(no subject)

[divisiblebynone.livejournal.com]

Out in back of the Kent Cooper Farm, there is work being done by an industrious young man. Trees are going down left and right, easily felled, the branches seared off with heat vision and added to a pile for later use. The trunks themselves are being driven into the ground, fence-like, with an almost mindless intensity, right along the boundary line.

Anyone who comes close enough to hear might be able to make out Clark muttering as he works. "Cooking someone. COOKING someone! In my kitchen. Ma used to cook in that kitchen. How dare he. How could he. Shoulda fried more then just a pan. How could he? How could I let him go? No, gotta be good, I'm home, I gotta be good."