Rhapsody in a Blue Sky
By: C. Leuch <isuleuch@hotmail.com
Rated: G
Submitted: May 2001
-------------------------

This is a very experimental piece of writing for me. It was 
born while I was listening to Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue, and 
I couldn't stop picturing Clark, soaring above the world during 
the bridge of this song. So I decided to put the piece into 
words, plotting it to follow the melodies contained in the 
song. Feel free to put in the song and follow along.

Thanks to Adam for his help.

The usual disclaimers apply.

***************************************************************

As soon as he opened the door that morning, Clark knew that the 
day would be something special. The bright sun hit his face, 
and he had to squint against it for a moment while his eyes 
adjusted. Just the sun by itself was enough to perk up his 
spirits. The winter had been long, and it seemed like years 
since the clouds had last allowed the blue sky to peek through. 
But not the slightest hint of cloudiness showed this morning, 
just blue as far as the eyes could see. The temperature, while 
still chilly enough to have formed frost on the grass the night 
before, hinted at a warm afternoon, the first since the fall 
that had seemed so long ago.

Clark unzipped his jacket the slightest bit and started 
walking, first out onto the porch, then across the stretch of 
still yellowed grass on the lawn toward the barn. His father 
would be following him shortly, he knew. The morning chores 
were a fact of life on a farm, but breakfast came first, and 
far be it for Jonathan Kent to miss a good breakfast. Of 
course, Clark took every opportunity to partake in his mother's 
cooking as well, it's just that he always managed to finish 
sooner. He was a fast eater. He was fast at a lot of things, 
but that was something that he never really admitted to. Being 
fast was just where the scope of his abilities began, but he 
could never bring himself to use them very often, not even 
around his parents.

He knew that they loved him unconditionally, but doing the 
things he could do, even if it was in their company, always 
served to make him feel isolated somehow. He didn't know what 
he was, but he thought that it was safe to say that he wasn't 
normal, and the powers proved that.

A frown came across Clark's face as he thought of his unusual 
abilities.
He had to admit that they were handy to have sometimes, but if 
he could will them to go away, he would do so in a heartbeat. 
All he wanted more than anything else was to be able to blend 
into the crowd. He tried his best as it was, but deep down 
inside, he knew he was different. Sometimes he swore that he 
could see other people looking at him out of the corner of 
their eyes, their critical glances making him fear that they 
somehow knew his secret. Then, after a moment of panic, he 
would gather himself and he would see the fleeting look of the 
stranger for what it really was. He knew he was paranoid, but 
his parents had drilled it into him, for his own safety and 
theirs, too. They loved him and wanted only the best for him, 
and he would always be grateful for that, and for the eighteen 
years that they had allowed him to be part of their family.

With a small shake of his head, Clark cleared his mind of the 
unhappy thoughts. It was a beautiful morning, and he had work 
to do. He closed his eyes and turned his face skyward, basking 
in the rays of the sun for a moment before continuing toward 
the barn. As he neared the structure, he saw a movement out of 
the corner of his eye. Curious, he turned his head to see what 
it was, and had to smile as he saw an orange cat looking at 
him. The cat walked in a nervous circle at the door to the 
barn. Clark stopped and watched it for a moment before 
crouching down and holding out his hand.

Their farm had plenty of stray cats, but none of them were 
socialized, necessarily. He remembered that when he was 
younger, he used to beg his mom to let him take just one into 
the house to keep as his pet, but she had always flatly 
refused. Whether he was allowed to keep a cat of his own or 
not, he still had a soft spot in his heart for them, and he 
always tried to make the acquaintance of any that he found 
around the farm.

Red stared at Clark's hand for a moment, and even made a move 
toward it before suddenly retreating into the barn. Clark knew 
that he should probably just let the cat go, but his dad still 
hadn't left the house, and he had a few minutes to kill. He 
stepped into the barn and immediately noticed how dark it was, 
especially compared to brightness outside. His eyes didn't seem 
to mind, and immediately he was able to track the cat's 
movements. 

Clark quickly walked along, watching as the cat made its way to 
the hayloft. He quietly climbed the ladder and made his way up 
to the loft. Once there, he engaged his special vision, and was 
able to see a whole family of orange cats hiding behind a stack 
of hay. Quietly, he walked toward where they were, watching 
them through the hay bales. He didn't know why he was pursuing 
the cat, exactly, except that deep down he had felt a need to 
connect with it, and he wasn't going to let that feeling go. 
Animals were wonderful in that they could give and receive 
unconditional love, not asking any questions or caring that the 
person wasn't normal or ordinary. People, teenagers in 
particular, were not that kind. He had friends, certainly, but 
not any that he had a deep connection with. Not an 
unconditional bond, like he had with his parents, and a part of 
him yearned for that, even if it was from an animal.

