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the previous parts are here.Lazy things.
In this bit--we make a move to the end of the matter. not super quickly, ya'll know how long winded I can be-- but we're turning the corner, sort of thing.
Clark felt hollow and sick, just…empty inside. He needed to talk to someone—someone who understood what it meant to be other, to look over the fence across that big gulf between you and the rest of the world, he thought.
He stood on the roadside and looked over the rickety fence that ran around the patch of land that was the Ross’s. Chickens scratched in the neatly swept front yard, dogs raced out to the fence barking madly at Clark. They recognized him, but it was their duty to bark, friend or foe.
The early fall sunlight made everything seem crystal clear, he could see every patch of mis-matched paint on the rough board walls of the little wooden house, he saw two of the windows panes patched with cardboard, and that the front door had no handle, and one of the wood panels were split and gapped.
A cat slithered out from under the porch, just stacked cinder blocks topped with a wooden platform, but morning glory curled around the simple wooden rails and there were pots of flowers sitting on it and on the ground near it—people who lived in that house cared. It showed in the neatly kept garden, the broom swept dirt yard. There was an outhouse, and it was covered with roses, there was a stall for the cow, and it was clean, and painted, there was a tire swing and the ground around it was clear of stones and as neatly swept as the yard.
People cared in that house, just like they cared in his.
Someone came out to the front porch, Clark could hear the dry wood creak and he looked up.
“Mr. Clark, what are you doing standing out there? Come on over here,” Bill Ross called from the porch.
Clark trotted up. How are you, Mr. Bill?”
“Fine Clark, just fine—you were at the funeral this morning? That young boy? I was sorry to hear that, “he said sadly.
Clark nodded, still to upset to speak about it. “Thank you—is Pete home yet?”
“Yes, he’s in the back working on that truck of mine--see if we can’t get a bit of life out of it yet,” he smiled.
Clark smiled back and waved as he trotted around the side of the house.
Pete was scowling at a dilapidated truck, so old that it was a miracle it lasted as long as it had.
His head snapped up and for a second he looked closed off and wary. “Oh, Clark! No wonder them fool dogs aren’t back here barking their asses off.” He smiled and it transformed his face, once again Clark admired how handsome he was and he couldn’t help but smile back at Pete.
He wiped his hand with a greasy rag and held it out to Clark, “Sorry about your friend there Clark. I heard he …died.”
Clark shook hands with Pete. “Do you have some time to talk Pete, I--I’m feeling kind of low right now.”
Pete nodded, “Sure.” They jumped up on the back of the truck and sat quietly until Clark managed to work up the nerve to talk. Pete sat in comfortable silence, kicking his feet and waiting for Clark to speak.
“Pete—what did you know about Kevin?”
“Nothing really Clark, ya’ll go your way and we go ours, you know…” Pete shrugged.
Clark did know and it made him sad. “Pete, do you think we’ll be friends forever?”
Pete looked a little leery. “Well, yeah, I guess so—much as we can.”
“Do you ever wish it were different?” Clark asked and looked at Pete.
Pete jerked his eys towards Clark—“what do you mean? Why you asking that? We’re just fine, we got no problems.” Pete looked almost angry, a look Clark really couldn’t recall seeing on Pete’s face before.
“I mean- I meant…” He took a deep breath, “You know about Kevin though, you know he was…he was a homosexual, you know that right?”
Pete looked at Clark uncertainly, “Yeah, that kind of thing gets around, I mean, was he really?”
Clark nodded, “Yeah, he was. He wasn’t the only one.” Pete’s forehead wrinkled and suddenly he held up his hand, “un-unh--” he started.
Clark blurted out, “I am too.”
Pete dropped his hand and stared at Clark. He shook his head. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear that.”
“Pete,” Clark started, and Pete jumped off the truck. He shook his head again. “Clark, the bible warns us about those things-- those things are things of the devil—they're of evil.”
