Chapter 3: The Boy of Steel
Looking up in the blue sky, he could see the birds flying freely in the sky, no strings and no boundaries. Fourteen year old Clark Kent always wondered what it would be like to fly up away in the sky, through and above those clouds.
"Why are you here?" He heard the voice of his heart asking him his purpose in this world. Apparently the voice really belonged to his best friend Pete Ross.
"Are you here to play football or what?!" Pete repeated his question for the second time.
"Hey, Clark, focus!" Billy called out, snapping Clark out of his reverie.
"Huh?" Clark shook his head, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry, I'm here."
Pete, his best friend, patted him on the back with a grin. "You're always in your own world, Clark. But come on, let's give it our all today!"
The team lined up, ready to start the practice drill. Clark took his position, but his mind was still partly lost in the freedom of flight he had just daydreamed about. He couldn't shake the longing in his heart, the desire to experience something beyond the ordinary.
"Go long, Kent!" Billy shouted, throwing the ball towards Clark.
The football spiraled through the air, aimed right at Clark. Nothing seemed to exist when Clark's concentration was on the ball and nothing else. He was too involved to see Pete running towards him to tackle him.
"I'll get the..."Clark managed to say before colliding with Pete.
CRASH!
With a resounding thud, Clark and Pete collided with tremendous force. The impact sent Pete sprawling to the ground, clutching his arm in pain.
"Ahh! My arm!" Pete cried out, his face contorted with agony.
Clark's eyes widened in shock as he realized what had happened. He immediately rushed to Pete's side, panic filling his heart. "Pete, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you coming."
Pete was screaming painfully. Everybody was running towards them. Clark was too horrified to notice the ball punctured in his clutched hand.
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"You told me you were going to the library to study after school." Jonathan Kent asked his son with a plain expression on his face.
"I'm sorry, Pa." The only words he get out of his mouth.
Jonathan Kent's expression softened as he saw the distress in his son's eyes. "Accidents happen, Clark," he said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Clark's shoulder. "But you also need to be responsible and keep your promises."
"I know, Pa," Clark replied, his voice tinged with guilt. "I got distracted, and I should have gone to the library like I said I would."
Jonathan nodded, understanding that his son was still grappling with the weight of his powers and the desire for something more. "It's okay to have dreams and aspirations, Clark," he said. "But it's essential to balance them with your responsibilities and commitments."
"Pa, I keep wondering about my abilities," Clark admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm meant for something more, like I don't belong here."
Jonathan looked at his son, understanding the burden Clark carried. "Clark, you are special, there's no denying that," he said. "But you're also our son, and we love you just the way you are. Your abilities don't define you; it's the choices you make that matter."
"I just wish I knew what my purpose was," Clark said, his eyes searching for answers.
Jonathan smiled, a fatherly warmth in his gaze. "You'll figure it out, Clark. It takes time and experience to discover your true calling. But in the meantime, focus on being a good friend, a good student, and a responsible young man."
"I will, Pa," Clark promised, feeling a sense of comfort in his father's words.
With Pete now being attended to by the coach and the team, Jonathan and Clark walked back to their truck together. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink.
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"Don't be sorry Clark." Pete said with a huge grin on his face. His left hand was fractured pretty bad and would be in that freaking cast for a few weeks, the fact that seemed to do nothing to worry Pete than to make him even happier.
"This, my friend, is the greatest day ... of ... my ... life." Pete continued with a smug expression on his face as Girls swarmed around him, eager to sign his cast and show their concern. He reveled in the attention, flashing a wide grin as he basked in the temporary popularity.
As Clark walked through the crowded hallways, he tried his best not to bump into anyone, holding his books tightly against his chest. But he was shoved hard by one of the students, causing his books to scatter and fall to the floor.
"Oops, sorry," the student said sarcastically and walked away without a second glance.
Clark knelt down to pick up his books, feeling a bit embarrassed by the clumsy encounter. That's when he heard a soft and beautiful voice beside him.
"Need some help?" The voice belonged to Lana Lang, the most stunning girl in the school. She had red shoulder-length hair, captivating hazel eyes, and a fair, flawless complexion. Lana's beauty was so alluring that every boy in the school couldn't help but be captivated by her, but she had shown a particular interest in Clark, which surprised many.
Though Clark was not conventionally handsome, he had a certain charm that drew people in. His jet-black hair complemented his long face, which sported a slightly pointed nose. He had a lean and lanky frame that made him appear frail, but beneath that appearance lay superhuman strength and power. The most striking aspect of his appearance was his eyes—stunning blue orbs that seemed to carry the depth and vastness of the oceans on Earth.
Lana crouched down beside him, offering a warm smile as she helped gather his books. "You know, I called you last night, and your mom said you didn't want to talk to anyone. Not even me?"
Clark's cheeks reddened slightly, feeling a mix of guilt and awkwardness, "Yeah, sorry about that. I... I just needed some time alone."
Lana's understanding gaze softened. "It's okay, Clark. We all have our moments. But remember, I'm your friend, and you can talk to me about anything."