He was so fixated on the family of cats that he didn't even 
notice the other stray that had followed him up to the loft. 
With a quick movement, the cat jumped across his field of 
vision and onto the bail of hay that Clark was looking through, 
the look in his eyes saying that he was more than willing to 
take some of the attention that the other cat had so callously 
disregarded. Startled, Clark jumped back. He blinked a few 
times and changed his focus to the new cat, and had to smile at 
the eagerness that it greeted him with.

As he was about to move forward, Clark became aware that 
something wasn't quite right. He couldn't put his finger on it, 
but there was just something different about the perspective 
that he was viewing things from. Out of the periphery of his 
vision, he noticed that the floor seemed to meet up with the 
wall somewhere ahead of where he was standing. He focused on 
that joint, and slowly followed it across, until he got to a 
spot directly in front of himself. Where the floor stopped. So 
if the floor stopped there, then what was he standing on? He 
had to will himself to look down at his feet, afraid of what 
the answer to his question might be.

Taking a deep breath, he looked down, and saw that he wasn't 
standing on anything at all. Below him, about fifteen feet 
down, was the cement slab of the barn, neatly swept, the cows 
off to the side nonchalantly looking up at him as if a floating 
man was something that they saw every day. A floating man? The 
idea that he was apparently being supported by nothing but air 
finally pierced his consciousness, and suddenly he found that 
he wasn't floating anymore. Of course it was absurd that he 
would be somehow suspended in mid-air, he told himself as the 
ground began to approach him quickly. Then again, he HAD been 
up there long enough to deduce what was going on, and even 
though he knew he was capable of quick actions, in the time 
that he had spent analyzing the situation he had seen the cat's 
tail twitch back and forth several times. 

Physics told him that he should've fallen that fifteen feet in 
less than a second, but that obviously hadn't been the case. As 
these thoughts shot through his head, he closed his eyes and 
began to think upward thoughts. After a couple of seconds, he 
still hadn't hit the ground, and he opened his eyes to see what 
had happened. To his amazement, he found himself floating high 
above the loft. In fact, he was only a couple of feet below the 
ceiling. A smile crept across his face as he pondered what that 
meant. He really COULD float! He had thought about going up, 
his fall had reversed itself, and now he was far above where he 
originally had been.

So if he thought downward thoughts, what would happen? In 
answer to his question, he began to glide slowly downward, 
until his feet gently touched the floor of the barn. The cats 
forgotten, he turned toward the door and ran, anxious to get 
outside to test his new skill some more. Floating up and down 
in a barn was nice, but to be able to do the same thing in the 
wide open, to actually be able to go up and explore the 
exquisitely blue sky.... That would truly be something. He 
could fly up to infinity and there would be nothing to stop 
him.

His hand hit the barn door and he threw it open, only to stop 
cold as the bright rays of the sun fell upon him. It was 
strange how something so simple could be metaphorical at the 
same time. The sunshine pierced his consciousness, and new 
thoughts began to come to light. It had only been a few minutes 
ago that he had mentally decried all his powers. He had told 
himself that he had wanted nothing more than to make them all 
disappear, yet when this new one suddenly manifested itself, he 
could barely contain his excitement. If he thought that his 
other powers were strange, then what about floating? Surely 
that was unusual.

A sudden jolt of fear tore through him as he thought of the 
consequences of his newfound ability. He had floated for the 
first time without even realizing that he was doing it. Luckily 
there was nobody else to see him. But what if he slipped up and 
did the same thing in the presence of others? His secret would 
be out then for sure. But, he reminded himself, when some of 
his other powers had manifested themselves, he had worried the 
same the same thing. The heat vision was one that he had 
worried about in particular.

His first few experiences with that particular power had been 
purely accidental, and he worried that things would start to 
spontaneously combust while he was in school. But all the 
worrying had been needless, and after only a couple of days, he 
was able to control it.
Clark squinted and looked up toward the clear blue sky. It 
would do no good to worry about such things, anyway. It was not 
as if his anxiety would make it go away. On the other hand, on 
a morning such as this, anyone with a several mile radius would 
be able to see him if he went very far up into the air. But he 
didn't even know if was able to go that far up yet. The best 
thing he could do at the moment would be to test his limits and 
see what he was truly capable of.

Exhilaration replaced his fear at the thought of flying. That 
he was capable of such a thing nearly left him breathless. If 
nothing else, it would add some excitement to his day, more 
than he could've ever hoped for on a routine weekday morning on 
the Kansas plain. Before making his way toward a more desolated 
area of the farm, he did another quick check toward the house 
to make sure that his dad wasn't coming. After the emotional 
roller coaster that he had been on only a few minutes earlier, 
he didn't think that he had the heart go back to the old 
routine, at least not without proving that he could do what he 
thought he could do.

It took a mere fraction of a second to affirm that he still had 
time to himself. In a flash, he ran as quickly as he could to 
the most isolated area of his father's farm. Once there, he 
looked around, using his special vision to locate anyone within 
a several mile radius. His fears of being observed were eased 
when he saw that all the neighbors were busy at work indoors, 
either attending to their livestock or machinery. That meant 
that he was free to...

