Rising Sun
Morning sunlight filtered into the messy bedroom, casting slatted shadows across piles of clothes, dog-eared books, and candy bar wrappers scattered over the floor. Oblivious to the awakening world outside, sixteen-year-old Joel sprawled asleep until his bedroom door suddenly banged open. Jon, eight years old and overflowing with energy, stood in the doorway wearing his favorite red blanket tied around his neck as a makeshift superhero cape. He took off at a sprint, leaping into the air and belly-flopping right onto the lump that was his big brother buried under a mountain of blankets.
"Cannonbaaaaaall!" Jon yelled as he landed square on Joel's legs.
Joel jolted awake with a muffled "Oof!" swiping a pillow over his face in protest. But Jon was already scrambling up to kneel on his brother's stomach. Joel let out an exaggerated groan. It was way too early for this kind of wake-up call, especially after he'd been up so late gaming the night before.
"Mom told me to come get you up!" Jon persisted, oblivious to Joel's grumbles of protest into his pillow. "She said I hafta make sure you're not late again or else..."
But before Jon could finish his sentence, Joel gave him a shove, sending his little brother sprawling onto the floor. Jon looked up with round, disgruntled eyes as Joel let the door slam sharply behind him, cutting off his sputtering objections.
****
As the steam filled the small bathroom, Joel reached to adjust the faucet handle controlling the water temperature. But the metal handle came off in his hand with little resistance, water now gushing.
"Shoot!" Joel scrambled to stop the spray, fingers fumbling unsuccessfully to force the handle back into place with no luck. He expected scalding water to drench him any second. But oddly, the gushing liquid felt lukewarm at most as it drenched his hair and shoulders.
Finally, Joel gave up with a huff, wiping the water from his eyes as he slid open the shower door. He'd have to tell his parents the shower faucet needed fixing. Joel gave his dripping reflection a bewildered head shake. Too early for this weirdness...
Freshly changed into a wrinkled band tee and jeans, he shuffled downstairs, his younger brother Jon on his heels like an energetic shadow. Nonstop kid chatter filled his ears as Jon fired off questions faster than any newly awake person could process.
They stepped into the cozy warmth of the kitchen. Bright sunlight streamed through fluttering curtains, carrying the sweet scent of pancakes mingling with melted butter on the griddle. Their mom Lois stood over the stove, wisps of salt-and-pepper hair escaping her loose bun as she deftly flipped golden cakes.
"One at a time, Jon," Lois gently reminded without turning from her task, her mother's radar detecting the one-sided barrage of conversation. She slid the last fluffy pancake onto an awaiting plate just as Jon sucked in an enormous breath to renew his stream of morning commentary.
"Can you please stuff him with pancakes?" Joel pleaded, his own words slurring sleepily. "Make him stop talking for five minutes?"
Ignoring Lois' bemused look, he swung open the fridge door and grabbed the milk cartoon. Tilting his head back, he took a long gulp straight from the spout, the cold liquid refreshing down his throat.
"Joel!" Lois scolded without heat, swiping the milk from his hand. "How many times have I told you to use a glass?"
She thumped a clean cup onto the counter in front of him before replacing the milk. As she turned back to her sizzling griddle.
Joel hid his smirk behind the cup as he filled it with milk. Jon finally ran off launching eagerly into narrating his epic adventures from earlier as a firefighter-cowboy-space ranger. Or something like that. Joel tuned him out, focusing blearily on draining his milk.
The front door suddenly swung open, letting in a blast of crisp morning air that disrupted the cozy warmth of the kitchen. Clark shuffled inside, looking disheveled and drained—his normally tidy comb-over was poking up at odd angles and his eyes were tired behind his glasses. His shirt was badly wrinkled and his tie hung crookedly loosened around his neck.
"Rough night at the office, dear?" Lois asked, giving her exhausted husband a sympathetic glance as he slowly ambled past them toward the living room.
Clark just managed a tired wave in response before collapsing onto the sagging couch. He sank right into the imprint his body had made over many years, the old cushions swallowing him up.
