sk8ter1000
05-10-2006, 02:51 PM
my first fan fic, so please be nice, and obviously i don't own any of the smallville people, anything outside of that is most likly mine
An ordinary day for Clark wasn't all full of excitment and adventure.
5:30 am, Clark rolled over and tried hard not to bust the alarm. His last three lay in the forgotten trash can by the door. Many of them with their plugs hanging out, and the alarms dented. He rolled over and looked at the blinking lights that flashed his time until he had to face the day. "two hours till the day begins." he muttered, quickly changing from his boxers to his work clothes, which consisted of clean boxers and jeans. Shirts were not an option, that would mean breaking into a sweat. When all the rest of your shirts are dirty or bloodstained, you pick and choose when you wear em'. He raced out the down the stairs and out the kitchen door. The crisp air wafted around him as he pulled open the doubled doors to the barn. A burst of chickens erupted and feathers flew as they clucked around him, scattering into the yard. They had kept the chickens in the barn for the night since the fence on the chicken coop was broken. One by one, he led the cows out to the pasture and shut the gate behind them. The bags of feed lay in a pile near the barn door. He allowed himself to think about Lana for a few seconds as he lifted the feed and ripped the bag open. What started as a simple shaking of the bag turned into a full swing. Not paying attention, he had covered the ground in chicken feed. "Second time this week." He wearily sped around trying to pick it up before going in for a broom. "Sometimes things are better done the old fashioned way son." Clark smiled, the only person who could make him feel decent at four in the morning was his good hearted father. "If we did it the old fashioned way, you would still be in bed." "And you would get your hide whipped every time you mouthed off like that," Jonathon patted his son on the back. He would have much rather done all the work himself, but he knew he couldn't. His heart wouldn't allow it, but it didn't mean he would allow himself to become lazy. "So what's on the 'to do' list pops?" "Pops? your making me feel old, Clark." "My sole intent for doing it." "Well then, you can march yourself over there and fix that fence mistur. Even for you that should take at least five minutes." "I bet you it won't." "Your on, why you do that, I'm going to..." Clark sped ahead, fixed the fence with the boards his father had bought, painted it, and was back before Jonathon had even picked up the milk pail. "Your getting slow in your old age, Dad," Clark grinned, hoping to make his father feel better. He knew his Dad was upset he couldn't do as much work as he usually did. "Don't worry about me, Clark. Don't you have studies or something productive you could do other then standing here talking to an old man like me?" Clark didn't answer, he was too busy staring at the sky. "Looks like rain." "Nonesense,son." "I've been watching those skies for months for a rain. Its bright and blue today. Go on, stop worrying and go study for something." "That will make me worry," Clark protested. "Clark, I said go on. Enough playing around." Partially hurt, Clark sped up the stairs to his loft. When Jonathon turned to apologize for his tone, Clark was already gone. "Darn kid is so sensitive," he told the chicken next to him. It clucked in reply before strutting away. Upstairs, Clark flopped on his bed, listening to his father shovel muck around. His strong fingers itched to do it for him, but human pride was easily wounded but not easily fixed. His homework was still spread out from the night before, he tried to finish it, but his exhaustion gave way to sleep filled trigonometry dreams. Nightmares really.
"Clark!" He jumped out, expecting to hear a scream for help or a cry of pain. "Breakfest time!" Although not the usual, it was still more comforting. "Coming!" he called back, grabbing his last clean shirt off the couch. He sped downstairs, skirting chickens on his way into the kitchen. "Thanksgiving can't come soon enough," Clark commented before stopping in his tracks. Pete smiled, "All these villians getting to you, man, its just me." Relieved, Clark smiled, hugging his best friend. Seemingly his only real one for the moment. "I'm leaving mom!" he called as he grabbed a piece of toast and a couple strips of bacon off the counter. "Bye sweetie," she called back, his laundry already in hand. She had noticed he was running low on shirts. "Hold on, Pete, I just have to get my homework." "Did you do it this time?" "Not quite, just hold on a second." Pete rolled his eyes. "Must be nice being a super speedy trig. student." Pete commented as Clark sped back with all of it finished. "Yeah, being everybodies enemy has its pluses," Clark replied gloomily. "Come on Clark, everyone loves you. Its not your fault you put our star quaterback in jail. They just didn't see him go pyscho. " "Try telling them that." The bus pulled up and the glares from all jocks and jock girlfriends, penetrated him. They seemed even hotter then his heat vision. Clark shot Pete an "i told you so" look, only to find his friend waving with a goofy grin at one of the hottest girls on the cheerleading team. "Sorry, Clark," he shrugged, still smiling as he took a seat next to her. Clark didn't even bother looking into her eyes, she only wanted Pete to make Clark mad. But who said Pete had to know that? Gloominess settled over him once again as he took a seat in the front next to a younger child. "Ew, get away from me," she shrieked, moving closer to the window. Clark sat as far on the edge of the seat as possible. Luckily, the way to school was short. When they got off, Clark looked around for Lana and Choloe, but they were nowhere to be seen.