He didn't even have to think the word "fly" before becoming 
airborne. Suddenly his feet were no longer on the ground, and 
he was lifting ever so slowly into the air. He looked down in 
wonder, seeing the thin expanse of air between himself and the 
ground, marveling at how right it felt to be hovering there. A 
goofy grin began to spread across his face on it's own 
volition, and he had to suppress the strong feeling of joy that 
came with it. It wouldn't do to shoot into the air in a fit of 
emotion without first knowing how to control his flight skills. 
Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, Clark decided 
that he should first test his limits. He knew that he could go 
up and down, but could he go forward and back, too? Focusing on 
an object in front of him, Clark told himself to move toward 
it, and immediately he started floating in that direction. 
Turning his head, he focused on an object off to the side and 
told himself to change course, and he did. All it took was a 
simple force of will, as if he had some finger pushing a mental 
button to move him in a given direction. It was almost too 
easy.

Anxious to get to more complex issues, he nudged himself to 
move faster.
In the blink of an eye, he found himself wrapped around the 
trunk of a tree on the other side of the clearing. Stunned but 
unhurt, he slid down to the ground and looked back at where he 
had been only moments earlier. Maybe this whole flight thing 
wasn't as simple as he had originally thought. Applying a burst 
of speed when he was running was no problem - he just told 
himself to move a little faster, to work his muscles a little 
harder, and they did. But when he was floating, he wasn't 
physically doing anything. It was all in his head, and maybe a 
simple, gentle flip of a mental switch, one right next to his 
directional buttons, would do the trick.

Slipping into the air, he stilled himself before focusing on 
the center of the clearing and beginning his forward motion. 
Gradually, he decided to increase his speed, and this time he 
didn't overshoot his target. It was all about mind over matter, 
after all. Diverting his course, he headed back out to the 
perimeter of the clearing and then made his way around it in a 
great circle, increasing his speed as he went. Exactly how fast 
could he really go, he wondered. Around and around he went, and 
it was almost impossible to tell the passage of time. But a 
quick glance in the sky showed birds, seemingly suspended in 
thin air. Instead of falling like a normal stationary object 
would, they hung there gracefully.

He was traveling so fast that he had literally been thrown out 
of phase with the rest of the world. His eyes moved downward to 
the tops of trees, which had been swaying gently in the chilly 
morning breeze. Now their leaves fluttered lazily, moving as 
though they were trapped in some highly viscous fluid. It was 
hypnotic and fascinating, but seemed to violate all the laws of 
physics. But then again, didn't the whole concept of a man who 
flew? He had learned enough in his physics class to wonder what 
Albert Einstein would think about the scene that Clark now saw 
before him. He wondered if it would be possible to move faster 
yet, to put himself in a position that the theory of relativity 
would apply to him. It was an interesting thought, and he 
wouldn't mind pursuing it sometime, but another thought had 
entered his head, and he was anxious to explore it more 
thoroughly.

As he gradually stopped his circuit of the meadow, the world 
eased back into its normal pace. It was somewhat disorienting 
at first, and he found that his thoughts were lost as he 
watched the birds in flight actually start moving again and the 
trees start swaying with newfound freedom. But as quickly as he 
lost it, his new thought came back to him: if he could fly this 
fast, then he could probably go to places all over the United 
States in seconds. What was stopping him from shooting up into 
the air and taking off for, say, Kansas City? Or Chicago? Or 
Metropolis? It was certainly worth checking out, and if the 
trip would only take a matter of seconds, then certainly no one 
here in Kansas would miss him at all. Of course, there was the 
whole matter of being observed in flight, but if he were 
capable of moving fast enough to see the things that he had 
just seen, he doubted that the normal human eye would be able 
to track his movement.

His mind made up, Clark launched himself into the air. He rose 
for what seemed like an eternity, gauging his height only by 
the position of the birds around him. When he finally looked 
down, he was amazed at what he saw.

He had never flown in an airplane, and so he had never seen 
what the world looked like when viewed from above. The fields 
of wheat that spread out around his father's farm seemed to 
stretch into infinity when viewed from the ground. When viewed 
from the air, the now brown fields seemed all the more vast, 
interrupted by only the occasional farmstead or small town. He 
could see roads leading off into the distance, set in regular, 
one mile square patterns across the landscape for as far as he 
could see. It was wondrous, but it was also not very easy to 
tell where anything was. Fortunately, he knew this area, but 
his scope of intimate geographic knowledge only extended for a 
few miles around Smallville, which he could see almost directly 
below him.

Clark wished all of a sudden that he had a map. His only 
measure of distance on the ground was the system of roads, none 
of which had names that he could easily tell. Training his 
special vision on the landscape, he could find road signs and 
mile markers, and he supposed that those could do for the time 
being. But searching for those landmarks left no time for 
observation, for enjoying himself. Maybe he should just go 
places that he could easily get to, starting with the only big 
city that he had ever visited. Off to the east, he could see 
the tall buildings of Kansas City rising up ever so slightly 
against the gentle curve of the surrounding ground.