Lois just shook her head affectionately as she gently pressed down on Jon's shoulders to get him to sit. His little legs kicked outbursts of unrestrained energy beneath the table as she set a plate stacked with pancakes in front of him.
"It's hard to forget your dad isn't Superman anymore," she mused, ruffling Jon's wild dark curls. "For years he was invincible—bullets bounced right off him and he could go days without sleeping a wink."
She smiled wistfully. "Now he's as human as the rest of us. I don't think your father fully accepts that though. He still pushes himself to work endless nights at the Planet as if he were impervious to exhaustion."
Right on cue, a loud snore echoed from the other room, proving her point. Clark was dead asleep on the lumpy couch, his glasses tilted crookedly with his face smushed into a pillow. Lois just shook her head affectionately and went to gently tuck a knitted blanket around her worn-out husband.
Joel's eyes landed on his dad's inert form, now snoring away on the lumpy living room couch. "Hard to believe he used to be the all-powerful Superman," he commented through a mouthful of syrupy pancakes. "Now he just looks like a regular middle-aged guy who enjoys naps and comfort food a little too much."
Lois shot her son a wry smile. "Well, his powers may have faded, but his appetite and need for sleep sure haven't. Still, cut him some slack," she added, her tone gently chiding. "Saving the world daily was exhausting business back in his prime. Now writing headlines at the Planet into the early hours does him in."
Joel snorted, but his gaze on his dad was more thoughtful than mocking. He remembered all the bedtime stories from when he was little about his dad's epic battles with alien warlords and raging robots. Maybe Clark wasn't exactly a superhero anymore, but he was still fighting for truth and justice—one newspaper headline at a time.
Joel shoveled the last sticky forkful of pancake into his mouth. Already half-rising from his chair, he mumbled through the mouthful, "Gotta jet before Jon drives me any crazier this morning." He snatched up his battered skateboard from its spot against the wall.
"Hold it right there, mister," Lois said, arms folded as she stepped into Joel's path just as his hand grasped the doorknob. Her posture and no-nonsense tone brought him up short.
"I'm letting you off the hook this week," she reminded him. "But if I get another call from the school this week about you strolling in late again..."
She let the implication hang in the air. Joel shifted his weight, eyes dropping away from her steady gaze for a moment before he nodded.
"Yeah, I got it. No more late arrivals this week. Promise." He held her eyes again now, his expression genuine if still impatient to dash out the door.
Lois scrutinized him another long moment, then her posture relaxed. "Okay then." As Joel turned again she added, "And say hi to Tommy! I expect you both here for dinner Friday."
Joel flashed her a lopsided grin over his shoulder. "You got it, Mom. And hey—no calls this week, scout's honor!" With a sloppy salute, he barreled out the door into the morning sun.
He sailed blissfully down the sidewalk on his skateboard, the morning breeze rippling through his messy dark hair. The familiar slap of sneakers on pavement sounded behind him, followed by his best friend Tommy's voice shouting "Wait up, dude!"
Joel angled his board sideways and coasted to a casual stop, allowing Tommy to finally reach him. Tommy braced his hands on his knees, wheezing dramatically to catch his breath though a corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin.
"Seriously...need to get...my board fixed..." Tommy panted. Between gasps, he added, "Think your mom would spot me a loan?"
Joel just laughed and bumped Tommy's shoulder with his own. His enthusiasm was contagious as always, even when pretending to be bothered. "Yeah, yeah, quit your whining," Joel teased. "Now hop on, slowpoke. We're gonna be late."
Joel pushed off, his board carrying the two down the bustling Metropolis streets. Tommy clung to Joel's back, knobby knees jutting out comically as he fought to keep balance. They zipped and swerved, dodging sharply dressed commuters too distracted by phones to notice the boys.
"Lean left!" Joel yelled as he angled them around a hot dog cart, its vendor shaking a meaty fist in their wake. Adrenaline and laughter mingled between them.
