For those few of you who look at this and have it in your library, I hope you can give your feedback an this story. Would you be interested in reading it? 4,500+ word chapter.
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A New Beginning
Walking out of the towering glass building of our company, my coworkers and I continue with a long-going debate that has yet to end for days while walking towards our usual bus stop. The sun has started its descent, casting a golden hue over the bustling city streets, and the air is filled with the cacophony of distant car horns and murmured conversations. Los Angeles, with its sprawling skyline and constant buzz of activity, forms the backdrop to our lively exchange.
"I'm telling you guys, the best Superman is and will always be, none other than Henry Cavill!" Jack exclaims, his voice echoing with confidence and a hint of exasperation. His dark hair ruffles in the evening breeze as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder. The determination in his eyes is unwavering, a reflection of his steadfast belief in Cavill's portrayal.
Steve, never one to back down from a debate, immediately retorts, "WWWRRROONNNGGG as always, Jack. How many times do I have to say it for you to finally get it right? Tyler Hoechlin is the best." He punctuates his point by adjusting his glasses, catching the fading light. Henry, walking beside him, nods in vigorous agreement, adding, "That's right!" Steve's glasses glint in the dying light, and Henry's fervent nodding only adds fuel to the fire of their argument.
Unable to stand their ignorance any longer, I step in, my voice carrying a note of finality. "You both are wrong. Tom Welling is THE Superman." The conviction in my voice draws curious glances from a few passersby, but I stand firm, my arms crossed. The firmness in my stance is matched only by the unwavering belief in my statement. The heat of the debate and the evening sun's warmth combine to create a charged atmosphere.
Jessica, who had been quietly listening, immediately jumped to my side. "Yeah, Clark's right, he was the best," she agrees, her tone nostalgic. "I just wish we got to see more of him, especially in the suit." Her eyes glimmer with the memory of countless episodes watched late into the night. The wistfulness in her voice is unmistakable, and her eyes, reflecting the golden hue of the sunset, shine with memories of evenings spent engrossed in "Smallville."
Jack shakes his head, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "Henry Cavill brought a depth to the character that no one else has managed. He made Superman feel real, vulnerable even. You can't deny his performance in 'Man of Steel.'" His voice softens as he speaks of Cavill, his admiration palpable.
Steve waves off Jack's comment with a dismissive hand. "Cavill's Superman is too brooding. Tyler Hoechlin, on the other hand, captures the essence of Superman's optimism and hope. His portrayal is what Superman is all about – inspiring people." Steve's passion is evident, his words filled with the kind of enthusiasm that only a true fan can muster.
Henry chimes in, "Exactly! And Hoechlin's chemistry with Lois Lane? Unmatched! He brings a warmth to the character that's just… perfect." Henry's agreement with Steve is as fervent as his earlier nodding, their solidarity unbreakable.
I roll my eyes, countering, "Tom Welling gave us a journey. We saw him grow from a teenager grappling with his powers to the hero we all know and love. He brought a human side to Superman that was both relatable and aspirational." My words are filled with a sense of nostalgia, remembering the countless episodes that detailed Clark Kent's journey.
Jessica nods enthusiastically. "And the 'Smallville' storyline was so rich! It wasn't just about Superman, but about Clark Kent's struggle with his identity. That depth is what made him the best." Her agreement bolsters my argument, and I can see the determination in her eyes matching my own.
We reach the crosswalk and wait for the light to change, our debate still in full swing. The evening crowd flows around us, but we remain an island of animated conversation. The city's pulse is palpable, the hum of activity surrounding us as we continue our passionate exchange.
Grinning mischievously, I say, "You know, if I were Superman, especially the Smallville version, I'd outclass the normal Superman in no time. I'd get stronger faster, and let's face it, I'd get all the girls too. If anyone deserves a harem, it should be Superman, right?" My playful tone is met with a chorus of laughter, the absurdity of my statement bringing a lighthearted twist to our debate.
Jack laughs, shaking his head. "Oh sure, Clark, just because you share a name with Clark Kent doesn't mean you'd be a better Superman. But I'll give you this – you'd definitely be the most entertaining one." His laughter is infectious, and soon we're all smiling, the intensity of our debate giving way to camaraderie.
