I created nothing but Rex and Mr. Witmore. I also make no money from this, so please enjoy for free. :)

Clark slowly pushed the windowsill up. The sound it made was loud in his ears, but he could also hear (and see) the cats in the barn were paying it no mind if they heard it at all. He squeezed through the opening and then slid the pane down behind him just as slowly and softly as he'd slid it up. He tip-toed across the slanting roof and hopped over the side.

As he accelerated toward the frozen earth, he bit his bottom lip. Since his mind was as fast as his feet, it felt like a painfully long drop. I'm gonna land with a thud! Oh man, this landing will be loud! I'm going too fast! SLOW DOWN!

He slowed. He slowed way more than possible. Then he landed softer than a cat. Clark's eyes went wide. He frowned.

He … meant to do that. So … why should he be upset? The practical voice in his head, which sounded like his Pa, told him to be happy. He'd succeeded. His scientific mind, which sounded like a textbook with a voice, told him his mass should have kept accelerating toward the earth and made contact with the frozen earth with a "lot" more force. What he'd just done was impossible.

Clark heard some shuffling from the "herd" beyond the barn. He looked that way, shrugged, and rose from his crouch. Then he headed to the barn. He slid the curtain aside he'd hung just beyond the cracked open door. A layer of frost on it crackled before he went in. He swallowed a sigh.

Once inside, he climbed the ladder. The boards of the hayloft floor would definitely creak if he put all his weight on them suddenly with a jump. Or maybe not, considering his landing outside. He shook his head on reaching the top of the ladder. This had only taken seconds longer.

He then did something that would absolutely terrify his mother, and he wouldn't recommend to anyone. He hung off the edge of the hayloft to drop the hay bales more gently to the ground. Once all the bales the herd should eat that day were on the floor, he lightly sped down the ladder, carried them out, and swung them over the fence. There, he unrolled them for the gathering cows. After that, he started cleaning out their trough trying to more gently and slowly break up the ice than he used to. Just as slowly and gently, he turned the trough on its side to brush the ice, flotsam, and jetsam out onto the ground. Then, he put the trough quietly back under the pump. Thankfully, the water came gushing out with about the loudest sound he'd dared make yet. He got the cattle their feed and checked them over before the inevitable happened.

SCREEEEECH-BAM!

Woof! Woof-woof! Yipe!

"CLARK! Your dog is barking for ya!"

"I hear him pa!"

Clark raced over to his pa and took the pail of hot water from his hands. "I got it." Then he raced back to the cattle's trough and poured the contents of the pail in to heat up their water some. Then he left their shed, vaulted over the fence, and handed the pail back to his pa, before speeding to the door of the tornado shelter. "Okay, Rex! Quiet down! I'm here!"

The barking tended to remind his parents of the bill caring for the dog had racked up, not to mention if they weren't already awake when it started, the noise got them up in a hurry. Since Rex got to trust them, which hadn't taken as long as one might expect considering what could be figured out about his past, he didn't hesitate to make sound for attention.

Clark opened the door. Rex was right there panting and looking up at him with an open-mouthed doggy grin. Clark smiled back. He took the twine from his pocket and made a loop around the loose, but not too loose circle of the same string already handing around the furry neck.

Then he took Rex on his morning walk. He made it back in time to tie him to a metal hook on a stake stuck into the ground and cleaned out the chicken waterers his pa put out before filling them while Rex watched. Clark grimaced with guilt. Still, "livestock first" as his pa said. Then it was Rex's turn.

Clark took off his gloves as he filled the bowls in the tornado shelter and brought Rex back into it. He also gave him the pill the Vet said he needed every morning in a tasty, fatty, meaty morsel. Rex wolfed it down. Then Clark gave him a scratch saying, "Okay Rex, I'll be back after school to take you out again."

His pa spoke behind him. "Wait, Clark."

Clark turned in his crouch before the dog to give his pa a questioning look. Johnathan Kent gave his son a slight smile. "Rex will have to wait a little longer after you're done with school for the day."

Clark's shoulders fell, but his pa's grin grew. "Cause Mr. Witmore at the store told your ma that due to his trick knee, he's looking for help. All that has to be done for him is the cleaning of the floors and restocking of the shelves, especially the heavier items."

"Really?"

His pa nodded. "That's right. You try to get that job, and I'll try to take Rex out not only at noon, but at three for ya as well."

"Thanks Pa!"

. . .

Mr. Witmore stared dubiously at the Kent boy. "I don't know Clark. I know you're trustworthy, diligent, and nice enough, but … You sure you can handle this work?"

The scrawny teenager in black horn-rimmed glasses grinned back. "I'm sure sir."

"But you're … more brains than brawn, aren't ya?' I ain't looking for a researcher, accountant, or even a cashier." The man in his sixties with iron-gray hair wearing his wire-rimmed glasses swept his gaze up and down the farm boy's form. "His" arms and legs had more muscle even at his age. How did Mrs. Kent's cooking not put any meat on her boy? He'd eaten her food at potlucks and funerals before. He couldn't believe they starved him at the Kent's. Maybe it was just his metabolism?