Before Clark could respond, Pete, with a smug grin on his face, interrupted, "Wanna sign my cast, Lana? It's the latest fashion accessory!"
Lana looked at Pete, her expression turning slightly skeptical. "No thanks, Pete," she replied with a blank look.
Pete shrugged, undeterred, and then turned his attention to Clark. "What about you, Clark? The doc says good vibes from friends make it heal faster. And what better friend do I have than you?"
As Clark gazed at Pete's cast, his mind wandered to a place of deep introspection. He could feel the faint buzzing sound resonating at the back of his eyes, a sensation he had come to recognize as a warning signal. Suddenly, his vision distorted, and he found himself in a surreal state of consciousness. The cast vanished from his sight, and layer by layer, the world around him dissipated, leaving behind a haunting image that sent shivers down his spine.
Before him stood a multitude of skeletons, each one representing a person around him. Clark could see the bones, the skulls, and the eerie emptiness that was once filled with life. Among the skeletal figures, one stood out with a broken arm, the same arm that now rested in the cast, talking to him.
Fear and horror took a tight grip on his body, and he couldn't move or look away from the disturbing sight. The realization of what he had inadvertently done to Pete overwhelmed him. His powers, which he had struggled to control, had caused harm to someone he cared about.
"Clark? You don't look so good. Are you okay?" Pete's voice broke through the haunting vision, bringing him back to the present. Clark blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure.
"Clark? Clark? You are white as a ghost. Are you alright?" Lana's voice chimed in with concern, but when he turned to look at her, another skeletal figure seemed to be standing right beside her.
Feeling a surge of panic, Clark couldn't bear to face his friends in this state. He needed to be alone, to process what had just happened. Without a word, he bolted from the hallway, running as fast as his powerful legs could carry him.
Clark sank to the floor, his heart racing with fear and confusion. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the disturbing images that still lingered in his mind. He didn't understand why he saw such things, why his powers sometimes manifested in unexpected and uncontrollable ways.
The sound of Lana's voice calling his name reached him like a distant echo, but he couldn't bring himself to respond. He felt utterly helpless and overwhelmed by the weight of his powers and their unintended consequences.
Lana approached him with genuine concern in her eyes. She could see the pain and distress etched on his face, and her heart went out to him. "Clark, look at me," she said softly, cupping his chin and gently raising his face to meet her gaze. Her touch was warm and comforting, grounding him in the present moment.
"It's not your fault," Lana reassured him. "You were just playing football like everyone else. You didn't do it intentionally. And considering the present situation, I don't think Pete minds at all." She tried to lighten the mood, hoping to ease some of Clark's guilt.
But Clark couldn't easily shake off the burden of what had happened. "You weren't there," he choked out, his voice trembling. "You didn't hear his bone snap, and you didn't hear his scream." The memory of that moment haunted him, and he felt the weight of responsibility crushing down on him.
Lana's expression softened with empathy. She could sense the depth of Clark's emotions and the turmoil he was going through. "I know it must have been terrifying," she said gently. "But accidents happen, Clark. You can't blame yourself for something that was unintentional."
Clark's striking blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. "And Dad," he continued, "He told me not to play with them. Even though he didn't say it, he knows it was my fault too. I could see it in his eyes."
As Lana listened to Clark, she recalled a vivid memory from their childhood, one that had left a lasting impression on both of them. She reached out and gently touched his hand, trying to comfort him. "You remember what you said the first time we found out how strong you were?" she asked softly, her voice carrying a sense of nostalgia.
Clark looked at Lana, his eyes clouded with sorrow, but a hint of recognition crossed his face as the memory resurfaced. "We were playing hide and seek in Ben Hubbard's field," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of melancholy and wonder. "I heard the thresher, but you didn't know it was coming right at you. Somehow I did, and I came to get you out of the way. The blades broke when they hit me, and we were both safe."
A small smile tugged at the corners of Lana's lips as she recalled the excitement and amazement in Clark's voice that day. "That's right," she said warmly, her eyes locking with his. "You said, 'I am stronger than steel. COOL!' And you know what, Clark? What you're capable of? It's still COOL. Your strength, your abilities—they don't define you. They're a part of you, but they don't make you any less human. You have a big heart, and that's what truly matters."
Clark's expression softened as Lana's words washed over him. For a moment, he felt a glimmer of hope, a reminder that he was more than his powers. But the weight of the accident he had caused was still heavy on his heart. "Not anymore. It's not cool," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I hurt Pete real bad. I am afraid to touch anyone, Lana. What if I hurt someone else?"
Lana could see the fear in his eyes, and she knew she had to reassure him. She took hold of his chin, gently lifting his face to meet her gaze. "Don't ever be afraid of that, Clark," she said firmly, her eyes locking with his.
In that moment of emotional intensity, as Lana's soft and delicate lips drew closer to Clark's, a surge of powerful sensations coursed through his body. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, and an overwhelming heat seemed to emanate from within him. He knew he had to act fast to prevent something uncontrollable from happening.