Henry joins in, chuckling, "Yeah, Clark, you'd have every girl in Metropolis swooning. But don't forget Superman's got responsibilities. It's not all about the powers and the girls." Henry's reminder brings a touch of seriousness to our banter, a nod to the true essence of the superhero we all admire.
Steve smirks, adding, "Plus, you'd have to deal with all the villains too. Think you could handle Lex Luthor, Clark?" His smirk is challenging but playful.
Jessica giggles, "I can just imagine it. Clark, the super-casanova, saves the world and charms every lady he meets. But remember, even Superman has to stay humble." Her laughter is melodic, a sweet sound that blends with the city's evening chorus.
Clark shrugs, a playful grin on his face. "Hey, a guy can dream, right? But seriously, being Superman would be about more than just the powers. It's about what you do with them." My grin is wide, but my words carry a note of sincerity, a nod to the responsibilities that come with great power.
The light changes, and we start crossing the street, our debate shifting seamlessly from the best Superman to what we'd do if we were in his red boots. The conversation is lively, filled with laughter and good-natured ribbing, making the evening commute a little more enjoyable. The warmth of our camaraderie contrasts with the cooling evening air, creating a perfect balance.
As we step off the curb, a sleek, black Mercedes-Benz S-Class comes hurtling around the corner without pausing. The driver, clearly in a hurry, doesn't see us until it's too late. In a split second, my instincts kick in and I shove Jessica out of the car's path with all my might, sending her sprawling safely onto the sidewalk.
The car slams into me with a sickening thud, throwing me several feet before I crumple to the ground. Time stands still as I see my friends rush to my side, the driver finally screeching to a halt. The city's noise fades into the background, replaced by the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears.
Jack is the first to reach me, his face pale with shock. Steve and Henry follow closely, their eyes wide with horror. Jessica, tears streaming down her face, kneels beside me, her hands trembling. The urgency in their movements contrasts sharply with the stillness of the moment, the gravity of the situation settling in.
Jack's usually confident demeanor crumbles, his voice cracking as he calls out, "Clark, no, stay with us!" His hands hover uncertainly, as if afraid to touch me, afraid to confirm the worst.
Steve's expression, usually so sure and argumentative, is now one of utter helplessness. "Someone call an ambulance!" he yells, his voice carrying an edge of panic that is foreign to him.
Henry's earlier enthusiasm is gone, replaced by a grim determination as he fumbles for his phone to dial emergency services. "It's going to be okay, Clark. Just hang in there," he says, more to reassure himself than anyone else.
Jessica's tears flow freely as she gently touches my face, her fingers brushing away a stray lock of hair. "Clark, please," she whispers, her voice a mixture of hope and despair. The connection we shared, the quiet moments of flirtation and camaraderie, now hang heavily in the air, unspoken yet deeply felt.
As the distant wail of sirens grows closer, the reality of my actions begins to sink in. I saved Jessica, but at what cost? The strength I had jokingly claimed, the bravery of a fictional hero, now feels all too real, and all too fleeting.
The medics arrive in a flurry of activity, their practiced efficiency a stark contrast to the chaotic emotions surrounding us. They work swiftly, but the somber expressions on their faces speak volumes. Jessica clings to my hand, her grip tightening as they attempt to move her aside. "Please, let me stay," she pleads, her voice breaking.
Clark's eyes flutter open for a brief moment, a faint smile on his lips. "Guess I won't be outclassing Superman after all," he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
In those final moments, surrounded by my friends and the bustling city that had been our playground and battlefield, a sense of peace washed over me. I had always admired Superman for his strength, and his heroism, but in the end, it was his humanity that I had truly aspired to. And in this one act, I had found it within myself.
The golden light of the setting sun fades into the deep blues and purples of twilight, casting a serene glow over the city. My friends' faces blur, their voices a distant echo as I close my eyes for the last time, knowing that in my final moments, I had lived up to the name Clark Kent. And then, with a final, shuddering breath, he's gone.
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When Clark's consciousness returned, he found himself in an endless expanse of gray, a void stretching infinitely in all directions without any discernible landmarks or features. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos and noise of his last moments. As he struggled to make sense of his surroundings, he noticed a presence nearby—a being radiating an aura that defied easy description. This being exuded a strange mixture of friendliness and an underlying sense of dread and danger, a paradox that sent shivers down Clark's spine.
