Smallville ficlet, Clark-Martha :)
Just a little bit of Smallville silliness, inspired by recent garden-related RL frustrations.
Featuring Clark, Martha, and Shelby, rated S for Schmoop. Very short.
Summary: Clark Kent’s toughest enemy lives in his yard.
They Came From Beyond (the Picket Fence)
Martha Kent surveyed the carnage in her garden and sighed. “Not again.”
In the golden autumn sunshine, the flowerbed that, only a few hours ago, had sparkled with neat rows of freshly-planted pansies, was now a pile of torn petals and leaves. Exposed roots stuck up every which way, like little bodies cast adrift in a sea of dirt.
A squirrel poked its head up from behind the biggest mound with an acorn firmly clamped in its jaws, only to meet Martha’s stoniest glare. “Out!” The beady-eyed creature dropped the acorn onto the flowerbed, where it landed with a soft “plop” on the remains of a bright yellow flower, and cleared the picket fence in a single leap.
Huffing wearily, she sat down cross-legged on the grass, throwing her trowel to one side and rubbing her lower back. “There go two solid hours of hard work.”
Her son emerged from the nearby barn, wiping his hands on a rag, closely followed by their golden retriever. The dog bounded forward into the middle of the colorful carnage to investigate the scene with his nose, prodding the clumps of dirt in the flowerbed as if they were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all week, sending yellow and purple blooms flying everywhere. Martha moaned.
“Shelby!” Clark darted a guilty glance at his mother’s pained expression. “Heel.” Shelby lifted his muddy nose, cast a last wistful look at his new favorite playground and trotted back to his master. Clark, meanwhile, helped his mother up.
“Seems like it gets worse every year,” he commented to her sympathetically. “Are you sure these aren’t green-K squirrels?”
“Believe me, Clark, it doesn’t take Kryptonite to turn squirrels into furry little plant-killing monsters. They’re born that way.”
The boughs of an old oak tree that overhung the garden began to shake, setting off a cascade of red and gold that showered down on mother, son and dog. “Speak of the devil,” Martha muttered, looking up. “It’s as if they’re laughing at us. As if they know even you can’t stop them.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Clark smiled. “It can’t be that hard.”
Martha looked at him skeptically. “There is no way to get rid of squirrels permanently, Clark, short of setting out poison. I know, I’ve tried.”
Clark burst out laughing and patted Shelby’s head while the dog wagged his tail enthusiastically. “We’ll take care of this, Mom, don’t worry.”
Two minutes later, the flower bed was replanted, courtesy of Clark’s superspeed, (although with fewer pansies than before). Clark ordered Shelby to stand guard.
The next day, half the bed was torn to pieces. Clark looked accusingly at his pet. “Where were you?” he asked to the pair of soft brown eyes that were raised appealingly upwards. “Don’t look at me like that,” he chided softly. “You went bird-chasing, didn’t you?” The dog’s tail drooped as Clark attached a leash to his collar. Shelby whined softly, watching Clark tie it to a fence post. “This time I’m going to make sure you don’t get distracted.”
Martha descended the porch steps in a crisp business suit, a sleek leather briefcase tucked under her arm. “I warned you it wouldn’t work,” she remarked, reviewing the damage with a resigned air.
Clark’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “That was Round One.”
His mother rolled her eyes and patted him on the shoulder.
Twenty-four hours later, the flower bed was as pristine as Clark had left it the day before. He beamed at Shelby, whose tail wagged proudly. “Good job, buddy.”
He turned at the creaking of the screen door’s hinges. His mother was carrying two perfectly round little pumpkins, one under each arm. “I see you got the squirrels to leave the pansies alone.”
Clark beamed at her. “All it took was a little determination.” He eyed the pumpkins hungily. “Are you making pie tonight?”
Martha smiled wryly. “I was.” She twirled the pumpkins by their stems to reveal the other side, which, Clark saw to his horror, was almost completely eaten away. “I left them on the windowsill in the kitchen. The window was open.”
Clark’s eyes briefly flashed red as they narrowed. “That’s it,” he muttered darkly. “Those bushy-tailed tree rats have got to go.” He turned and blurred into the barn.
“Clark!” his mother called out nervously. “Don’t hurt them! They’re just hungry.”
