Chloe turned painfully away from Clarks retreating form, knowing that the pain she'd seen in his eyes was partially, if not totally, there because of her. She was certain that staying out of his view had been the right thing to do; it was too soon to approach him, not even 24 hours afterward, and he obviously had enough on his mind. She'd overheard a couple officers discussing what he'd managed that day, and it amazed her just as much as it did them. Even though she was determined to remain unseen among the chaos of flashing lights and ominous clouds, Chloe couldn't resist catching sight of him, if only for a momentary one. Even if he had hurt her, not only had it obviously been unintentional, but she'd backlashed so quickly she didn't stop to think of what the consquences would be. Now things had finally started to get better between them--she'd even found a cup of her favorite coffee he'd brought her last night--and she thought that the could be the friends that both so badly needed. And it had been her that had ruined the effort he was making, her screw up that was so much worse than any of his had ever been. There was major doubt in her mind as to whether she could ever balance the scales for this one.
A short scowl had drawn across her face as she fiddled absent-mindedly with her brand-new digital camera. Her short, perky blonde hair played across her face in the random gusts of wind that blew every once in a while, obsuring her hazel eyes. She was oblivous to the fact that her short, beautiful figure was obviously tormented by her thoughts, and that only one set of eyes seemed to care. Those gray, hard eyes studied her with a flagrant interest that went unnoticed by all. They took in every detial of her being, memorizing her face. 'This girl is someone to keep eye on,' Mr. Jones thought. 'I can help her.' Coming back to herself, Chloe decisively pulled her thoughts away from the debate running around in her head and returned to her work.
Chloe knew that this would be one of the biggest stories of the year here in Smallville, much less the decade in the slow-moving, unbareably conventional town. Many people refused to believe anything the Torch reported since her publication on meteor freaks, and having an exclusive on this would help build credibility up again, possibly even getting her out of the principals black books. She sighed, snapped off a few half-hearted photos and trudged on to fire off another round before anyone noticed her. This might have been the story of the millenia, but her thoughts kept flying off into Clarkdom, and every time she did a new wave of remorse, sorrow, and any number of feelings would splash over her in a wave, threatening to wash her way. Lana was already suspicious and Chloe doubted how long she would buy the sudden, unexplainable fit of depression bit she'd concoted on the car ride home last night. She knew by Monday any illusion Lana had of believing her would be totaled when she saw Clark in a similar state. 'At least I don't have to talk to her 'til then,' she thought, trying to be optimistic but failing miserably.
By now, the skies previous threat of rain had become iminent, causing the whole scene to become anxious and accelerate. Chloe fed off the vibe from the rest of crowd as a sudden chill ran up her spine. Something wasn't right here, she realized, there was something way off with this scene, as though it had been tampered with and everyone knew it. She'd been to accidents before, and they all had this gloomy air to them, but today it felt as though this were just an omen. Chloe had the strange, foreboding feeling that this wasn't an accident, and somehow, much worse was on the way. Shrugging it off, she turned her focus back to her digital camera, taking two more shots of Clarks twisted truck and a few of this weird depression in the ground she'd found. It had a familiar shape, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it remindered her off. No one else had noticed it, and Chloe hoped selfishly it might stay that way. Glancing to the side, she shoved the camera in her pocket and hurried off to the darkening fields.
Whatever was off in the air today, it was giving her the creeps. And she wanted to know why.
Though it had only been a hour since Clark had left home, it felt more like an eternity to him. Rarely did he ever feel so immensly exhausted and terrified as he did now. As soon as he had stepped over the threshold, he had edged by his mother into the living room and plopped down on the ancient blue plaid couch, staring into the blazing flame incased in the worn brick fireplace. It was mezmorizing, and Clark knew that he could spend hours there, just staring into its infinte energy and letting time wash over him. The room was comfortable and cozy, with its pictures on the mantel, books on the side tables, rich color scheme and tv ushered into a corner as though added as an afterthought by the inhabitants. The curtains framed the window, a portal to the outside world that seemed like an alternate reality from Clarks view on the couch. Out there, you could get hurt, be let down. Out there, pain was real, and even the best of people could unleash it on you like a blood thirsty pitbull. Nothing was sacred or safe, nothing certain. But here, this was a haven from reality. This was the opitamy of certainity where serenity was assured, and Clark wanted nothing more than to sink into all it offered and forget the outside world existed.
But his parents joined him shortly, prodding him from the luxary of his day dream. He heard their gentle, calm voices, asking what had happened. Clark knew had to answer and that letting it all out would help, but he wished that for a brief moment, he could just be a normal kid whose parents would rejoice over fact that he had saved lives rather than worry that someone might find out how.