"Hey, kid," Clark turned, alert, knowing the tone of that voice. Figures, they didn't have anyone else to pick on but little kids. "Let me go!" the little girl from the bus struggled to get free from their taunting grip. "You stupid, kid? What do you want us to do, l....l...l...," the oldest one fake stuttered, imitating the girl. "Cut it out, James, don't you have anything else to do?" Clark intervened, even though he felt like leaving the annoying little kid there to fend for herself. "I don't need your help!" she yelled, shrieking again as they knocked her thick glasses off. Clark ignored her, "Let her go." "Or you'll do what, farm boy?" Clark grabbed the girl, trying not to rip her shirt as he dragged her from their grip. "Give me the kid, go study or something." James continued to hold on. Clark grabbed the clutched hand and squeezed hard. The girl stopped screaming as she heard the boys bones grind. "Have a nice day," Clark ripped her from the wounded jocks grip. "Get back here, Kent, I wasn't finished." "Shut up James." Obscenities were shouted at Clark's back as he walked away, pulling the kid behind him. When they were a safe distance away, he let her go. "See, now I don't even have my glasses because of you!" she yelled with a pointed finger. Her face changed to a look of awe as Clark pulled out a set of thick rimmed glasses. "Th...th...th...ank y...ou," she stuttered as he handed them back. "Stay out of trouble, kid." He walked her inside, then raced off to trig. He was late again.
An ordinary day for Clark wasn't all full of excitment and adventure.
5:30 am, Clark rolled over and tried hard not to bust the alarm. His last three lay in the forgotten trash can by the door. Many of them with their plugs hanging out, and the alarms dented. He rolled over and looked at the blinking lights that flashed his time until he had to face the day. "two hours till the day begins." he muttered, quickly changing from his boxers to his work clothes, which consisted of clean boxers and jeans. Shirts were not an option, that would mean breaking into a sweat. When all the rest of your shirts are dirty or bloodstained, you pick and choose when you wear em'. He raced out the down the stairs and out the kitchen door. The crisp air wafted around him as he pulled open the doubled doors to the barn. A burst of chickens erupted and feathers flew as they clucked around him, scattering into the yard. They had kept the chickens in the barn for the night since the fence on the chicken coop was broken. One by one, he led the cows out to the pasture and shut the gate behind them. The bags of feed lay in a pile near the barn door. He allowed himself to think about Lana for a few seconds as he lifted the feed and ripped the bag open. What started as a simple shaking of the bag turned into a full swing. Not paying attention, he had covered the ground in chicken feed. "Second time this week." He wearily sped around trying to pick it up before going in for a broom. "Sometimes things are better done the old fashioned way son." Clark smiled, the only person who could make him feel decent at four in the morning was his good hearted father. "If we did it the old fashioned way, you would still be in bed." "And you would get your hide whipped every time you mouthed off like that," Jonathon patted his son on the back. He would have much rather done all the work himself, but he knew he couldn't. His heart wouldn't allow it, but it didn't mean he would allow himself to become lazy. "So what's on the 'to do' list pops?" "Pops? your making me feel old, Clark." "My sole intent for doing it." "Well then, you can march yourself over there and fix that fence mistur. Even for you that should take at least five minutes." "I bet you it won't." "Your on, why you do that, I'm going to..." Clark sped ahead, fixed the fence with the boards his father had bought, painted it, and was back before Jonathon had even picked up the milk pail. "Your getting slow in your old age, Dad," Clark grinned, hoping to make his father feel better. He knew his Dad was upset he couldn't do as much work as he usually did. "Don't worry about me, Clark. Don't you have studies or something productive you could do other then standing here talking to an old man like me?" Clark didn't answer, he was too busy staring at the sky. "Looks like rain." "Nonesense,son." "I've been watching those skies for months for a rain. Its bright and blue today. Go on, stop worrying and go study for something." "That will make me worry," Clark protested. "Clark, I said go on. Enough playing around." Partially hurt, Clark sped up the stairs to his loft. When Jonathon turned to apologize for his tone, Clark was already gone. "Darn kid is so sensitive," he told the chicken next to him. It clucked in reply before strutting away. Upstairs, Clark flopped on his bed, listening to his father shovel muck around. His strong fingers itched to do it for him, but human pride was easily wounded but not easily fixed. His homework was still spread out from the night before, he tried to finish it, but his exhaustion gave way to sleep filled trigonometry dreams. Nightmares really.
