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I have only just started writing this, so I have yet to think of a title, but I thought I'd post it to get some feedback. I have no idea where this is going, so bear with me?
Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville of any of its related characters.
Clark Kent stood staring out of the loft window, watching the sun go down. For once, he wasn’t interested in the beautiful colours, and he didn’t feel the sense of peace he usually felt at watching the red sun dip below the Kansas skyline, he just wanted a distraction from his grief, but it swirled around him like a torrent of water racing towards an evitable drop, threatening to pull him under at any moment, and consume him. The rock he used to cling to, was lying in a cold grave beside his ancestors. His father was in that grave because Clark Kent couldn’t save him.
His thoughts drifted back to that fateful night when Clark had returned home to find Jonathan Kent unconscious on the kitchen floor. He had suffered a massive heart attack, and had slipped into a coma. All Clark could do was get him to the hospital at an inhuman speed, but it wasn’t enough. Jonathan Kent had been unconscious for hours and the damage had already been done, he couldn’t be revived.
Clark thumped his fist on the window frame, and felt the barn shake in response. He had never felt more alien in his life. His mother was his only solace, but each time he looked into her red-rimmed eyes he wanted to cry, but he didn’t, he didn’t know how. Instead he hid himself away, avoiding his friends, speaking only to his mother; when she needed his whispered words of comfort, and let his grief and anger gnaw away at him, until he was ready to explode. If it wasn’t for his mother Clark would have left after the funeral, to find a lonely hideaway where he could release his fury.
He remembered the funeral like it was yesterday.
The light drizzle of rain seemed fitting for the day. A crowd of mourners had gathered in the cemetery beside the open grave. Clark watched with a cold, emotionless face as the casket was slowly lowered into the ground. He couldn’t afford to crack, if he let any emotion come to the surface he knew he would break down completely. His friends watched him silently from the other side of the grave, pity and concern filling their eyes, even Lex was showing some emotion, but Clark didn’t. He had to be strong; he had to be hard, as hard as stone, for his mother, who was clutching his arm with a shaking hand, for her sake he had to be.
*****
Martha Kent stood staring out of the kitchen window, watching the sun go down. She could never tire of the sight, and it brought back sweet memories of standing in the same spot with Jonathan doing exactly the same. She knew that Jonathan’s health had been weakening, a secret they had kept from Clark. Perhaps they had been wrong to do so, maybe his death wouldn’t have been such a shock, but Jonathan had been adamant that they prioritise Clark before everything, and he had said that what he didn’t know couldn’t harm him.
Martha suspected that Jonathan knew just how weak he had been before he died, a secret he had kept from Martha, and so it seemed that he had tried to protect her too. Martha felt the usual stirrings of anger that she always felt, when Jonathan tried to protect her, but she hastily shoved them back down, and tried to concentrate on thoughts of her son. Martha had grieved and was almost ready to face the world again, but Clark hadn’t, he hadn’t let himself cry. Her superhuman son seemed to think that he had to be as emotionally strong as he was physically, that he had to be strong for her, but in reality it was her who needed to be strong for him. Martha Kent was determined to help her son cry.
Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville of any of its related characters.
Clark Kent stood staring out of the loft window, watching the sun go down. For once, he wasn’t interested in the beautiful colours, and he didn’t feel the sense of peace he usually felt at watching the red sun dip below the Kansas skyline, he just wanted a distraction from his grief, but it swirled around him like a torrent of water racing towards an evitable drop, threatening to pull him under at any moment, and consume him. The rock he used to cling to, was lying in a cold grave beside his ancestors. His father was in that grave because Clark Kent couldn’t save him.
His thoughts drifted back to that fateful night when Clark had returned home to find Jonathan Kent unconscious on the kitchen floor. He had suffered a massive heart attack, and had slipped into a coma. All Clark could do was get him to the hospital at an inhuman speed, but it wasn’t enough. Jonathan Kent had been unconscious for hours and the damage had already been done, he couldn’t be revived.
Clark thumped his fist on the window frame, and felt the barn shake in response. He had never felt more alien in his life. His mother was his only solace, but each time he looked into her red-rimmed eyes he wanted to cry, but he didn’t, he didn’t know how. Instead he hid himself away, avoiding his friends, speaking only to his mother; when she needed his whispered words of comfort, and let his grief and anger gnaw away at him, until he was ready to explode. If it wasn’t for his mother Clark would have left after the funeral, to find a lonely hideaway where he could release his fury.
He remembered the funeral like it was yesterday.
The light drizzle of rain seemed fitting for the day. A crowd of mourners had gathered in the cemetery beside the open grave. Clark watched with a cold, emotionless face as the casket was slowly lowered into the ground. He couldn’t afford to crack, if he let any emotion come to the surface he knew he would break down completely. His friends watched him silently from the other side of the grave, pity and concern filling their eyes, even Lex was showing some emotion, but Clark didn’t. He had to be strong; he had to be hard, as hard as stone, for his mother, who was clutching his arm with a shaking hand, for her sake he had to be.
*****
Martha Kent stood staring out of the kitchen window, watching the sun go down. She could never tire of the sight, and it brought back sweet memories of standing in the same spot with Jonathan doing exactly the same. She knew that Jonathan’s health had been weakening, a secret they had kept from Clark. Perhaps they had been wrong to do so, maybe his death wouldn’t have been such a shock, but Jonathan had been adamant that they prioritise Clark before everything, and he had said that what he didn’t know couldn’t harm him.
Martha suspected that Jonathan knew just how weak he had been before he died, a secret he had kept from Martha, and so it seemed that he had tried to protect her too. Martha felt the usual stirrings of anger that she always felt, when Jonathan tried to protect her, but she hastily shoved them back down, and tried to concentrate on thoughts of her son. Martha had grieved and was almost ready to face the world again, but Clark hadn’t, he hadn’t let himself cry. Her superhuman son seemed to think that he had to be as emotionally strong as he was physically, that he had to be strong for her, but in reality it was her who needed to be strong for him. Martha Kent was determined to help her son cry.
But your writing is very good. I'll be interested to see where you take this, or where it takes you! 
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