Tick-tock...
Late nighttime flowed the skies of Smallville as dark clouds over took the atmosphere, stars glittering in the heavens while far down in the urban and inside a yellow farmhouse three people sat fast asleep in the living room of the dwelling. The husband, father and man of the house sat napping in a rocking chair and the mother and wife in a hard kitchen seat while the extra person, none other then the guest, lay asleep on the floor against the sofa. No lights were turned on in the area, leaving the illumination from the moon outside to shine through the window that was open all the way, so the curtains could flutter in the air from the wind and chills to occasionally come across someone in the room. Because of the fast slumber they slept in neither Jonathan, Martha or Pete was aware of what was going on around them or the ticking of the chronometer in the room counting each second that went by.
Tick-tock...
Lying on the couch in the living room was a fairly conscious Clark, his head leaning to the right side of the sofa and his cheek resting on the pillow that was under his head as heavy, painful breathes escaped his lips. Pain cursed through his whole body, not one inch not in anguish as his expression on his alert face was crinkled up, showing the agony he felt while sweat beams were forming on his forehead. All he heard while he tried to deal with the hurting in his body was the noise from the clock in the room too. He didn't know what room he was in, but he did know that the sound of the tick-tocking was driving him crazy, each cling telling him that a second had gone by.
He didn't know what was going on. He hardly even remembered what had happened. Clark did know one thing was for sure though, and that was the last words he heard from his father. He said he loved him, and for him to hang in there. And at the moment, it was the only thing keeping him from just giving up and allowing darkness to slowly creep back over his mind.
Tick-tock...
The torture was too much for him, it was all new and too strong for someone who hadn't even had a cold in his life to deal with. His head was pounding; feeling like someone was inside his skull and hitting a hammer against his brain over and over again until he felt like he couldn't take it anymore. And compared to what else he was experiencing, that was nothing. His legs were as sore as ever, almost like he had recently ran a million miles without his powers and his arms were heavy and tender. His lungs burned with fire every time take he inhaled and exploded with twinge every time he exhaled. But most of all, his chest and stomach was in the most torment. It felt as if someone had just stabbed him, stuck their hands inside the wound and ripped his skin apart like it was nothing but a piece of paper. It was aching, raw, stinging, and nauseating all together. Pain that he couldn't even explain. Pain that he even couldn't handle.
Besides the racket of the grandfather clock, silence roamed around him, a thick silence that made him wonder if anyone was in the room or if he was just all alone. Clark didn't know anything at the moment but the anguish that was seizing through his whole body. He tried to moan out in pain, however, he couldn't even open his eyes, more less talk. It left him there closing his eyes tightly and listening to the only sound that he could pay attention too.
Tick-tock...
He started to wonder if that sound meant anything at all. It couldn't simply be there to annoy him while he was in a state of half consciousness. No, if nighttime was there and no one was around him to tell him if he was going to be all right, he had to listen to the clock and wonder what it was trying to tell him. He tried, but the only thing he could actually think about was either the throbbing that was cursing through his chest or the fact that he was unaided wanting to cry out for his parents. Where were they? Did they even care about him? Did they even worry that he was dying or in pain that he couldn't handle? Or were his father's words he said in a recent fight true?
Clark's face slowly unwrapped from the painful expression as he sucked in his trembling lips at the thought of Jonathan just sitting there, laughing as he died. He said he didn't care and here he was; awake for once with no one beside him. During that moment, the boy started to wonder if he was going to have to die alone.
Tick-tock...
Slowly, he rolled his head back over to the other side of the pillow and stuffed his nose inside the cushion, chewing on his bottom lip while trying his hardest to think of something else that didn't make him want to cry. What happened was the perfect thought to deliberate on too. Clark hardly remembered anything after he got shot this morning or however long ago it was. He didn't know what time it was or even what day it was, all he knew was that darkness had fell over his mind and now suddenly he woke up on some kind of divan in pure agony.
He did remember however seeing a man in the barn lurk over to him and point a gun to his body. After that, the last thing he heard was a loud bang of a gunshot and everything around him went dark. Yes, the pain and affliction was clear when his father tried to get the bullet out, but that was something he wanted to forget. Never had he experienced that kind of torture before and thinking about it didn't help. But after looking at his father's determined face one more time everything went dark around him and that was the last thing his mind recalled before he woke up where he was now, begging for his parents and for the pain to leave.
Tick-tock...
Allowing his thoughts to slowly drift away, Clark relaxed through the throbbing in his stomach as he leaned his head into the soft, comfortable pillow and rapidly noticed that his whole body was shaking. He was cold. Bone cold. Only a thin blanket covered him and it obviously wasn't enough. Chills shot down his spine and his lips quivered in draftiness as he tried to clutch the mantle over him nevertheless having trouble even picking up his hand to do so. All he could do was lay there in pain, coldness and misery.
How long was he going to do have to do this? Lay hoping for something that might never happen? How long was he going to have to wonder if his father hated him while listening to the sound of the clock tick in his ears and slowly drive him to insanity? Clark didn't know any answers to his questions and longed for them deeply. All he wanted was to be embraced by someone and hear that everything was going to be all right, because honestly, he didn't think he could handle knowing that it wasn't anymore. It was too hard to deal with.
Tick-tock...
He couldn't move. He couldn't talk, whisper, groan or even breathe right. All he could do was lay there in pure, utter suffering. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it, but whatever it was it must've been a pretty bad action with the pain he was feeling. He wanted to think about who had shot him and what was going to happen next, but he could only concentrate on the ache running through every part of his body. It was all he could do.
So Clark lay there, still, listening to the sound of the clock slowly tick his life away. Because that's what it was doing. Each sound showed him how much more time he was going to have left breathing and he prayed to God that the timepiece didn't stop because of that.
Tick tock.
To be Continued...