. Couldn't stop laughing for a minute. The last time I told Marie she just gave me that look that says the wheels in the dirty part of her mind are working. Then she decides to share what she's thinking. I think I like her a lot. I miss her when she's not there in the mornings. It's becomes pretty much ritual with us. Every morning we discuss news, looks over homework, talk about gossip, what's bothering us. Sometimes I don't remember anymore that she's supposed to have this ultra hard shell no one can penetrate.
Maybe she was just looking for the right friend.
Mark, Cindi, Joseph and I are going on a double date to the theatre in about an hour, so I'm sitting her half dressed up feeling all wonderful about it. Have I mentioned how much I like this attention that focus solely on me out of those beautiful eyes? No pressure, no promises, just lots of laughter and fun. I don't remember the last time I felt so free. It's kind of like falling, is this what it's like to actually fall in love for the first time after your not a teenager anymore?
Because whatever it is it's better than sex or chocolate so far in my book. I just want more of it. Cloud nine. I can't stop smiling when I think of his name. You'd thinking I was a grinning and blushing idiot. You'd laugh and I'd hit you with a pillow. Has it really been so long since the last letter? I'm getting lax in writing these letting school take over that time more. I was better at every day in high school. But then High School isn't like college no matter what they tell you.
The only thing that's stayed true from what was said in college was that everything changes.
Everything changes.
Sincerely yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Just got home from Spring Break a day ago. Have I mentioned to you the blissfulness yet? Upstate it was gorgeous. I understood that his parents were well off, I didn't know how well off till we arrived. Fountains of roses in the gardens, the drive. So many colors all over and the smell. It was heavenly. I think the scent is still clinging to the clothes I wore. This smell of country land and the light perfume of roses.
I hate to think it'll be replaced by the smell of coffee and smokey air soon. Not that I'm not used to that by now but I cling to the fading memories and scents of this past week.
Want to know the scariest thing? I've decided that once again this semester I do not have enough to do. So two extra classes, a group that counts as a class so long as I stay with it and now (drum roll please!) I'm going to have job. I'm going to where a colorful long apron in blue and red, where my hair up always and get to know well the coffee junkies of my college. That's right. Chloe Sullivan the coffee shop girl. Oh, stop it. I can hear you laughing already.
It's not such a bad idea though. A job is another good thing to get under my feet. Cindi can't believe I won't just relax and enjoy all my free time that's not out of the classroom. I sleep my nights and enjoy my evenings, but I need to be doing more. I don't have a paper to run and a room to be in doing my job all day anymore. So now I'm going to serve latte's, cappuccinos, Italian soda's, normal soda, milk, water, and all other assorted café drinks and eats.
Marie just laughs at the notion of me as the Coffee Girl and says she'll spend more time actually in the coffee shop now. (Since usually we grab coffee and sit outside watching the day become bright. It doesn't compare to Smallville sunrises, but watching the dark sky turn bright is still wonderful.) It won't be bad. She's bound to tease me all to hell tomorrow (my first day), but after that if she does come, it'll give me someone to talk to.
It's odd having a girl best friend. Growing up it was always you and Pete. Growing up almost like I was one of the boys, just not so much a boy. Bare feet on logs and leaves from the trees. Marie. Well, she's different. She's wild laughter, odd ideas and spontaneous adventures in driving. We do all sorts of spur of the moment things at any hour of the day. Her most fond hour seems to be about two am right after I've gotten thirty minutes of sleep after four or five hours of studying something hard.
She is a breath of fresh air though. I realized that when I was running from Joseph car to hug her and start gushing about the trip. I missed her when she wasn't there in the morning. (I'm sorry I wasn't there in the morning.) We take long walks sometimes in the morning and debate the oddest things. I even told her about my Wall of Weird one morning. I really a Box of Weird now. It's open under a blank wall. It's everything and anything I did for so many years. My proof that everything was all in my story.
I look at that blank wall, remembering the filled one, and I try to imagine whether I'm supposed to have a new wall to go with this new life in college. Nothing gets put on the wall though. Not posters, not notes, not reminders, not Wall of Weird stuff, but the box sits open just beneath it. I can't decided whether to put it up and I can't bring myself to just close the box and put it away. Sometimes it feel like that would be closing the last door on my life in Smallville.
It hasn't even been a full year yet, Clark. How is it that it feel like I'm been gone longer?
Sincerely yours, Chloe
~*~*~
Dear Clark,
Finals once again. I should be studying but instead I'm writing an article on the newest art gallery showing the school put on. It's not meteor rocks and portfolio's that would look terrific being handed to the Planet people, but its my first step. At least I've gotten to break him into letting me write. I get two small pieces in every article now. I keep pushing for more. Cain laughs and says there's no room.
He's not so bad a guy actually once you get to know him. He's a workaholic. He likes daisies (don't ask!). He drinks too much coffee, sleeps too little, and has a very small life that exists outside the papers' rooms. You can tell already that I'll get along with him terrifically. (He's only metioned it in passing but one of the older girls graduates this year and I may get her slot.)
So a zillion paintings and displays later I'm wondering whether I actually remember anything from the art class I'm taking. Some of this stuff looks like it was constructed in someone's kitchen out of just what they could find near them and I don't mean just the one titled "Ode to My Kitchen". Joseph laughed when I started sputtering and making up my own titles for each piece on what it said to me. He said my eye for art isn't as good as my pen for journalism.
He's right. Adorably so usually. I don't think I've felt this way over someone in a longer time.
Summers coming up and he's talking trips again. He said he wanted to look into doing Europe for a month or so. Can you believe it, Europe?!?!?! The boy thinks he should just check out Europe. He makes it sound like he's just checking out a library book to see if he'll like the first few pages. Then he suddenly asks me today when we're saying goodnight if I'd like to come with him as a guest, completely free of charge.
Did you hear that? Me, Chloe, asked to go to Europe. I laughed, I felt like I was going to faint.
Europe. I've been invited to Europe. For free.
I feel giddy. I can't concentrate on this piece at all.
Sincerely Yours, Chloe.