With a quick force of will, he was streaking across the 
landscape. As the city neared and the buildings loomed larger 
in the sky, the population of the countryside below him began 
to grow more dense. The long stretches of concrete contained 
more and more cars, which moved in slow motion. He could see 
people on lawns and sidewalks, and he wondered if any of them 
so much as sensed that he was flying in the air above them. It 
was one thing for him to fly above his father's farm, but it 
was another to fly above the suburbs, above so many people. All 
one of them would have to do was look up, and that would be it.

That thought caused him to move faster, and before he knew it, 
the whole rest of the world stood still. It was less than a 
second before he reached downtown Kansas City, and he made 
himself circle above it for a moment. He had made it; he was at 
his destination, but what to do now? A part of him wanted to 
fly down there and simply blend into the mass of humanity that 
he could see gathered in the busy downtown walkways. There was 
something so exciting about the big city - maybe it was the 
pace, maybe it was the fact that everyone was anonymous. He 
could be just another nameless face in the crowd, and nobody 
would know that just seconds before, he had been in the sky 
above them. It would make him feel normal, somehow, that even 
as different as he was, these people who had never met him 
would accept that he truly was one of them.

Another part of him wanted to retreat back to the farm, for the 
security of home. Even though he had visited the city before, 
his home was in the country. It was all he really knew, and all 
that he had ever experienced.
It was scary to think of how vastly different this place was, 
with its buildings towering up toward the sky. People weren't 
as friendly here, he knew. But the population was so much more 
diversified than it was back home, too. Kansas City might be a 
midwestern city, and it might be small as far as major 
metropolitan areas went, but in this town, he could hear 
dialects that he hadn't even known existed. He could witness 
customs practiced almost exclusively on the other side of the 
world. The shops contained items he could only imagine - 
innovations, luxuries, things that farmers could never afford. 
It was strange, yes, but he just had to go down there and be a 
part of it, if only for a few minutes. The problem was how to 
land without being seen. If he could land at full speed, nobody 
would be able to track him.

But he couldn't exactly land in the middle of a crowd. Not 
every part of the inner city was bustling with people, though, 
and it only took Clark a moment to find the lonely, dark 
expanses that stood between the buildings. Dumpsters hid in the 
corners, and vagrants crowded around them, practically hidden 
in the piled of discarded refuse. This was yet another side to 
the big city that he didn't get to see back home, and it made 
his heart shudder in sympathy. These alleys and those that 
called them home were the parts of the city that most people 
would just as soon forget. It was as if they were there, yet 
set apart from the world...somewhat like himself.

It was a challenge finding a suitable alley to land in. 
Although the sun was at such an angle that they were still cast 
in shadow, most had inhabitants, and he didn't want to risk 
being seen. After a moment, he found a suitable location, and 
he made his way to the ground. As soon as hit feet hit the 
pavement, the world snapped back to its normal pace, and in the 
sky, just for a moment, he could hear what sounded like 
thunder. His eyes were brought skyward, and he saw nothing but 
the same pristine blue sky that had been present above the 
farm. He was puzzled for a moment, before he realized that what 
he was hearing was his own sonic boom. He had obviously gone 
faster than the speed of sound, and as such had created the 
noise he was hearing. A frown made its way onto his face as he 
realized that was yet another bit of damning evidence of his 
escapades above the city. He didn't think that anyone would 
equate that sound with a flying man, at least not at the time 
being, but if someone were to see him somehow, that would be 
another connection that they could make.

The sound disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, and 
nobody on the street in front of him seemed to have noticed. 
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, and within moments he 
emerged into the daylight. The people that walked by in front 
of him formed a stream of humanity, with various currents 
flowing in different directions. For a moment he watched and 
listened, observing, soaking in the fine details. On the 
outside the group seemed fairly homogeneous, dressed in 
business attire, nobody speaking to anyone else in their rush 
to get to wherever it was that they were going to. But closer 
inspection yielded numerous differences. Just the expressions 
on peoples' faces were a study in contrast - some looked 
annoyed, others looked incredibly sad, still others seemed 
strangely blank. Varied lives and varied experiences, all met 
up on this sidewalk this morning.

Clark joined the crowd, his eyes and ears still taking in all 
the experiences that the city could hand him. The sound of a 
solo saxophone reached his ears, and he soon pinpointed a 
musician playing on the corner up ahead of him. The melodies 
were strangely beautiful, yet lonely. As the musician played, 
the crowds simply continued walking, seemingly deaf to the 
music. Every now and then, someone would stop and drop coins 
into the open case in front of the man, but most simply moved 
along. As he neared the street, Clark's eyes were drawn to the 
large amount of traffic driving by on the street in front of 
him. Smallville didn't have a single traffic light, and 
although every kid in school was taught how to handle traffic 
lights, he had never had to put that knowledge to work in his 
young life. He waited at the light along with a large group of 
people, and as soon as they were able to, the group started 
crossing the street. Clark was amazed at the bravery of some 
people, who would step off the curb and dodge cars, even before 
the light told them that it was safe to cross.