Clark re-appeared in front of her carrying a huge burlap sack, dust swirling around his work boots. “Go ahead and pick out a couple more pumpkins from the patch,” he told her. “Don’t worry, by the time I’m done, there won’t be any squirrels left to eat them. I’ll be back in time for pie.” He vanished before Martha could protest.
……………………………
Less than an hour later, a much cheerier Clark strode into the Kent kitchen wearing a smile of complete self-satisfaction. He was followed closely by Shelby, whose expression matched his master’s.
His mother, in a plain yellow apron, was rolling a piecrust on the butcher block counter. Shelby moved into position to catch any crumbs.
She glanced at Clark, a worried frown creasing her forehead. “You didn’t…you didn’t…”
Clark grinned at the piecrust and kissed her cheek. “Every squirrel in a one-mile radius of this farm has just been relocated. Someplace far away, where I think they’ll be much happier. And they’ll have plenty to eat, too.”
Martha relaxed and began crimping the crust into the pans. When she swiveled to set them on a side table, she caught a glimpse of Clark’s arm and did a double-take. “Clark, whatever happened to your shirt?”
He blushed and shrugged, reaching a finger into the mixing bowl for a taste of pie filling. “It was worth it.”
……………………………
A sudden clattering in the treetops attracted the attention of a picnicking family in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. The smaller boy’s arm shot heavenward excitedly.
“Did you see that?” Automatically every eye swept upwards, but there was nothing to see besides the rustling of a few leafy branches.
The boy’s eyes lowered to meet a circle of skeptical stares, as leaves and acorns spilled down on the cups, plates and napkins spread out on their picnic blanket. “But I did see it, Dad, it was a big blue blur! Then it stopped, ‘way up in that tallest tree, and it was a man! He was wearing plaid! Honest! Guess he’s gone now, though.” he finished sadly.
The boy’s mother eyed him sternly. “What have we told you about making up stories, young man…” She trailed off. “Hey, where’d that thing come from? Shoo!!” She waved her arms frantically at a pair of squirrels who had darted down the nearest tree to snatch cubes of cheese from a large platter. One of them reared up boldly on its hind legs in the middle of the group, ignoring her shouts and contentedly munching on its stolen treats. The family immediately fell silent, staring at the rodent’s right paw.
A large scrap of plaid flannel dangled there. The sounds of happy nibbling continued.
THE END
Feedback, anyone? *G*
Featuring Clark, Martha, and Shelby, rated S for Schmoop. Very short.
Summary: Clark Kent’s toughest enemy lives in his yard.
They Came From Beyond (the Picket Fence)
Martha Kent surveyed the carnage in her garden and sighed. “Not again.”
In the golden autumn sunshine, the flowerbed that, only a few hours ago, had sparkled with neat rows of freshly-planted pansies, was now a pile of torn petals and leaves. Exposed roots stuck up every which way, like little bodies cast adrift in a sea of dirt.
A squirrel poked its head up from behind the biggest mound with an acorn firmly clamped in its jaws, only to meet Martha’s stoniest glare. “Out!” The beady-eyed creature dropped the acorn onto the flowerbed, where it landed with a soft “plop” on the remains of a bright yellow flower, and cleared the picket fence in a single leap.
Huffing wearily, she sat down cross-legged on the grass, throwing her trowel to one side and rubbing her lower back. “There go two solid hours of hard work.”
Her son emerged from the nearby barn, wiping his hands on a rag, closely followed by their golden retriever. The dog bounded forward into the middle of the colorful carnage to investigate the scene with his nose, prodding the clumps of dirt in the flowerbed as if they were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all week, sending yellow and purple blooms flying everywhere. Martha moaned.
“Shelby!” Clark darted a guilty glance at his mother’s pained expression. “Heel.” Shelby lifted his muddy nose, cast a last wistful look at his new favorite playground and trotted back to his master. Clark, meanwhile, helped his mother up.
“Seems like it gets worse every year,” he commented to her sympathetically. “Are you sure these aren’t green-K squirrels?”
“Believe me, Clark, it doesn’t take Kryptonite to turn squirrels into furry little plant-killing monsters. They’re born that way.”
The boughs of an old oak tree that overhung the garden began to shake, setting off a cascade of red and gold that showered down on mother, son and dog. “Speak of the devil,” Martha muttered, looking up. “It’s as if they’re laughing at us. As if they know even you can’t stop them.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Clark smiled. “It can’t be that hard.”