So he told them, carefully choosing his words to down play the events. He answered their questions devoid of emotion, offering any suggestion he had as to an explaination along the way. Naturally, they comforted him and told him he was right; there was no way he could have just let those people die. But even they were overwhelmed by the blast that had thrown Clark, the dent in the ground, and not least of all by the sudden interest of a counciler no less. Over the last two days, life had become more complicated then any of them had ever thought possible. They were caught up a very dangerous game with everything at stake, and they couldn't afford to lose.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.
A short scowl had drawn across her face as she fiddled absent-mindedly with her brand-new digital camera. Her short, perky blonde hair played across her face in the random gusts of wind that blew every once in a while, obsuring her hazel eyes. She was oblivous to the fact that her short, beautiful figure was obviously tormented by her thoughts, and that only one set of eyes seemed to care. Those gray, hard eyes studied her with a flagrant interest that went unnoticed by all. They took in every detial of her being, memorizing her face. 'This girl is someone to keep eye on,' Mr. Jones thought. 'I can help her.' Coming back to herself, Chloe decisively pulled her thoughts away from the debate running around in her head and returned to her work.
Chloe knew that this would be one of the biggest stories of the year here in Smallville, much less the decade in the slow-moving, unbareably conventional town. Many people refused to believe anything the Torch reported since her publication on meteor freaks, and having an exclusive on this would help build credibility up again, possibly even getting her out of the principals black books. She sighed, snapped off a few half-hearted photos and trudged on to fire off another round before anyone noticed her. This might have been the story of the millenia, but her thoughts kept flying off into Clarkdom, and every time she did a new wave of remorse, sorrow, and any number of feelings would splash over her in a wave, threatening to wash her way. Lana was already suspicious and Chloe doubted how long she would buy the sudden, unexplainable fit of depression bit she'd concoted on the car ride home last night. She knew by Monday any illusion Lana had of believing her would be totaled when she saw Clark in a similar state. 'At least I don't have to talk to her 'til then,' she thought, trying to be optimistic but failing miserably.
By now, the skies previous threat of rain had become iminent, causing the whole scene to become anxious and accelerate. Chloe fed off the vibe from the rest of crowd as a sudden chill ran up her spine. Something wasn't right here, she realized, there was something way off with this scene, as though it had been tampered with and everyone knew it. She'd been to accidents before, and they all had this gloomy air to them, but today it felt as though this were just an omen. Chloe had the strange, foreboding feeling that this wasn't an accident, and somehow, much worse was on the way. Shrugging it off, she turned her focus back to her digital camera, taking two more shots of Clarks twisted truck and a few of this weird depression in the ground she'd found. It had a familiar shape, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it remindered her off. No one else had noticed it, and Chloe hoped selfishly it might stay that way. Glancing to the side, she shoved the camera in her pocket and hurried off to the darkening fields.
Whatever was off in the air today, it was giving her the creeps. And she wanted to know why.
Though it had only been a hour since Clark had left home, it felt more like an eternity to him. Rarely did he ever feel so immensly exhausted and terrified as he did now. As soon as he had stepped over the threshold, he had edged by his mother into the living room and plopped down on the ancient blue plaid couch, staring into the blazing flame incased in the worn brick fireplace. It was mezmorizing, and Clark knew that he could spend hours there, just staring into its infinte energy and letting time wash over him. The room was comfortable and cozy, with its pictures on the mantel, books on the side tables, rich color scheme and tv ushered into a corner as though added as an afterthought by the inhabitants. The curtains framed the window, a portal to the outside world that seemed like an alternate reality from Clarks view on the couch. Out there, you could get hurt, be let down. Out there, pain was real, and even the best of people could unleash it on you like a blood thirsty pitbull. Nothing was sacred or safe, nothing certain. But here, this was a haven from reality. This was the opitamy of certainity where serenity was assured, and Clark wanted nothing more than to sink into all it offered and forget the outside world existed.
But his parents joined him shortly, prodding him from the luxary of his day dream. He heard their gentle, calm voices, asking what had happened. Clark knew had to answer and that letting it all out would help, but he wished that for a brief moment, he could just be a normal kid whose parents would rejoice over fact that he had saved lives rather than worry that someone might find out how.
So he told them, carefully choosing his words to down play the events. He answered their questions devoid of emotion, offering any suggestion he had as to an explaination along the way. Naturally, they comforted him and told him he was right; there was no way he could have just let those people die. But even they were overwhelmed by the blast that had thrown Clark, the dent in the ground, and not least of all by the sudden interest of a counciler no less. Over the last two days, life had become more complicated then any of them had ever thought possible. They were caught up a very dangerous game with everything at stake, and they couldn't afford to lose.
Thoughts? Feelings? Rant on.