He walked another block with the crowd, his ears catching parts 
of people's muttered dialogue to themselves. Being part of this 
crowd made him feel alive, and that was new to him. It felt 
right, though, and he knew that someday he would be back to the 
city. But his adventures in Kansas City would need to be over 
soon, especially if he were to get back to the farm before 
anyone noticed he was missing. With a sigh, he pushed through 
the crowd and made his way to the group that was walking in the 
opposite direction. As he passed the musician, he threw a 
quarter into the case. It was all the change he had in his 
pocket, but it seemed to Clark that the other man deserved it 
more.

Clark slipped back into the alley he had landed in, looking 
around to make sure that it was still deserted, with a quick 
glance over his shoulder, he drank in the sights and sounds of 
the city once more. It had been a nice change of pace, and he 
wished he could stay longer and experience all that there was 
in Kansas City. With a sigh, he turned his sights upward, and 
quickly launched himself into the air. As he soared out over 
the city once more, he could see that time once again had 
slowed. Making his way back to the west, he flew even higher 
than before, trying to get a better look at the whole area. He 
rose into the air, higher and higher, until the city became a 
mere dot in his vision, He could focus in on anything he wanted 
to and see so many things, seemingly all at one. But he quickly 
realized that his higher vantage point also afforded him a view 
of most of the central United States. If he looked hard enough, 
he could see the Mississippi flowing to the east of him, and if 
he really looked hard, he could just make out the Great Lakes 
to the northeast. These were the major landmarks of his 
country, and they seemed so very close. In fact.... 

He put on a burst of speed and soon found himself high above 
Lake Michigan. Chicago, one of the biggest cities in the 
country, seemed so small nestled against the western shore of 
the lake. If that was what Chicago looked like, he wondered 
what Metropolis looked like. Smallville forgotten, he raced 
toward the eastern seaboard. The world from this high in the 
air looked almost surreal. Forests and fields created a 
patchwork, a sight that he had seen in so many books, but now 
was able to witness for himself. Only a simple knowledge of the 
basic geography of the country was needed in order to find his 
destination. Once over Metropolis he had to marvel at how busy 
the city seemed, even in comparison to Chicago. In the bay, he 
could see the large statue donated to the city by the French 
nearly a century earlier. It was a sight that so many earlier 
visitors to the city had looked upon with awe, a symbol for 
everything that America was.

It was no less inspiring today, and Clark felt that he knew 
what those early immigrants had experienced. He found himself 
flying closer to the statue, soaking in the finer details that 
none of the photographs or literature about the structure ever 
seemed to mention. The slight blemishes, the marks that told of 
storms survived and structural work done. Those made the statue 
seem that much more tangible. As he circled around it, he 
wondered at the changes that statue had seen, the raising of 
the skyline of the city to new heights, the crime and violence, 
the conflicts, the sagas of life in the city.

Ahead of him, past Metropolis and its landmark, loomed the 
Atlantic Ocean. Behind him was the rest of America, the vast 
expanse of land that had taken him mere seconds to traverse. It 
had seemed right to cross the mainland of the U.S., natural, 
but the ocean was the gateway to the rest of the world. The 
ocean signaled the end of the familiar, the end of the land of 
baseball and apple pie. On the other side was history, 
landmarks of the evolution of humanity. Was he up to the 
challenge of crossing it?

It only took a moment to verify that he was, in fact, willing 
to take that step. It would take no time at all the cross the 
ocean, and once across, he could witness things that those back 
in his hometown had only dreamt of. His mind made up, he flew 
out over the Atlantic, toward Europe. The ocean was more vast 
than he could've imagined. Water stretched out as far as the 
eye could see, broken only by the sight of ships and icebergs, 
each of which seemed so lonely out among the waves. Finally the 
lush greenness of the British Isles came into view, and he made 
his way toward it. He wasn't very well versed in European 
geography, but he knew enough to be able to pick out the Wall 
of Hadrian running across the countryside, splitting the island 
in two. London was harder yet to find, but as soon as he could 
make out the top of Big Ben, he knew where he was. There were 
so many things to see - the Houses of Parliament, St. Paul's 
Cathedral, the Tower, and the other castles and landmarks that 
dotted the countryside. He flew over them all, burning their 
images into his miup to him, and he had to rest.