Clark stood also, feeling his heart break. “But, but you must know how it feels--”
“I don’t know nothin’ of the sort--all I know is, I’m getting the fuck from out here—and so are you. You should go now, Clark, you talk to your pastor, maybe he can help you see the evil, maybe he can bring you back to Jesus. Go on now Clark—go home.” Pete backed away, hesitated, “You know I’m still your friend, Bible says hate the sin, not the sinner…”
“Yeah, thanks Pete,” Clark laughed bitterly, “Thanks for your friendship. Thanks for hating the sin but not me—oh by the way Pete, just so you know, the sin—it’s a part of me-- like breathing, like the color of your skin. It just is me.” He shrugged and walked away. It wasn’t until he couldn’t hear the dogs barking anymore that he let the tears fall.
It hurt so much he felt it like a ball of nails in his throat. Was this growing up—this awful pain? That’s what they say, put away childish things—and he was leaving everything of childhood behind, because he’d just lost the best piece of his childhood…Pete.
More soon! Stay tuned!
In this bit--we make a move to the end of the matter. not super quickly, ya'll know how long winded I can be-- but we're turning the corner, sort of thing.
Clark felt hollow and sick, just…empty inside. He needed to talk to someone—someone who understood what it meant to be other, to look over the fence across that big gulf between you and the rest of the world, he thought.
He stood on the roadside and looked over the rickety fence that ran around the patch of land that was the Ross’s. Chickens scratched in the neatly swept front yard, dogs raced out to the fence barking madly at Clark. They recognized him, but it was their duty to bark, friend or foe.
The early fall sunlight made everything seem crystal clear, he could see every patch of mis-matched paint on the rough board walls of the little wooden house, he saw two of the windows panes patched with cardboard, and that the front door had no handle, and one of the wood panels were split and gapped.
A cat slithered out from under the porch, just stacked cinder blocks topped with a wooden platform, but morning glory curled around the simple wooden rails and there were pots of flowers sitting on it and on the ground near it—people who lived in that house cared. It showed in the neatly kept garden, the broom swept dirt yard. There was an outhouse, and it was covered with roses, there was a stall for the cow, and it was clean, and painted, there was a tire swing and the ground around it was clear of stones and as neatly swept as the yard.
People cared in that house, just like they cared in his.
Someone came out to the front porch, Clark could hear the dry wood creak and he looked up.
“Mr. Clark, what are you doing standing out there? Come on over here,” Bill Ross called from the porch.
Clark trotted up. How are you, Mr. Bill?”
“Fine Clark, just fine—you were at the funeral this morning? That young boy? I was sorry to hear that, “he said sadly.
Clark nodded, still to upset to speak about it. “Thank you—is Pete home yet?”
“Yes, he’s in the back working on that truck of mine--see if we can’t get a bit of life out of it yet,” he smiled.
Clark smiled back and waved as he trotted around the side of the house.
Pete was scowling at a dilapidated truck, so old that it was a miracle it lasted as long as it had.
His head snapped up and for a second he looked closed off and wary. “Oh, Clark! No wonder them fool dogs aren’t back here barking their asses off.” He smiled and it transformed his face, once again Clark admired how handsome he was and he couldn’t help but smile back at Pete.
He wiped his hand with a greasy rag and held it out to Clark, “Sorry about your friend there Clark. I heard he …died.”
Clark shook hands with Pete. “Do you have some time to talk Pete, I--I’m feeling kind of low right now.”
Pete nodded, “Sure.” They jumped up on the back of the truck and sat quietly until Clark managed to work up the nerve to talk. Pete sat in comfortable silence, kicking his feet and waiting for Clark to speak.
“Pete—what did you know about Kevin?”
“Nothing really Clark, ya’ll go your way and we go ours, you know…” Pete shrugged.
Clark did know and it made him sad. “Pete, do you think we’ll be friends forever?”
Pete looked a little leery. “Well, yeah, I guess so—much as we can.”
“Do you ever wish it were different?” Clark asked and looked at Pete.
Pete jerked his eys towards Clark—“what do you mean? Why you asking that? We’re just fine, we got no problems.” Pete looked almost angry, a look Clark really couldn’t recall seeing on Pete’s face before.
“I mean- I meant…” He took a deep breath, “You know about Kevin though, you know he was…he was a homosexual, you know that right?”
Pete looked at Clark uncertainly, “Yeah, that kind of thing gets around, I mean, was he really?”