"Clark!" He jumped out, expecting to hear a scream for help or a cry of pain. "Breakfest time!" Although not the usual, it was still more comforting. "Coming!" he called back, grabbing his last clean shirt off the couch. He sped downstairs, skirting chickens on his way into the kitchen. "Thanksgiving can't come soon enough," Clark commented before stopping in his tracks. Pete smiled, "All these villians getting to you, man, its just me." Relieved, Clark smiled, hugging his best friend. Seemingly his only real one for the moment. "I'm leaving mom!" he called as he grabbed a piece of toast and a couple strips of bacon off the counter. "Bye sweetie," she called back, his laundry already in hand. She had noticed he was running low on shirts. "Hold on, Pete, I just have to get my homework." "Did you do it this time?" "Not quite, just hold on a second." Pete rolled his eyes. "Must be nice being a super speedy trig. student." Pete commented as Clark sped back with all of it finished. "Yeah, being everybodies enemy has its pluses," Clark replied gloomily. "Come on Clark, everyone loves you. Its not your fault you put our star quaterback in jail. They just didn't see him go pyscho. " "Try telling them that." The bus pulled up and the glares from all jocks and jock girlfriends, penetrated him. They seemed even hotter then his heat vision. Clark shot Pete an "i told you so" look, only to find his friend waving with a goofy grin at one of the hottest girls on the cheerleading team. "Sorry, Clark," he shrugged, still smiling as he took a seat next to her. Clark didn't even bother looking into her eyes, she only wanted Pete to make Clark mad. But who said Pete had to know that? Gloominess settled over him once again as he took a seat in the front next to a younger child. "Ew, get away from me," she shrieked, moving closer to the window. Clark sat as far on the edge of the seat as possible. Luckily, the way to school was short. When they got off, Clark looked around for Lana and Choloe, but they were nowhere to be seen.
"Hey, kid," Clark turned, alert, knowing the tone of that voice. Figures, they didn't have anyone else to pick on but little kids. "Let me go!" the little girl from the bus struggled to get free from their taunting grip. "You stupid, kid? What do you want us to do, l....l...l...," the oldest one fake stuttered, imitating the girl. "Cut it out, James, don't you have anything else to do?" Clark intervened, even though he felt like leaving the annoying little kid there to fend for herself. "I don't need your help!" she yelled, shrieking again as they knocked her thick glasses off. Clark ignored her, "Let her go." "Or you'll do what, farm boy?" Clark grabbed the girl, trying not to rip her shirt as he dragged her from their grip. "Give me the kid, go study or something." James continued to hold on. Clark grabbed the clutched hand and squeezed hard. The girl stopped screaming as she heard the boys bones grind. "Have a nice day," Clark ripped her from the wounded jocks grip. "Get back here, Kent, I wasn't finished." "Shut up James." Obscenities were shouted at Clark's back as he walked away, pulling the kid behind him. When they were a safe distance away, he let her go. "See, now I don't even have my glasses because of you!" she yelled with a pointed finger. Her face changed to a look of awe as Clark pulled out a set of thick rimmed glasses. "Th...th...th...ank y...ou," she stuttered as he handed them back. "Stay out of trouble, kid." He walked her inside, then raced off to trig. He was late again.