The being, who Clark could only guess was God, spoke first. "Welcome," the entity said, its voice echoing with a weight that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the space. "I have come to offer you a chance to fulfill your boast. You will become Superman in your new life, but you must surpass the original."
Clark's brow furrowed, confusion and curiosity mingling on his face. "Why? Why give me this chance?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, filled with both hope and apprehension.
The entity's gaze was inscrutable, filled with a blend of amusement and an unfathomable depth. "Because I sought entertainment. Your last act of bravery elevated your karma enough to choose between Heaven and normal reincarnation. You still have the option to choose another path, should you wish."
Clark shook his head vehemently, determination solidifying within him. "No. I want to go to the Smallville/DC world. But I beg of you, grant me the ability to adapt to, and eventually become immune to, kryptonite—like the Superman from the Elseworlds series, Kingdom Come. I want this power to be based not only on the amount of solar energy I absorb but also on how much time I spend exposed to kryptonite. Please, make it so."
The being's expression softened, a hint of a smile playing at its lips. "Very well. You shall have this gift. However, you will have to build up your resistance to every kind of kryptonite on your own. It will be a journey of endurance and willpower."
Clark, feeling a surge of hope, continued. "And my memories? I want them back, starting from when I was two years old, so I can begin my plans immediately upon reaching Earth."
God nodded, a glint of something like approval in its eyes. "Your memories will return to you at two years old, giving you the foundation you need to shape your destiny. But remember, the path ahead will be fraught with challenges and choices. Your journey will be yours to navigate, and you must learn to wield your powers wisely."
As the entity's form began to shimmer and fade, Clark felt a rush of energy, a blending of anticipation and resolve. With each passing moment in the void, he felt a transformation taking place within him—a melding of his old self with the potential of what he could become. He was no longer just Clark; he was becoming something more, something extraordinary. The void around him began to dissolve, and with a final, resonant word from the being, "Go forth, Superman," Clark was thrust into the embrace of the cosmos.
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Clark woke up in a soft bed, nestled between two people in a large, slightly old room that resembled a farmhouse. The bed, spacious and comfy, enveloped him in a warm, cozy blanket. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the aged curtains, he noticed the woman beside him. She had an average height and a petite frame, her attractive face framed by ginger-red hair that caught the faint light beautifully. On his other side lay a man, average-looking with short, cropped dark blond hair and a clean-shaven face, his features relaxed in peaceful slumber.
With a start, Clark realized his own physical transformation—he was now as small as a toddler. This startling discovery led his mind to race about what his future might hold in this strange yet oddly familiar world. He tried to recall details from the series he was a fan of, but his memories were jumbled, a confusing mix of clear moments and vague impressions. As an avid fan, he had watched every episode, though he had a preference for the earlier seasons. Despite this dedication, only a few major events remained clear in his mind. He hoped that as he grew and his Kryptonian mind matured, he would remember more details and events, aiding him in navigating this new existence.
Clark reasoned that if his situation mirrored the show, the people around him would already be aware that he was not a normal child. This comforting thought meant he didn't need to hide his abilities from them. His thoughts then turned to practical considerations: how and when he should start training his body and strength, as well as his resistance to kryptonite, a substance that could potentially weaken him.
He decided that while he wasn't as fragile as a normal human, he wanted to take some time to adjust to this new life and bond with his new family. He realized that no matter how abnormal he was, his new parents were unlikely to allow him to engage in anything resembling training at such a young age. The thought of their protectiveness brought a small smile to his face; he felt a strange warmth at the prospect of having caring parents, even in these unusual circumstances.
Clark resolved to wait until he started elementary school. At that time, he would incorporate agility training by running around during recess, and using the playground as his personal training ground. He also planned to help out on the farm to work on his strength, knowing that farm chores could provide a natural and effective way to build his physical capabilities. Until then, he would explore his surroundings and try to locate any nearby kryptonite, understanding that he needed to become familiar with the substance early on.
Finding kryptonite shouldn't be too difficult, but in the worst-case scenario, he could meet Lana early and hang around her and her necklace until he found some to keep for training. Clark planned to collect as much kryptonite in town as he could, but he wouldn't stress if he missed any. After all, he figured he would need the practice and combat experience eventually. He imagined scenarios where his growing abilities could be put to the test, each thought bringing a mix of anticipation and trepidation.
Clark lay back, contemplating these plans, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension about his new life. The thoughts swirled in his mind, gradually slowing as fatigue from the day's emotional and mental upheaval caught up with him. As he sank deeper into the plush mattress, enveloped by the warmth of the blankets and the quiet comfort of the room, sleep finally took him, drawing him into a world of dreams where possibilities were endless and the future, though uncertain, held a promise of adventure.
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The next day, Clark awoke in the familiar surroundings of the Kent farm, nestled in the same bed as before. The morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. He stretched languidly, taking in the cozy bedroom around him, noting him being alone. The furnishings were simple and slightly outdated, a charming reflection of a house that had been lived in for generations. The farm itself, located on Hickory Lane in the small town of Smallville, Kansas, had a storied history. Adjacent to the Smallville cemetery, it was renowned as the oldest farm in Lowell County. The property boasted several distinct locations, including the main house, a barn with Clark's loft, a storm cellar, a concrete and steel grain silo, and a steel windmill that creaked gently in the breeze.
Lying there, Clark attempted to drift back to sleep, but his mind wandered to the previous day's events. He reminded himself that he should start thinking of his new guardians as "Mom" and "Dad" even in his thoughts. His reflections were soon interrupted by the gentle whispers of Martha, his mom, softly urging him to wake up. She helped him wash up and get dressed in some simple farm clothes they had hastily gathered from various donation places. The Kents had discreetly collected clothes in Clark's size to avoid raising any questions about his sudden appearance in town. Known for frequently donating their old belongings, they had simply explained away their retrieval of a few items as a mistake, not letting anyone see what they got.
Clark tried to play the part of a curious and somewhat confused child but was keen to show himself as a fast learner. He hoped that within a few days, he would be trusted enough to handle simple tasks on his own after proving his competency. However, his newfound strength complicated his plans. While attempting to dress himself, he accidentally destroyed a shirt. Despite his young age and limited exposure to Earth's yellow sun—having only landed yesterday—Clark was already remarkably strong. He wasn't yet inhumanly powerful but possessed the strength of a very buff grown man, capable of easily lifting double the 250 pounds he could manage in his previous life. He marveled at how quickly his strength had developed and knew it would continue to grow with more time in the sun.
Once dressed, they headed downstairs for breakfast. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, making his stomach growl in anticipation. Jonathan was already outside, busy with his morning chores. Martha carried Clark to the table before stepping out to call Jonathan in for breakfast. As Clark sat down, he couldn't help but think about how fortunate he was to have found such a loving family. In his past life, he had been an orphan, and the warmth and care he now experienced with the Kents felt like a dream. The comforting thought of having a family that would stand by him no matter what brought a smile to his face. He felt truly blessed as he prepared to enjoy breakfast with his new mom and dad, savoring the sense of belonging and love that filled the Kent household.
Clark sat at the kitchen table, the morning sun streaming through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and fluffy pancakes. His mom had outdone herself, preparing a classic American breakfast that made his mouth water just thinking about it.
He glanced around the table, his eyes lingering on the perfectly cooked eggs, sunny-side up, their yolks a vibrant golden hue. The pancakes were a work of art, golden brown and stacked high, dripping with rich maple syrup. Beside them, crispy strips of bacon lay in perfect alignment, their savory scent irresistible. There were also buttery toast slices, a bowl of fresh fruit with vibrant berries and juicy melon, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. His dad sat across from him, already digging into his plate with enthusiasm, while his mom bustled around, making sure everything was just right.
He took a bite of his pancake, savoring the sweet, syrupy goodness. He couldn't help but mentally compliment his mom for her cooking skills.
After breakfast, the day unfolded in the loving embrace of his parents. They showered him with affection, especially his mom, who seemed to have an endless supply of kisses for him. Clark felt a warm flush on his cheeks, not just from the physical affection but from a slightly inappropriate thought that flickered in his mind. He wished he could receive this kind of treatment when he was older, but he quickly shook off the thought, reminding himself that he needed to look at both of them as his parents, not as anything else.
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As the day progressed, his dad had to head out to work on the farm, leaving Clark and his mom to spend time together. She decided it was a good opportunity to teach him some things around the house.
"Okay, Clark," she began, holding his small hand in hers. "We're going to start with some simple household items. I'll tell you their names and show you how to use them."