Clark nodded, “Yeah, he was. He wasn’t the only one.” Pete’s forehead wrinkled and suddenly he held up his hand, “un-unh--” he started.
Clark blurted out, “I am too.”
Pete dropped his hand and stared at Clark. He shook his head. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear that.”
“Pete,” Clark started, and Pete jumped off the truck. He shook his head again. “Clark, the bible warns us about those things-- those things are things of the devil—they're of evil.”
Clark stood also, feeling his heart break. “But, but you must know how it feels--”
“I don’t know nothin’ of the sort--all I know is, I’m getting the fuck from out here—and so are you. You should go now, Clark, you talk to your pastor, maybe he can help you see the evil, maybe he can bring you back to Jesus. Go on now Clark—go home.” Pete backed away, hesitated, “You know I’m still your friend, Bible says hate the sin, not the sinner…”
“Yeah, thanks Pete,” Clark laughed bitterly, “Thanks for your friendship. Thanks for hating the sin but not me—oh by the way Pete, just so you know, the sin—it’s a part of me-- like breathing, like the color of your skin. It just is me.” He shrugged and walked away. It wasn’t until he couldn’t hear the dogs barking anymore that he let the tears fall.
It hurt so much he felt it like a ball of nails in his throat. Was this growing up—this awful pain? That’s what they say, put away childish things—and he was leaving everything of childhood behind, because he’d just lost the best piece of his childhood…Pete.
More soon! Stay tuned!
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Didn't expect him to go and open to Pete. Really good, I loved it!
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*wahhhh*
*hugs*
:(
Re: *wahhhh*
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Everyone in Smallville are "good people" - god fearing, pious, trying to live a good life - but they are not now, nor really will they ever be all (see Smallville circa 2005) that open minded and tolerant. There is no way they can be really. As a collective they follow and accept the mores of the time. The boxes people are put in and the ways in which people can move through society are prescribed and there are not many - if any - people, regardless of there own place in society, out there who are going to buck that trend. I am so sorry for Clark that taking that "red pill" is leaving him so isolated. If you follow through with the rest of Clark's path - not personally but professionally, Clark as reporter - I can see him being an activist reporter, shining a light on the things that are wrong.
Clark still has one more thing to lose - I fear his parents' reaction. Heck, not even Jonathon's as much as Martha's. I so don't want Clark shunned, but I think that that is what is coming. I hope that before he tells them he is able to clear things up with Lex and/or Whitney because he is going to need someone to hold him while he cries (hey maybe killing Lionel will be cathartic). Clark's just going to have to create a new family and wait out society (he, along with maybe Lex (I don't know if Whitney's mutation extend life), is going to live a loooooong time). But for a while he is going to very sad for a while. *hugs*
Good section, very realistic.
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*goggle again*
*packs bag, sends telegram--arriving soon--got chocolate?*
Yes, that's the thing right there. And Pete is really sad about it, and he really thinks he's right.
I think the saddest part of all is that things have changed so little in such a long period of time. The surface might be different but the attitudes remain. Ah well.
Thanks so much. I really had a had time with this section.
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I think the saddest part of all is that things have changed so little in such a long period of time. The surface might be different but the attitudes remain. Ah well.
That's why I am so pleased with and proud of Clark. Because he could have chosen to act/react like he does now (Smallville 2005) kind of fair, mostly judgmental; kind of open minded, very quick to condemn - really striving to be "normal" and subsume his alien-ness, his difference, with quick adherence to the norms. 2005!Clark will kind of give you a chance until something butts up against what's right, by current society norms (more Lex then Alicia, but similarly), without really listen for an explanation.
I think this story is getting me to give the most detailed feedback I ever have. Thanks.
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*sniffle*
*kicks Bible*
Stupid thing causes more trouble...
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:)
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It's like Pete finding out about Clarky being alien all over again!
*PAIN!!*
(and I miss Pete!)
*sniffles*
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Poor boy.
Very plausible exchange between Clark and Pete. *sniff*
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Thank you. *hug*
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*hugs Clark*
*hugs you*
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Pete's anger here is very realistic. When people have learned to deal with/accept the crappy reality that exists in life, sometimes idealism can just totally piss them off.
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Thanks so much for your comment! And your icon is making me tear up...
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