Settling down into the green meadow, he felt the world once 
again slow to its normal pace. Clark stood and breathed 
heavily, images of strange and exotic places racing through his 
mind. It had all happened so quickly. He had seen almost all 
the major landmarks that were to be seen in the world, but he 
hadn't slowed down to truly enjoy it. There was so much that he 
hadn't seen, though. The poles, the jungles of Africa and South 
America, the Great Wall.... He had been propelled out of sheer 
need, a hunger that made him want to take it all in. But there 
would be time, later, to see all that he wanted to see. All he 
wanted was to be able to enjoy his gifts now.

He looked into the sky, at the light and puffy clouds that 
floated gently above. They glided along the earth on the winds, 
lazily taking in the sights below them. It would be truly 
heavenly to be one with the clouds, with the birds, with the 
parts of nature that took to the skies naturally. It would be 
nice to enjoy his flight for once, to let himself be carried 
wherever the wind was willing to take him.

He thrust his arms straight out to his sides and shot up into 
the air, closing his eyes and finally letting himself enjoy the 
feeling of being entirely free; free of the pull of gravity, 
free of any rules that the earth might have over him. He felt 
completely alive for the first time in his life. His heart 
soared, and his spirit filled with joy. How had he lived for so 
long and never known what it felt like to leave the Earth 
behind?

Opening his eyes, he allowed himself to take in the whole 
splendor of the world.
The gentle greens of the forests, the deep blues of the ocean, 
the starkly beautiful whites of the ice at the top and bottom 
of the world. From above, it all looked like a breathtakingly 
intricate masterpiece, a work of art so marvelously chaotic yet 
peaceful at the same time. The pettiness of everyday life 
suddenly seemed so insignificant when held up against the view 
that he was now witness to.

As he floated along on the currents of the upper atmosphere, he 
found himself nearing a storm. His eyes were drawn toward the 
clouds, watching as their shapes contorted and shifted in ways 
that would be invisible to an observer on the ground. The wall 
of the thunderhead would expand, then curl in on itself before 
pushing further up into the atmosphere, finally spreading out 
as it hit the limits of the stratosphere. The tiny ice crystals 
contained in the cloud at that height reflected the light of 
the sun into bright rainbows of color. Floating further up 
above the anvil of the storm, Clark could see a burst of 
electricity shoot out the top of the cloud, spread out, then 
disappear. It had to be lightning of some sort, but it was like 
nothing he had ever seen before. 

With a mental nudge, he pushed himself out of the current that 
he had been floating around and circled around the storm. Chain 
lightning made its way from cloud to cloud, but every now and 
then he saw the quick burst come from its top, and he couldn't 
help but marvel at the sight. He knew that airplanes didn't 
venture as far up into the air as he was presently. He was 
probably one of a very select number of people who had ever 
observed such a phenomenon.

Pulling his arms in against his side, Clark turned his course 
north and east, into the darkness of the other side of the 
world. As the shadows fell over him, his eyes were drawn to 
shifting color in the northern sky. He knew immediately what 
this was. The Aurora Borealis was not visible from
Kansas, but it had been something that he had always wanted to 
see. He halted his forward movement and hung motionless in the 
sky, drinking in the blues and reds and yellows as they danced 
in the sky in front of him. A song began to run through his, a 
mental soundtrack for the epic that was taking place in the 
night sky. He could've stayed to watch forever, but he felt 
himself being caught up in the prevailing winds again, and he 
let them take him away, toward the east.

Clark rolled over onto his back and saw the stars hanging in 
the sky above him. He knew academically that they were all 
several million miles from where he was, but the absolute 
darkness of the sky as he made his way over the Pacific Ocean 
made them appear that much crisper, as if they were somehow 
only a short grasp away. As if to test his theory, he held his 
hand up, but came in contact with nothing but the cool breezes 
flowing around him. Yet, somehow, he knew that he had seen them 
all up close, once, a long time ago. He closed his eyes and 
tried to expand on that feeling. Ghostly remnants of long 
forgotten emotions swirled inside his subconscious. He could 
almost hear the distant rumble of thunder, and it was 
absolutely terrifying. The sound faded, though, and was 
replaced with just one word.

"Krypton," he whispered as his eyes opened and drunk in the 
sight of the canvas of stars that stretched out above him. He 
didn't know what that word was, if it was a name or a place or 
a noun or a verb, but something told him that the answer lied 
somewhere out there in the depths of space. For a brief second, 
he told himself that it was his overactive imagination that was 
conjuring up words and imagined emotions, but something deep 
inside himself told him that that was not the case. Behind that 
word lied the secret to who and what he truly was, where he 
came from and why he could do the things he could do. But he 
didn't know if or when he would ever know anything beyond his 
vague feelings.