Spotting a makeshift ramp formed by a construction plank, Joel felt Tommy's grip tighten in anticipation. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" he called over his shoulder, not waiting for a response. They hit the ramp fast, wheels leaving pavement for a gut-swooping moment in the air.
They landed hard but upright, the pace never slowing. Tommy's whooping cheers rang in Joel's ears. Chest heaving with breathless joy, Joel angled them up the stone steps of Metropolis High.
As they shoved through the crowded hallway, Joel squeezed past a group of chatty students, his foot accidentally kicked the heavy metal door of a locker. But instead of a painful collision, the door dented inward with a loud crack, the metal warping under his sneaker. Joel paused, eyebrows raised. Had that just happened? But the warning bell snapped him from his confusion, and he shook off the strangeness, hurrying on to class.
Sneakers squeaking, the pair slid into gym class, barely beating the late bell. Their teacher, Coach Boomer, stood with his burly arms crossed sternly.
"Well, well...Kent and Hill." Coach Boomer's gravelly voice boomed, his craggy face set in its usual stony expression beneath his red baseball cap.
"Cutting it close again I see," he remarked, looking them up and down with flinty eyes while holding his clipboard and pen at the ready.
Joel flashed him a cocky grin, nudging Tommy who was still doubled over and wheezing. "What can I say, coach? We just wanted to add a little dramatic flair to our entrance."
Boomer gave a long-suffering huff through his bushy mustache. "Save the drama for theater class," he grunted. "Now take a seat before I mark you two knuckleheads tardy."
He scribbled something on his clipboard—whether a warning mark or detention slip, they couldn't quite tell. Tommy gulped audibly but Joel just chuckled, sauntering towards the bleachers without an ounce of worry.
Coach Boomer scribbled a final mark on his clipboard and then glanced up, his face set in its typical dour expression. "Attendance is finished," he announced. "Free day today. Entertain yourselves however you want so long as you quit bothering me."
He tucked the pen behind one ear, already shuffling papers on his clipboard distractedly. "Just don't maim anyone or destroy school property. Other than that, I don't care what you do."
With a disinterested wave, the coach lumbered towards his office, letting the door slam loudly shut behind him. Excited chatter instantly erupted through the gymnasium as the students realized they now had free reign. Frisbees and foam balls began zipping through the air over the various courts and gym zones.
Joel turned to Tommy with a crooked grin. "Sweet, no Boomer breathing down our necks today, Dodgeball rematch?"
Tommy was already vaulting over the bleachers towards the ball carts. "First one to get hit buys sodas after school!" he called over his shoulder.
****
The referee's whistle pierced the air and a split second later came the hollow thwack of the first dodgeball being hurled into play. Joel spun rapidly, dodging just in the nick of time.
Tommy launched his next throw, nailing a tall, lanky kid right in the shoulder. "Yes! Gotcha!" he cheered, pointing triumphantly across the dividing line. But Tommy's glory was short-lived as yelling across the gym suddenly grabbed his attention.
There was Pete—resident bully, aggressively backing another student against the wall. The smaller boy's body language screamed discomfort. Tommy didn't hesitate, scooping up a ball from the floor and whipping it in Pete's direction. It bounced right off his broad back with a thwack.
"Knock it off, Pete," Tommy called out. But his gut sunk as he saw Pete turn, beady eyes now locked on Tommy.
Pete turned the edges of his blunt features hardening into a cruel expression. He ran a hand smoothly back over his over-gelled blonde hair as he began lumbering toward Tommy, trailed by his usual trio of snickering suckups.
Tommy stood frozen, one hand still holding a dodgeball as he watched Pete casually scoop a discarded basketball off the gym floor.
Without warning, Pete drew back and let the basketball fly, putting all of his bulky weight into the throw. It became a sudden orange blur slicing through the air straight at Tommy's unguarded face.
Crack! The harsh sound of the ball making contact echoed in the gym, followed by a round of winces and shouts from the circled onlookers. Tommy reeled backward, bouncing off the gym mats, as blood began dripping rapidly from his nose.
"What's your damage, Hill?" Pete jeered, shoving his meaty palm against Tommy's shoulder again and nearly knocking him down before Joel could brace him. "Got some weird obsession with sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?"