Martha looked at him skeptically. “There is no way to get rid of squirrels permanently, Clark, short of setting out poison. I know, I’ve tried.”
Clark burst out laughing and patted Shelby’s head while the dog wagged his tail enthusiastically. “We’ll take care of this, Mom, don’t worry.”
Two minutes later, the flower bed was replanted, courtesy of Clark’s superspeed, (although with fewer pansies than before). Clark ordered Shelby to stand guard.
The next day, half the bed was torn to pieces. Clark looked accusingly at his pet. “Where were you?” he asked to the pair of soft brown eyes that were raised appealingly upwards. “Don’t look at me like that,” he chided softly. “You went bird-chasing, didn’t you?” The dog’s tail drooped as Clark attached a leash to his collar. Shelby whined softly, watching Clark tie it to a fence post. “This time I’m going to make sure you don’t get distracted.”
Martha descended the porch steps in a crisp business suit, a sleek leather briefcase tucked under her arm. “I warned you it wouldn’t work,” she remarked, reviewing the damage with a resigned air.
Clark’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “That was Round One.”
His mother rolled her eyes and patted him on the shoulder.
Twenty-four hours later, the flower bed was as pristine as Clark had left it the day before. He beamed at Shelby, whose tail wagged proudly. “Good job, buddy.”
He turned at the creaking of the screen door’s hinges. His mother was carrying two perfectly round little pumpkins, one under each arm. “I see you got the squirrels to leave the pansies alone.”
Clark beamed at her. “All it took was a little determination.” He eyed the pumpkins hungily. “Are you making pie tonight?”
Martha smiled wryly. “I was.” She twirled the pumpkins by their stems to reveal the other side, which, Clark saw to his horror, was almost completely eaten away. “I left them on the windowsill in the kitchen. The window was open.”
Clark’s eyes briefly flashed red as they narrowed. “That’s it,” he muttered darkly. “Those bushy-tailed tree rats have got to go.” He turned and blurred into the barn.
“Clark!” his mother called out nervously. “Don’t hurt them! They’re just hungry.”
Clark re-appeared in front of her carrying a huge burlap sack, dust swirling around his work boots. “Go ahead and pick out a couple more pumpkins from the patch,” he told her. “Don’t worry, by the time I’m done, there won’t be any squirrels left to eat them. I’ll be back in time for pie.” He vanished before Martha could protest.
……………………………
Less than an hour later, a much cheerier Clark strode into the Kent kitchen wearing a smile of complete self-satisfaction. He was followed closely by Shelby, whose expression matched his master’s.
His mother, in a plain yellow apron, was rolling a piecrust on the butcher block counter. Shelby moved into position to catch any crumbs.
She glanced at Clark, a worried frown creasing her forehead. “You didn’t…you didn’t…”
Clark grinned at the piecrust and kissed her cheek. “Every squirrel in a one-mile radius of this farm has just been relocated. Someplace far away, where I think they’ll be much happier. And they’ll have plenty to eat, too.”
Martha relaxed and began crimping the crust into the pans. When she swiveled to set them on a side table, she caught a glimpse of Clark’s arm and did a double-take. “Clark, whatever happened to your shirt?”
He blushed and shrugged, reaching a finger into the mixing bowl for a taste of pie filling. “It was worth it.”
……………………………
A sudden clattering in the treetops attracted the attention of a picnicking family in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. The smaller boy’s arm shot heavenward excitedly.
“Did you see that?” Automatically every eye swept upwards, but there was nothing to see besides the rustling of a few leafy branches.
The boy’s eyes lowered to meet a circle of skeptical stares, as leaves and acorns spilled down on the cups, plates and napkins spread out on their picnic blanket. “But I did see it, Dad, it was a big blue blur! Then it stopped, ‘way up in that tallest tree, and it was a man! He was wearing plaid! Honest! Guess he’s gone now, though.” he finished sadly.
The boy’s mother eyed him sternly. “What have we told you about making up stories, young man…” She trailed off. “Hey, where’d that thing come from? Shoo!!” She waved her arms frantically at a pair of squirrels who had darted down the nearest tree to snatch cubes of cheese from a large platter. One of them reared up boldly on its hind legs in the middle of the group, ignoring her shouts and contentedly munching on its stolen treats. The family immediately fell silent, staring at the rodent’s right paw.
A large scrap of plaid flannel dangled there. The sounds of happy nibbling continued.
THE END
Feedback, anyone? *G*