As he stared up at the night sky lost in thought, he began to 
notice that it was lightening. The absolute blackness behind 
the stars had given way to a deep blue. Turning over on his 
stomach, he looked toward the eastern sky and noticed that the 
blue in that direction was lighter yet, fading into red and 
yellow. As the air currents carried him further along, he could 
see the bright yellow sun begin to peek above the horizon. 
Mesmerized, he watched as it rose slowly, the refraction of the 
atmosphere making it seem enormous in scale. Clark had seen the 
sunrise above the wheat fields at home, and it had been a 
beautiful sight, to be sure. But nothing he had ever seen 
compared to the sight of the sun rising over the earth. He 
could understand why ancient humans could see the sunrise as a 
rebirth. From high above the world, the sight of the sun 
casting its light on the earth for a new day symbolized all 
that was eternal. For billions of years the sun had risen and 
set, witnessing the rise and fall of species, of empires, of 
secrets that man could only guess at. And yet every day the sun 
still came up, shining its rays on the Earth with the all the 
promise that a new day held.

It gradually occurred to Clark that an overwhelming sense of 
calm had overtaken him, filling every portion of his being. The 
things he had seen and done - drifting on the currents of air, 
witnessing the interplay between the many forces of nature - he 
felt almost as if he had seen God. The world was a wondrous 
place, and to be able to step back and simply observe had given 
him peace that he had thought was unobtainable. His life had 
been so tense up to this point, between the changes that he had 
been going through and the constant fear that he would be 
discovered and hauled off to a lab somewhere, away from 
everyone and everything he had ever known. Yet the emergence of 
this newest power, the ultimate capstone of all that he had 
gone though, made it all very much worthwhile.

Closing his eyes, he let go of all conscious thought and let 
himself enjoy just being alive. He loosed control of all his 
carefully bottled up ability, and let his senses reach out and 
touch the earth below him. The sound of millions of alarm 
clocks going off simultaneously reached his ears as he neared 
the California coast. Radios, televisions, microwaves, cars...a 
thousand sounds that cried out that it was early morning, all 
of which he heard at one time. He let himself zero in on one 
sound at a time, imagining the setting of the sound in his 
mind's eye, yet knowing that he could just as easily look and 
see it for himself.

Behind the din of the city, he suddenly heard a cry of alarm. 
At the same time, his nose caught the scent of smoke, a smell 
that was amazingly strong considering where he was in relation 
to the ground. Clark opened his eyes and saw an airplane off in 
the distance, flames shooting out of its primary engine. At 
once, all his senses zeroed in on that airplane, and the 
screams of the terrified passengers pierced his ears. He 
watched as the stewardesses tried their best to calm them down, 
but he could also see the fear that lingered just behind their 
false smiles. The plane was pitched toward the ground, and he 
could see the pilots fighting the controls for all that they 
were worth.

The sickening realization that the plane was surely going to 
crash hit him like a fist in the gut, shattering the inner 
peace that had so thoroughly overtaken him earlier. He felt 
helpless at first, but then it slowly dawned on him that he 
wasn't helpless at all. He had within himself the power to defy 
gravity. If he could make himself airborne, then surely he 
could make this plane airborne, too. All he would have to do 
would be to guide it gently to the ground. It sounded so 
simple.

Taking a deep breath, he quickly dove downward, below the level 
of the plane, and flew up underneath it, hoping that nobody 
would notice his approach. Saving the plane was something that 
he needed to do, that he couldn't imagine not doing, but at the 
same time, he acutely felt the need to keep his identity a 
secret. He listened into the passengers in the cabin, and to 
his relief, they had all seemed too preoccupied with other 
things to take any notice of him. He floated along with the 
bottom of the plane for a few moments, gathering his courage, 
before finally placing hands on the belly of the aircraft.

It was amazing how massive the plane was, especially when 
compared to the size of just one man. Flying along with his 
hands touching its skin, he felt very insignificant, and he 
wondered how he ever thought that he could possibly do anything 
to help. Yet, he could  almost feel himself connected to the 
aircraft, if only by virtue of his touch. Testing that 
connection, he began to push up, hoping to stop the nosedive 
that that the plane had began to take. It took a little more 
effort than he had initially thought, but gradually the 
airplane began to level off. A smile of relief came to his face 
as the cries of joy from the passengers began to hit his ears. 
He had done it! He had saved the plane!

It was then that the voices from the cockpit became audible 
again, voicing their concerns about landing the plane. He 
looked down and saw that they were still a long way from the 
ground, and they weren't out of the woods yet. Listening to the 
pilots as they did a systems check, it became obvious that if 
the plane were to land, he would have to guide it to the 
ground.

The thought of what would happen once he brought the plane to 
the ground caused his stomach to turn over. There would no 
doubt be emergency vehicles on the tarmac, waiting to act if 
the inevitable should happen. People would be in those 
vehicles, and they would be close enough to see him, he was 
sure. What if the media was there, too? He would be seen, and 
his life as he knew it would be over. For a moment, Clark 
pondered just flying off and letting the plane do what it could 
on its own, but he had felt the plane react, or more 
accurately, not react, to the systems checks, and if he were to 
leave, the plane would certainly crash. He would have to live 
with the deaths of hundreds of people on his head, and he knew 
he couldn't do that.

The sacrificing of his identity was worth their lives, without 
question. Clark looked at the ground, then closed his eyes and 
just for a second let himself enjoy the freedom of flying. This 
would probably be the last time that he could take to the skies 
in relative peace, and he would miss it. The sheer joy that he 
had felt that afternoon, the way his heart had been filled with 
the beauty of the world...he would cherish it for the rest of 
his days.

Opening his eyes again, the underside of the aircraft loomed in 
front of him, and he knew what he had to do. Scanning the 
surrounding area, he eventually found an airport that he could 
land the plane at. A review of the signs on the highway leading 
into the airport told him that it was LAX, and they were 
obviously expecting the plane to land there. Fire trucks and 
ambulances raced toward the airport, and he knew that, for 
once, he had been right to be paranoid. Training his ears on 
the radio communication between the airport tower and the 
plane, he began to assert his will, trying to match the efforts 
of the pilots as he guided it toward the runway.

Nobody seemed to suspect that he was there at all at first, 
which was a good sign. But as the ground neared, he could see 
men in the vehicles pointing at him, and he knew what they were 
saying without even having to listen in. It took all his will 
to remain focused on the task at hand, but he did, and gently 
the plane floated to the ground.

As soon as the wheels touched down, he broke contact with the 
plane and began to run. A quick glance over his shoulder found 
that the eyes of all those present on the ground were locked 
solidly on him. They would undoubtedly want to question him, 
ask him who he was and how it was that he had been underneath 
the airplane. But suddenly, with a new sense of resolve, he 
decided that he didn't need to stay there and answer their 
questions after all. With a burst of speed he began to run 
faster than the slowing plane, running out in front of it and 
shooting up into the air. He could hear the gasps of the 
plane's crew as they finally caught sight of him, and the 
excited murmur of the crowd on the ground was hard to miss, but 
he found that he didn't care anymore, that he just had to get 
away.

He flew straight up into the air, so high that he could feel 
the air pressure reduce to almost nothing. Only then did he 
stop and allow himself to look down. The silence at that 
altitude was absolute, and the rapid beat of his heart 
thundered in his ears. His sight zeroed in on the scene that he 
had just abandoned, and for a moment everything on the ground 
was still.
He could see faces pointed up in the air, hands held high to 
shield the bright sun. Even from his vantage point, he could 
see their mute fascination.

Willing his heartbeat to steady, he tried to tune his hearing 
in to what was going on, but it was too far away. Along with 
the rest of the crowd, he could now see the cameramen. He 
despaired for a moment that they had caught his exploits on 
video, just as he had suspected they might. Tenseness seized 
him once again as he came to the conclusion that his flight 
from them had been for nothing. Within the next few hours, the 
story of the plane miraculously rescued by a man who flew would 
be a worldwide story. But, he asked himself, how good of a shot 
did they get of him? Only time would tell what came out of 
this, but he suspected that none of them had gotten a clear 
shot of his face. They would know his clothes, of course, and 
he would be sure to dispose of the outfit he was wearing as 
soon as he got home. But it was still possible that someone 
would recognize him, clear shot or not.

As the worries and warnings that echoed around in his head, the 
inflatable chute opened on the airplane and the first passenger 
emerged. The man dropped down the slide and stumbled out the 
concrete, collapsing down onto the runway and kissing the 
ground. Even from far above it all, Clark could see the sun 
glinting off the tears that streamed down the man's face. His 
expression was one of sheer relief, and Clark's heart swelled, 
the pride that the sight gave him replacing his fears. It had 
been mere moments earlier that Clark himself had felt that 
simple joy of life, and now, by virtue of one act of moderate 
heroism, he had transferred that joy to all those people. None 
of them would ever take for granted a minute of their life 
after this. Because of him, they were alive.

For a moment he couldn't move. His vision was misting up, and 
in the corner of his eye, a tear began to form. It was a very 
gratifying thought to think that he could've made such a 
difference. He had bemoaned his powers as a menace, and then, 
later, seen them for the wonder that they were. But they were 
wasted in merely being used to bring some pleasure into his 
life. What they truly were was a means for him to make the 
world a better place. So many people spoke of doing such a 
thing, especially kids his own age. Some would make a 
difference, some wouldn't, and most would at least try. But he 
already had, and no feeling in the world, not even that of 
flight, could compare with what it felt like to save a life.

The scene continued to play itself out below him, and gradually 
he turned away. He had been gone long enough; it was time to go 
home. Back to Kansas, back to the simple, quiet life that 
awaited him. He knew that once he got back, he would catch 
himself looking up toward the sky, daydreaming about his 
adventure. But there would be many more to come, he was sure of 
it. Someday he would get the opportunity to fly again, and 
someday he would be able to help. Maybe, as time went on, he 
would find a way to help outwardly, without fear of discovery. 
But for the time being, he had this day, and these memories, 
and he knew his life would never be the same again.

Fin