Clark spoke up again still with that confident grin. "I'm stronger than I look."

"Uh-huh … There's a lot of floor in here to mop, Clark. Takes me hours after closing. My aching knee afterwards is why I need help."

"I'll get it done for you, Mr. Witmore. I've helped pa at home do more!"

"Uh-huh, and I imagine you'll have to keep that up even after getting this job. And you got a new sick dog at home. And your homework! I hear you're trying to graduate this year with honors! And then go to college!"

Clark's grin became a frown. He leaned forward in the chair he was sitting down in behind the register at Smallville's only grocery store. "Trust me, Mr. Witmore. I can do this. I'm not being naive or optimistic. I know what I can do." His grin came back with even more warmth and confidence.

Mr. Witmore shook his head. "You're kind of a favorite around here, Clark. I get ya exhausted or upset, or your grades go down, and all my customers will have something to say about it."

Clark's face and shoulders fell. "Please, Mr. Witmore, Just give me one night to prove myself."

"Night? I figured you'd do your shift between school and supper on your way home."

"No, I … was gonna come by before morning chores, while it's closed, so I don't get in anyone's way. Is that alright?"

"When will you sleep, Clark? And that's an awful lot of gas to drive up here and back right before hopping on the schoolbus isn't it? It'll eat into your wages."

"I can figure all that out, Mr. Witmore. Please! Just give me a chance."

Mr. Witmore sighed. "Alright Clark, But I don't want any of the church ladies mad at me! If ya start feeling like you've bitten off more than you can chew, you let me know, and I'll let you go. Then I'll have to find someone else to spare my knee."

"You won't regret this Mr. Witmore! Thank you!"

"I'm much more afraid 'you'll' regret this Clark!"

. . .

"So you got the job, but you're going to try to do it at night?'

Clark stared at his pa with wide eyes over the supper table. "I can do it Pa. Are you worried I'll wake you or Rex on my way out?"

"How will you get there? Drive?"

"I can run."

His Ma's voice rose from his right elbow. "Clark!"

Clark flinched before turning to her. "I can do it! I'll be fine!"

His pa's voice made him turn to him again. "And how will that look, Son?"

Clark stammered. "I … maybe …"

"If someone happens to go by and see ya there without the truck parked outside, in the middle of winter, what will go through their heads? I know you can get there faster on foot, and you'd be fine, but maybe you won't be if rumors start."

Clark looked down at the table and sighed. "Maybe … maybe I can push the truck there with me? I think I can still do that more cheaply and quickly than driving."

Both his parents went silent. Then his pa sighed. "I guess you can try that."

Clark gave another sigh before shoveling into his food again.

. . .

Close to 2 AM Clark lifted his bedroom windowpane even more slowly and quietly than before with the key to the back door of the grocery store in his pocket. He slipped through, shut it even more quietly still and crept down the roof. Not caring much how, he dropped as slowly and silently as he had last morning and headed for the truck. He pushed it backwards onto the road while listening and watching for traffic. He saw none. Then he opened the driver door and turned on the headlights so it wouldn't look "too weird" if anyone did see it, and began to push the truck over the road at quite a clip before stopping.

Uh-oh …

His footprints. "That" would look weird. And the forecast wasn't calling for more snow till this afternoon.

Maybe … I can say I didn't want to wake Ma or Pa or Rex with the engine. Okay then, but … what about once I'm several miles out?

Clark frowned at his feet. Maybe …

He took a step and set it down gently using his x-ray vision to see how much he made a dent in the snow. Not much of one. He took another step with the same results. A few more, and then several more going far faster. The faster he went, the less his feet left an imprint. How little he even had to set his feet down to race forward was … ridiculous … against the laws of physics he'd learned. At the moment though, he didn't care much. Eventually, the truck began going forward without him applying pressure due to built up momentum and a slight sloping of the road. Clark mentally shrugged. It was a straight shot for a while anyway. He didn't feel any pain in his gloved hands or arms from holding on and being pulled forward. He glanced around. No other vehicles were in his sights except parked ones near houses for dozens upon dozens of miles in every direction.

He let the friction of the road itself slow the truck till it came to a section pretty clear of snow. There, it stopped completely. Clark's eyes widened and heart almost froze. Why … am I … still … floating?

Clark let go of the truck, lifted his shaking hands, and glanced at them. Then he looked to the ground. His heart started beating in excitement along with fear. Um … can I go higher?

He did. Once several feet in the air, he straightened up and stared up at the stars. His warm breath obscured their brightness for a moment. He glanced around at the horizons. No one was up and at em to see him yet, thank God …

So, he just had to deal with this revelation out here on his own, or … just with God. Should he be terrified, worried, grateful? What was happening to him?

I can fly! How? How is this possible? What should I do about this? Should I study it a bit more? I …

He turned in midair and noticed the dark, long, low building of Mr. Witmore's grocery store in the distance. He suddenly felt the key in his back pocket. His open mouth snapped shut and lips pressed together. First things first.

What do you think?

God bless

ScribeofHeroes