Chapter One: I Dreamed a Dream

Smallville, 2003

Clark Kent was on the couch at home watching some T.V show that had failed to entertain him while his parents slept upstairs. He watched as the actors on screen were having one of those arguments where the writers attempted to throw in some humor, but weren't successful. His eyes were closing, he wasn't exhausted from helping his dad on the farm, but from pretending he enjoyed farm work. Physical labor rarely ever made him tired, but that could have been because he wasn't from this planet. He was an alien and had more strength than anyone on Earth. In addition to that he had better senses and could melt things with lasers that shot from his eyes. Why? He didn't know. Maybe the people on his original planet were like this. Or maybe he was a freak and that was why they had sent him away. He didn't know. The only people who knew about him were his parents and his best friend, Mitch.

Mitch Holmes lived in the smaller house with his younger sister, Anna, on the Kent farm. He was a hired farmhand who had moved back to Smallville from Los Angeles after his parents had died in an accident. Clark could remember when he was little, the Holmes family lived on the farm, he felt as if he had one true friend through all the weirdness he was enduring. Then Anna was born when Clark was turning five and the family moved out to California. He lost the one friend he had.

He heard a door screech open and slam shut from outside. It had to be the one of the Holmes', but why would either of them be outside at two in the morning? Clark turned his head towards his own door and was able to see Anna on the porch because of his x-ray vision. She was holding onto a duffel bag, which, Clark could see, contained a huge wad of money. It almost looked like she was running away. He leapt from the couch, wanting to kick himself for not realizing that she was running away. He threw his door open and ran in with his alien speed towards her. She was facing her brother's pickup truck when he put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to let out a scream.

"Jesus Christ, Clark!" she hissed at him when she realized who was behind her.

She was about five foot four to his six foot one, she had dark blonde hair that reached her shoulders and blue eyes. Her face was round with high cheek bones. She was one of those girls that tried with her looks, even at two AM. She wore a pair of dark jeans and a lacy blouse. She kept her makeup simple, the thing Clark's mom called eyeliner and the eyelash makeup.

He had never noticed her until a few months ago when she started helping his mom around the house. Clark had assumed she was one of those girls who took pride in being rude to others while expecting people to worship her, stayed on the phone all day, but complained about turning off the lights to conserve electricity and hated doing dirty work, yet preached that without hard work one wouldn't accomplish anything. He had been wrong, though. She spent her time writing stories or studying. Anna was smart, not the smart that made you feel stupid, but she liked to learn and had common sense. She was kind and witty. Clark couldn't pinpoint when he began to have feelings for her, but he couldn't act on them. She was eighteen years old, he was twenty three and, he couldn't forget to mention, that he was Smallville's black sheep. Anna Holmes didn't have to be dragged down to his status just because he liked her.

"Where are you going?" he asked her.

She nervously smiled, "A sleepover."

Clark knew she was lying, he could see that she had more clothes than she needed for a sleepover, she had money in her bag and there was the issue of it being too late, or early for that matter, to be arriving at somebody's house.

"Really? At two in the morning?" he inquired, taking the bag from her hands and opening it. "Why do you need hundreds to go to Rachel's house?"

Anna let out a natural, girlish laugh. He hated that he paid attention to it, but he did. He liked the way her laugh sounded. He believed it was her way of settling her nerves down.

"Clark, I want to be a writer. Mitch thinks it's a dumb idea, but I'm good at it and I don't see myself becoming the next J.K Rowling in Smallville."

"So where are you going to go?" he asked, disliking the idea the more he learned about it.

"My dad had a sister in L.A. She really hated Mitch for not going to college and moving back here when my parents died, but she's really wealthy. She got me into UCLA and I can't just sit here doing nothing," she explained, her eyes looking into his.

Clark knew he couldn't stop her, as much as he wanted to make her stay on the Kent farm, he couldn't let his emotions stand in the way of her dreams. He wanted to hug her, but decided it was out of character for him. He was the silent son who did crossword puzzles and sat in the corner while his mom chatted Anna up, so he turned around to go back home.

"Wait, you're not going to tell me how incredibly idiotic I am for doing this? For stealing Mitch's car and driving to L.A by myself?"

He turned back around, "I'm not my parents and I'm not Mitch. I'm your friend and I want you to be happy. Just be careful"

MoS

Anna Holmes turned her brother, Mitch's, truck onto the road from the Kent's farm as tears slid down her face. The song about dreams from Les Miserables rang throughout her head as she continued to drive. She wanted to be a writer with all her heart, but there was a small part of her, the girl part of her that had hoped Clark Kent would run out of his house to stop her and confess that he harbored feelings of love towards her. She had hoped that he craved for a future with her in it. She had prayed for something bringing them together and she had thought God was answering them when Clark appeared behind her. Her heart had been racing as she explained her plan to him, but then he turned around. He wanted her to follow her dreams, he told her that he was her friend.

She supposed she found out the answer to the question that had bothered her for two years. Clark Kent, the tall, farmer's son with black, unkempt curly hair and blue eyes, the man who was incredibly good looking, but so fearless, so strong, didn't love her. She rolled her eyes at herself, she had been silly to think someone as young as her would capture somebody's attention. She felt so moronic for nearly memorizing everything about him, for wondering and allowing herself to get excited when he waved or smiled at her.

Even though she felt stupid, she couldn't erase the image of him, she didn't want to. His broad shoulders, the stubble on his face when he forgot to shave, the way one curl fell on his forehead. She didn't want the image of his blue eyes to leave her mind or the way he quietly observed her when she was helping his mother. Yet he had said it, "I'm your friend". If he ever had a moment to tell her anything, it would have been then and there, but it never happened and never would.

"But there are dreams that cannot be," she sang wistfully to herself. "And there are storms we cannot weather."