stands_for_hope: (baby!clark: pissed)
Clark Kent ([personal profile] stands_for_hope) wrote2015-05-26 08:10 pm

The Double K Farm for At Risk Youth - How it Starts

It had been a hard year for the Kents.

The loss of a father, a husband, had hollowed out mother and son, though thankfully they'd managed to make due on the farm between the both of them. But that was just the financial parts. The farm felt empty without Jonathon Kent, their home felt empty, and Clark...

Clark was so angry with everyone, with everything. It wasn't fair.

He could do so many things, so many things, but he hadn't been able to do anything when his father's heart had given out. He hadn't been able to do anything when Jonathon Kent had dropped dead in a field while Clark was at school. He'd just been there to get pulled into the office, take the phonecall from his mother.

It was doubly hard to go through his days now. Before, there'd been a bit of a barrier between the people who liked to tease him; Jonathon Kent had been respected and folks had looked out for Clark because of it. They still looked for him, but now it was more about sympathy and less of a willingness to put themselves between him and trouble.

That's why he was here. Twelve years old, pushed against a chain link fence, holding onto the fence pole for their sake as much as his own. Anger boiled up inside him, anger enough to make his eyes start to lighten to red, anger enough to make him want to do things he couldn't do, shouldn't do. Because people were mean and cruel and they picked on weakness like a pack of jackals, even if the weakness was feigned.

I can't do it. I can't hurt anyone.

It was like a screen door trying to hold back a tidal wave. He was shaking and his eyes were so hot. He just hoped he could hold on long enough for them to get bored. Long enough for someone to wander by. He just had to hold on.
kolodnoykovki: (TinyBucky:  Argue)

[personal profile] kolodnoykovki 2015-05-27 01:49 am (UTC)(link)
There was no warning. There was the sound of a bike hitting the ground, purposeful footsteps, and then a heavy hit. There was quick shouting, a scuffle, and through it all, one kid saying, "You wanna fight? YOU WANNA FIGHT?!" There was another strike of flesh against flesh. "Then fight me, you weasels! Come on! I'm right here, c'mon! I'll fight ya all night!"

It was definitely not a Kansas accent, that was for sure. Standing there in the cluster of boys who had been picking on the other boy was one who now stood between them, fists raised, no hint of a bruise or blood on him even though there were now two kids, one clutching his nose and the other his eye, looking like they were going to cry. But this one didn't look repentant in the least.

"What about it? I thought you guys wanted to fight!" he taunted, stepping toward them, stubborn, confronting, and then laughing. "What? You guys cowards? Only wanna fight somebody who won't throw a punch back? Chickens, all of ya. Get outta here, go back home. Go feed some chickens so you fit in!"

His foot scuffed across the ground, kicking loose gravel and chunks of dirt toward the lot of them as they backed off.