Before their lips could touch, Clark's instincts took over, and he pushed Lana away gently but urgently. Confusion and concern filled Lana's eyes as she stumbled backward, trying to comprehend Clark's sudden reaction.
"It's really hot in here," Clark managed to say, his voice trembling with emotion. He fell back on his butt, still feeling the intense heat in his eyes. The adrenaline rush was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and it left him feeling disoriented.
Lana rushed to his side, her worry evident in her expression. "Clark, your eyes," she gasped. As she spoke, Clark realized that something extraordinary was happening. His vision began to blur, and he could feel a burning sensation behind his eyes.
Suddenly, red beams of searing heat shot out from his eyes, like fiery lasers. The school banner in front of him was instantly engulfed in flames as the red beams hit it. The fire spread quickly, and the alarm bells started ringing, signaling the danger.
The fire alarm went off instantly soaking them in the sprinklers. They were still trying to understand what had just happened.
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"Dad, I didn't put fire in the school intentionally. It was just that fire shot out of my eyes," Clark answered, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness as he was driven from school to home by his father.
"So you're telling me that the whole school burnt down due to your so-called 'HEAT VISION'?" Jonathan said, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his concern was evident.
"Yes, Dad," Clark replied, hoping that his father would understand.
"Clark. Okay, son, I believe you. But from now on, be careful and try not to use your powers in front of others. I don't want my son to be taken away from me by those government people," Jonathan advised, his paternal instincts kicking in.
"Yes, Dad. I'll be careful. But can I ask you something?" Clark hesitated for a moment before continuing.
"Anything," Jonathan replied, giving his son his full attention.
"What's wrong with me?" Clark asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
Jonathan paused, searching for the right words. "Nothing is wrong with you, Clark. You are a very special boy," he said, trying to reassure his son, but his own worries were evident in his expression.
"But you seemed worried, Dad," Clark pressed on, wanting to understand.
Jonathan sighed and placed a reassuring hand on Clark's shoulder. "You're right, Clark. I am worried, not because there's something wrong with you, but because I know how extraordinary you are. Those powers you have, they're incredible, but they also come with great responsibility."
Clark looked down, processing his father's words. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Dad. I just want to be normal."
Jonathan smiled gently. "You are normal, Clark. You're our son, and nothing will ever change that. But you have to understand that you're not like other kids. Your strength, your heat vision, they set you apart. And that's not a bad thing. It's just something we need to handle with care."
"I don't want people to be afraid of me," Clark admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"We'll figure this out together, son," Jonathan said, pulling Clark into a warm embrace. "I promise you, no matter what, your mother and I will always be here for you."
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The atmosphere in the Kent household was tense as they gathered in the living room, discussing the recent fire accident at school. Clark could sense the worry in his parents' eyes, especially his mother Martha's. She seemed concerned about his safety, while Jonathan appeared more focused on the potential implications of Clark's powers.
"Mom, please relax. I can't get hurt. Remember? Anyway, the fire was my fault," Clark reassured Martha, trying to ease her concerns.
"What? What did you do now?" Martha asked, dropping her spoon in her plate. Fear formed creases on her forehead.
"I did not do it intentionally. I guess I got excited about something at school, and fire shot out of my eyes," Clark explained, feeling embarrassed about the real reason for the accident.
Jonathan chimed in, acknowledging the severity of the situation. "Clark, we love you more than anything in the world, but you need to get control over your powers as fast as possible. It's time to address this seriously."
"I think it's past time, Martha," Jonathan added, taking his empty plate to the kitchen. "Well past time."
Martha appeared hesitant, not wanting to share a certain secret with Clark. "No, he is too young for that," she said, concern written across her face.
"But he needs to know," Jonathan insisted, returning to the living room.
"I need to know what?" Clark asked, his curiosity winning over him.
Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances, grappling with the decision. Eventually, Jonathan prevailed in the argument. "Clark, come with me," he said firmly, gesturing for Clark to follow him to the barn.
As they walked through the barn's creaky door, Jonathan pointed to a large pile of rusted junk covered by a dirty tarp. Clark had seen it over all these years but never bothered about it much, often wondering why his dad didn't sell that old stuff.
"Clark, the day we found out that you were stronger than the blades of Ben Hubbard's thresher wasn't the first day we knew you were special. Neither was it the day you blew out more than just the candles on your birthday," Jonathan said, his tone serious and contemplative.
"Dad, it was my last birthday," Clark chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He found it amusing that he blew the whole cake into the front wall instead of just blowing out the candles.
"29th of February is not your birthday, Clark," Jonathan responded, his voice steady as he approached the old junk. "It was the day we found this." Jonathan removed the rug covering the mysterious object, revealing a small rocket or spaceship shining brightly in the light of the electric bulb.
Clark's eyes widened in amazement. "What is that?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the extraordinary sight before him.
"As far as we've been able to tell, it's a rocket," Jonathan explained. "But it's not just any rocket. It's the rocket that brought you here, to Earth."