Hi Smirkey, I'm back with a more detailed review. Can't wait for today's Chapter right?
“Ah, yes, you’re fine,” her mother said, her voice rising. “But do you bother to call us? No. We have to hear that you’d come back from that blasted newspaper you work for, and then you aren’t even home at this time in the morning! Where were you anyway? You look awful.”
You look beautiful, Superman had said, in that void of the white room. She had looked worse then, but he had still thought her beautiful.
“It’s not like you missed me anyway,” Lois spat, finding her keys at last and pulling them out with a furious jingle. “You found out I was back the same way you found out I was missing in the first place. It’s fitting, if you ask me. I’ll mark my life by the paper, and everything important I do will be tabbed by it until the day of my death. And I’ve been busy.”
This is such a true representation of love. When you love someone so deeply as a parent, a lot of times it seems to come across as b*t#h^ing, but the safety of a child is a parents #1 priority and life, and here I think Sam and Ellen, are truly concern for Lois' safety, but they are so used to bickering and blaming, it's a broken record for Lois to hear. Lois chooses to think about Superman
"You look beautiful" and how he was soft and touching to escape her parents drone.
His eyes…so afraid, but he had still been trying to get up when she returned. He was stronger than anyone even knew. Foolish man.
Very powerful writing Smirkey, will she recognize that same fear in Clark's eyes?
Clark’s parents had come all the way from Smallville, and despite the fact that Clark had gone through quite a bit himself, it seemed, and had to deal with his father’s illness at the same time, Lois couldn’t help but be jealous of him.
He had his mother. Lois hadn’t known Martha Kent long, but she was the kind of mother she had always wanted. She was understanding, caring, accepting…Clark clearly cared for her as much as she cared for him, and they didn’t mind showing it.
You've had their love too Lois, you just haven't realized it yet.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ve got to go to work,” she said, trying for her frustration, irritation…all of that. Without that she was just too tired…
Come on Lois they're trying in the only way they know how. Cut them some slack.
Something in her gave a slight twang, but she stifled it.
And no matter how hard we try to be independent, it still hurts
Clark hovered uncertainly above the washed-out body of the man he knew as his father. He watched him dying, helpless as his mother held Jonathan’s hand and murmured soft nothings, her voice shaking.
A very helpless feeling.
Martha had him sit down, and together they talked to Jonathan. They talked about hard times, good times, happy times, sad times. Both she and Clark had to stop more than once due to the threatening of tears.
About the first time Clark had gone into superspeed, and Jonathan had had to search half the night to find the boy, who was huddled in a neighbor’s cornfield, lost and terrified.
About watching football on their old television set, and the time when Clark got so excited he floated right up to the ceiling and broken his head clean through the plaster before realizing that his feet had even left the ground.
About countless evenings of laughing, talking, or just sitting there in loving, comfortable silence after a good day’s work.
Words floated through Clark, hardly touching him--only brushing past before fading in empty air. He just watched his father. Watched the faint rise of his chest with each breath.
Clark felt like glass, sitting there. Brittle glass, heated so hot and then stuck under a stream of freezing water. He was going to break, to shatter, to scatter into a million pieces. He didn’t know what he was going to do.
His life was falling apart.
this was beautifully written
But even that kind of goodbye is better than none at all.
He sat down next to his mother again, and reached forward with a shaking hand to take his father’s.
His hand was cold.
“Dad,” he whispered, reaching up to fix the covers a little higher. “D-dad, I—”
The heart-monitor beeped away.
“Can you hear me?”
They always said that they could. I believe that
“I—I love you, Dad. I…I might be a hero of the world, but…I’m nothing. You made me…you made me the man I am. I…I love you Dad.”
Jonathan Kent’s heart pattern flat-lined.
Counting, waiting, balancing on the edge of nothing…
Smirkey, you've written like you've experienced it first hand. If so, my sympathy's goes out to you. I have experienced this, and you've captured it very well.
But no. It didn’t fade. It was true.
And there was no waking up from this.
Very true. It's not like breaking up with someone, and though you know you'll know you never see them or talk to them, they are still walking the face of the earth, and it would be possible to see them again. But with death, that's it. No phone calls, no sharing silly things, no hugs. Only that memories do turn into smiles instead of tears after time.
He would never see him again. Never ever evereverever.
He would never see his father at his wedding.
He would never be able to bounce Clark Jr. on his knee, like he had lightly teased Clark about.
All true to the response above this. And never get to see your grandchildren play trumpets in jazz band, playing the swing and big band music that you loved. (Sorry, personal note, this story is really getting to me, second time around)
How did people do it? How did they go on? How did they survive? He had seen tragedy enough in his life, but he had never felt it so closely--never had it happen to him.
Time does head, it never goes away, but it does get easier
I can try. I can hope. That was all he could do. Do what his father would want him to do…because he was his son. No matter what, he was his son.
And a fine son at that!
Sorry for all the quotes. This was a really excellent chapter!
doublel