Pete's usual trio of followers erupted into obedient snickers as if on cue. The biggest of the three—a hulking simpleton named Brett— brayed out, "Yeah, you got a crush on Pete or something? Want him to take you to prom?"
This sent them all into renewed peals of fawning laughter. Pete's smug smile returned as he loomed over Tommy, clearly relishing having an audience. "How about you just bug off and mind your own business from now on before I give you something to cry about."
Before Tommy could spit back a retort, Joel stepped forward, blue eyes like chilling shards of ice. "This isn't some cheesy 80's high school flick, Pete," he stated, pleased when his voice came out steady and mocking despite the adrenaline spike.
"The big dumb bully act is beyond tired. I mean you don't even play any sports here or have some tragic backstory excuse." Joel said as the surrounding kids erupted into snickers at his words.
"I mean what's your endgame, dude? You just gonna keep skulking around trying to look big by wailing on kids half your size?" Joel shook his head, clucking his tongue derisively. "Kinda pathetic, my guy."
Pete's face twisted, meaty hands balling into fists as he seemed ready to charge Joel in a blind fury. But before he could act, Coach Boomer's roar shattered the tension.
"That's ENOUGH!" Boomer bellowed, spit flying from his bushy mustache. "Everyone grab your stuff and go to class before I assign mass detention!"
The gathered students scrambled to collect scattered balls and gym bags, shooting curious glances over at Joel, Tommy, and Pete as they hurried toward the locker room exit.
Pete roughly shouldered past Joel as he turned to leave, pausing just long enough to spit a parting threat.
"You just made a huge mistake, Kent," he hissed, jabbing one thick finger into Joel's chest. "You and your freak friend are dead."
Pete slunk away, though the venomous glare he shot over his shoulder left no doubt their clash was unfinished. Joel watched him retreat, pulse still pounding with defiant adrenaline. "Yeah, that's right, just keep walking!" he called out boldly after Pete's back.
Spying a discarded basketball lying nearby, some reckless impulse hijacked Joel's good judgment. Before he could think better of it, he snatched up the ball, wheeled around, and hurled it with every ounce of strength in his stringy body.
Joel's breath caught as the ball rocketed from his grip, its orange blur tearing across the gym faster than should have been possible. Students who had gathered their belongings screamed and dove for cover as Joel's missile whizzed past Pete's head close enough to ruffle his gelled hair. Then, the deafening crack of splintering wood and metal echoed through the gym as the speeding ball collided violently with the distant bleachers.
A deafening, shocked silence sucked all the air from the expansive gymnasium. Frozen by disbelief, Joel stared down at his hands. That kind of throw, with enough power behind it to bend steel—that kind of freakish strength couldn't be physically possible, at least not for him.
How had he done that? As Joel's eyes swept the sea of pale, stunned faces directed his way, he could tell all of his classmates were equally confused.
A tense beat passed before Tommy piped up, "Seriously, if Joel can demolish the bleachers just goofing around, seems like this school needs to invest in some better gym equipment." He laughed brightly, though it came out nasal and whistling through his swollen nose.
A few hesitant chuckles echoed from the spectators, the sound slicing through the uncomfortable silence. Some of the rigid tension gripping the room loosened slightly, though most eyes remained uneasily fixed on Joel's stunned face.
Coach Boomer cleared his throat loudly from where he loomed at the gym entrance. "Alright, shows over!" he bellowed. "Now everyone leave before I write you all up for loitering!"
Students began migrating hastily towards the exit as Coach turned his flinty gaze on Joel and Tommy. "You two knuckleheads, my office. Now." He jabbed two thick fingers towards the cramped room at the back corner of the gym.
Joel felt his heart sink like a stone. So much for dodging detention today.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
Norrmy
Norrmy Excited to share the first chapter of my new Superman fan-fic. I know it starts pretty cliche, but I think that suits the wholesome, Boy Scout vibe I want for this fic. I hope you enjoy this opening installment.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone