I just realized I am super-cool and posted chapter two twice, so I fixed it now and this is a new chapter. Two chapters to make up for it :)
Girdude: My best friend loves the cartoon char gir too. I assume your talking about the robot dog from Invader Zim?
Sam: I like the plot too, and personally, I don't like how they're handling it on the show. They leave it for a while and then add a little, then leave it in favor of some Clark and Lana drama. And I hated Chloe in Whisper for the most part. So here's to a now AU.
Beaker: I love your reviews. They make me feel so good. :)
Clark stared, eyes wide as dinner plates and his heart jumped once again. Confused and in a daze, he peered more carefully at the wall. There, in the center, were pictures of him. Eating lunch at school with his friends, cheering on the football team at the homecoming game with Chloe at his side, picking up his books, catching the football just before impact with Chloes face that the jocks had thrown freshman year. There were even a few pictures of the Talon and his house from a far. Off to the right of the collage was a line of pictures, all candid shots, of Pete at football practice, Chloe typing away at the Torch, Lana serving coffee and finally Lex, sipping his favorite lattee at his usual table in the coffee shop. Underneath those were pictures of his parents working on the farm, tending cattle or fixing equipment.
Shifting his gaze, he looked the right, a sinking feeling in his stomach that grew every second. There was another collage containing more scattered photos, only this time with solid red or dashed green lines connecting each of them to him. Now a sense of dispair and urgency rushed through him as he studied the pictures with a fervent interest. Tina Greer, Justin Gaines, and Greg Arkin, among others, were posted in a chaotic sense of order. Every person he'd battled or saved in some form or another was there, all of the meteor mutants and victims listed, even some faces he couldn't place. A cold realization slid down his throat. Solid lines indicated the events the police knew he was involved in. The ones he'd bothered to stay with or had been at the scene for some reason or another.
Goosebumps spread across his body like a rash and his hair prickled on the back of his neck. Clark's hearing picked up every sound in the woods, none more thunderous than the precarious thumping of his own heart. He felt as though his body were betraying him, giving him up to the whole forest, which now seemed a harbor for darkness than one of beauty. His ragged breathe caught in his throat with each inhalation as adrenaline surged through his veins, empowering him against evils unseen but undoubtably present. Paranoia leeched through his system, jacking his energy up a level and leaving him with almost uncontrolable instincts. Clark almost stopped thinking, the stimulation his body had created nearly too much for him to bear.
"Whoa, okay, calm down, you're okay..." he whispered, hoping to aleviate the blackness surrounding him. Instead, his plan backfired and he got spooked at the sound of his own voice. Clark just wanted to bolt, but the little sense he had left told him to look for more. Eyeing the desk drawers, he peeled away layers of the obvious and scanned their contents. Police reports and newpaper articles lay within. Loosing his patience, he almost took off when he noticed a pile of papers that stood out. There, in a small, manila file folder, he found the most disturbing discovery of all.
There was his name, printed in non-descript letters across the first sheet of paper. 'It's a title page,' the thought striking him with horror. The report continued on, detailing his height, weight, hair and eye colors, even his shoe size. 'My basic stats, like a lab speciman,' he wondered grimly. But that was just a prelude to information within.
Letters he'd written, school work ranging from kindergarten to his current year, personal mail sent to him, a detailed report of his life, a copy of the forged birth certificate his parents had arranged, and a scanned copy of his drivers licence were just a start of the file. By the time he noticed a poster that Lana had put up around Metropolis in his missing time, Clark had had enough. Rage boiled over in him as he visibly shook with such complicated feelings he couldn't even name them. He wanted to break in, to steal all the information about himself. Crush the photographs and burn down the shack. But he couldn't; all he'd succeed in by doing would prove his precence there. Whoever was stalking him, so obsessed with his life, was dangerous, not only to him but to those he cared for. And letting them find out what he knew was not an option. So Clark let go of his concious mind and forgot the war his heighted instincts had been waging with his brain.
It seemed nothing in his life was his anymore, and his certainty about his world had shattered hours ago. But he was sure about one thing. Lionel Luthor was somehow involved, and he'd gotten his start with Chloe.
Freaked, Clark did the one thing that seemed to make sense at the moment. He ran as fast as his extraordinary legs would carry him.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.
Girdude: My best friend loves the cartoon char gir too. I assume your talking about the robot dog from Invader Zim?
Sam: I like the plot too, and personally, I don't like how they're handling it on the show. They leave it for a while and then add a little, then leave it in favor of some Clark and Lana drama. And I hated Chloe in Whisper for the most part. So here's to a now AU.
Beaker: I love your reviews. They make me feel so good. :)
Clark stared, eyes wide as dinner plates and his heart jumped once again. Confused and in a daze, he peered more carefully at the wall. There, in the center, were pictures of him. Eating lunch at school with his friends, cheering on the football team at the homecoming game with Chloe at his side, picking up his books, catching the football just before impact with Chloes face that the jocks had thrown freshman year. There were even a few pictures of the Talon and his house from a far. Off to the right of the collage was a line of pictures, all candid shots, of Pete at football practice, Chloe typing away at the Torch, Lana serving coffee and finally Lex, sipping his favorite lattee at his usual table in the coffee shop. Underneath those were pictures of his parents working on the farm, tending cattle or fixing equipment.
Shifting his gaze, he looked the right, a sinking feeling in his stomach that grew every second. There was another collage containing more scattered photos, only this time with solid red or dashed green lines connecting each of them to him. Now a sense of dispair and urgency rushed through him as he studied the pictures with a fervent interest. Tina Greer, Justin Gaines, and Greg Arkin, among others, were posted in a chaotic sense of order. Every person he'd battled or saved in some form or another was there, all of the meteor mutants and victims listed, even some faces he couldn't place. A cold realization slid down his throat. Solid lines indicated the events the police knew he was involved in. The ones he'd bothered to stay with or had been at the scene for some reason or another.
Goosebumps spread across his body like a rash and his hair prickled on the back of his neck. Clark's hearing picked up every sound in the woods, none more thunderous than the precarious thumping of his own heart. He felt as though his body were betraying him, giving him up to the whole forest, which now seemed a harbor for darkness than one of beauty. His ragged breathe caught in his throat with each inhalation as adrenaline surged through his veins, empowering him against evils unseen but undoubtably present. Paranoia leeched through his system, jacking his energy up a level and leaving him with almost uncontrolable instincts. Clark almost stopped thinking, the stimulation his body had created nearly too much for him to bear.
"Whoa, okay, calm down, you're okay..." he whispered, hoping to aleviate the blackness surrounding him. Instead, his plan backfired and he got spooked at the sound of his own voice. Clark just wanted to bolt, but the little sense he had left told him to look for more. Eyeing the desk drawers, he peeled away layers of the obvious and scanned their contents. Police reports and newpaper articles lay within. Loosing his patience, he almost took off when he noticed a pile of papers that stood out. There, in a small, manila file folder, he found the most disturbing discovery of all.
There was his name, printed in non-descript letters across the first sheet of paper. 'It's a title page,' the thought striking him with horror. The report continued on, detailing his height, weight, hair and eye colors, even his shoe size. 'My basic stats, like a lab speciman,' he wondered grimly. But that was just a prelude to information within.
Letters he'd written, school work ranging from kindergarten to his current year, personal mail sent to him, a detailed report of his life, a copy of the forged birth certificate his parents had arranged, and a scanned copy of his drivers licence were just a start of the file. By the time he noticed a poster that Lana had put up around Metropolis in his missing time, Clark had had enough. Rage boiled over in him as he visibly shook with such complicated feelings he couldn't even name them. He wanted to break in, to steal all the information about himself. Crush the photographs and burn down the shack. But he couldn't; all he'd succeed in by doing would prove his precence there. Whoever was stalking him, so obsessed with his life, was dangerous, not only to him but to those he cared for. And letting them find out what he knew was not an option. So Clark let go of his concious mind and forgot the war his heighted instincts had been waging with his brain.
It seemed nothing in his life was his anymore, and his certainty about his world had shattered hours ago. But he was sure about one thing. Lionel Luthor was somehow involved, and he'd gotten his start with Chloe.
Freaked, Clark did the one thing that seemed to make sense at the moment. He ran as fast as his extraordinary legs would carry him.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.