My parents sent me to earth to live. They were giving me a chance at life. But the life I got, is not a life worth living.

I spend my spare time, looking out the window of my bedroom, watching the cars pull in and out of the driveways. Dogs running alongside their companions, cats slipping under cars, and both kids and adults walking together on the streets. Many of them, families, looking happy and anyone can see their life is full have happiness, joy, and many other adjectives to describe a good life.

That is not my life.

My name is Clark Spencer and my life is the complete opposite.

Since I can remember, my life has been nothing, but an endless rollercoaster through hell. The only time I have ever left this house is for school, to take out the trash, or when my father punishes me and makes me spend the night out in the yard.

My mother and father—if they can actually be labeled as they are—treat me like dirt. They make me do all the heavy work and when something goes wrong or I don't do something right—or as they hoped I would—they punish me. And afterwards, they tell me how lucky I am to have them in my life; but I wonder if I could call myself lucky.

I sleep on an old mattress in the garage. I get beat at least five times a day. I sometimes have to stay in the small hall closet when beating me just isn't enough. For food, I have to beg and they only give spare enough to keep me alive.

"CLARK!" I turn to hear my mother yelling for me. I sighed and walked down to the kitchen. "Start on dinner." She says and I turn to see she did me a favor of getting the stuff out for me. I always make dinner, I rarely get to eat it, but I have to make it. I made the statement on that fact once and my father burned my hand on the stove. I was eight years old then.

I started cooking without saying a word and I also wiped down the counters and kitchen table, and loaded the dishwasher. I always tried to do as much as I could and to do it right. I hoped if I did, they reward me by feeding me some of the food I cooked or by sparing me a beating.

Once it was finished, I put the food on a plate and put it on the dinner table. I put plates out for my mother and father and then poured some wine for her. I would wait until my father got home to give him his beer or it wouldn't be cold enough; I got in trouble for doing that once.

My mother then came back into the kitchen. "That bathroom is disgusting! GO CLEAN IT!" She yelled and I quickly went upstairs and cleaned the bathroom as quickly as I could until it looked good and smelled decent. But I knew I'd probably be in here again when my father came home and used it again.

I went downstairs and did a few more things my mother told me to do until my father came through the door and sat in his chair at the dinner table. Before he could demand it, I put an ice cold beer in his hand, with the bottle cap already off.

As they ate, I unloaded the dishwasher and then reloaded it once they were finished. Today, once again, I was left no scraps. After that I went up into my room and started on my homework until my father busted through the door and pulled me by the ear. "You forgot to take out the trash." He said and I sighed.

"I did take out—" I said and he smacked me and I fell over.

"THEN WHAT'S THIS?!" He yelled and then poured the contents of the trash bin of his bedroom and then poured the contents of the recycling bin over me—which was mostly my father's beer bottles and my mother's coke and wine bottles. "GET ALL THIS SHIT OUT OF HERE!"

I picked all the bottles and trash and then got them all outside to the curb, where all the trash was put. It was raining and I knew I would get another beating once I got inside. I stepped inside and then fell to the ground as my father started beating me. "LOOK LIKE YOU HAVE TO SCRUB THE FLOORS NOW!" He yelled. I moped the floor, usually it just consisted of water, which was ridiculous, but this time it also consisted of my blood, so I guess it was my fault. I put some new clothes on and then I saw my father again in the hallway.

"GET TO BED AND I BETTER NOT HAVE TO GET UP IN THE MORNING" He warned. I went into my room. I preferred it to when I sometimes was punished by either sleeping in the tiny hall closet under the stairs or outside when it's cold and raining.

I manage to get most of my homework done and then get into bed when it's around 11:30.

Most people, once they've had a bad day can say that when they wake up in the morning that it'll be a better day.

I don't have the luxury. It's either the same or worse than yesterday.

So I know you are probably wondering how this could make sense with Clark and his invincibility. Well, the house he lives in with these people has the meteor rocks/ Kryptonite and at the moment it doesn't hurt Clark as it much as it does in the show. It just makes him more vulnerable at least now. He's about fourteen, almost fifteen and later the rocks will have a bigger affect and he won't get his powers until later. I'm making it like that so the story works. Okay? Okay.

Anyways, I hope you guys like it. It will mostly be in Clark's POV, but I can put in other POV's too and I might, but for the most part, it will be Clark's POV. Tell me what you think, I want to hear your thoughts.

Please review! :)