Clark nodded, letting his eyes wide with fake curiosity.
"This is the faucet," she said, guiding him to the sink. She turned the handle, letting the water flow. "We use this to get water. See? Just turn it like this."
Clark mimicked her movements, acting delighted when the water responded to his touch.
"Good job! Now, over here is the fridge." She opened the refrigerator door, revealing the shelves stocked with food. "This keeps our food cold so it doesn't go bad."
Clark peered inside, pretending to be fascinated by the cool air and the array of items within.
She continued, showing him the television next. "This is the TV. We watch shows and movies on it, but don't touch the buttons without asking, okay?"
Clark nodded solemnly, absorbing her instructions. His mom then guided him to the kitchen counter, her tone turning serious.
"Clark, see these?" She pointed to the kitchen knives. "These are very sharp and dangerous. Never touch them."
Clark's eyes widened as he nodded, showing he understood the gravity of her words.
"And these," she said, moving to an electrical outlet, "are also dangerous. Never stick anything in here. It's very important."
By the end of the day, Clark felt a deep sense of contentment. He had spent the day in the loving embrace of his parents, learning new things and feeling cherished every step of the way. As he lay in bed that night, he reflected on the day's events, a smile playing on his lips. He was grateful for his mom and dad, for their love and their teachings, and he knew he was lucky to have such wonderful parents.
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The next week went by in a similar manner for Clark, filled with bonding moments with his parents and constant learning sessions with his mom. Each day, he was showered with love and affection, making him feel secure and cherished.
Clark's mom began their lessons with the basics. They started with letters, carefully learning the sounds each one made. "A," she would say, and Clark would echo back, his voice soft and hesitant. He was pretending to struggle with the sounds, but in reality, he already knew them all. He had learned these things in his previous life, yet he kept this a secret, enjoying the time spent with his mom.
His mom was patient, guiding him through each sound and letter. She held up colorful flashcards and made learning into a game. "What sound does this letter make, Clark?" she'd ask, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. Clark would frown in concentration, pretend to think hard, and then slowly, as if discovering it for the first time, he'd say, "B... buh."
"That's right!" she would exclaim, clapping her hands in delight. Sometimes his dad would join them, watching with a proud smile. "You're a genius, Clark," his dad would say, ruffling his hair affectionately. Clark would smile back, feeling a mix of pride and guilt. He loved seeing his parents so happy, but he also felt a bit deceitful for hiding the truth.
As the days passed, Clark's mom moved on to teaching him words. She would say a word slowly, breaking it down into syllables, and Clark would repeat after her. "Apple," she said one day, holding up a picture. "A...pple," Clark repeated, exaggerating the struggle. His mom's face lit up with pride, and she kissed his forehead.
Clark's progress seemed miraculous to his parents. Every new sound, every new word, was met with cheers and hugs. His mom started introducing numbers as well. "One, two, three," she'd count, and Clark would mimic her, his small fingers pointing to the numbers on the cards. His dad would sometimes join in, his deep voice mixing with theirs in a harmonious blend of love and learning.
By the middle of the week, Clark was "learning" sentences. His mom would say simple phrases, and Clark would repeat them, carefully enunciating each word as if it was his first time speaking. "I love you, Mom," he'd say, and she would tear up, hugging him tightly. "I love you too, Clark," she'd whisper back, her voice filled with emotion.
Clark's dad often called him a genius during these sessions. "Look at how quickly he's picking things up," he'd say to Clark's mom, who would nod in agreement. "He's our little prodigy," she would add, her voice brimming with pride. Clark would blush and smile, enjoying the praise while feeling a bit guilty for his deception.
Despite the act, Clark genuinely enjoyed these moments. The time spent with his parents was precious, and their love was palpable in every interaction. He found himself laughing more, feeling more at ease in their presence. The bond between them grew stronger with each passing day.
By the end of the week, Clark's mom was astounded by his progress. He could form sentences, count to ten, and even read simple words. She and his dad couldn't stop marveling at their son's intelligence. "You did so well, Clark," his mom said, her voice full of pride and love. "You're amazing," his dad added, hugging him tightly.
Clark smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. Despite the little secret he was keeping, he knew he was genuinely loved and appreciated. And that, more than anything, made the week a truly special and unforgettable one.