It was a normal day. Clark groaned as he lifted his head from his pillow. His digital clock read: 11:03. Clark groaned as he lowered his head. He rolled over with a groan. He rolled back with a groan. His covers had fallen off at some point during his sleep. He shivered, and rolled onto his back. He stared at his ceiling for a second.

His alarm went off. It blared a loud, persistent droning sound. Loudly groaning, he rolled and hit the snooze button. 11:05 now. If he laid in bed any longer, his mother would surely come and get him up. Then she’d give him the whole lecture about getting a job or going back to school…fuck that. With one final, paramount groan, Clark rolled out of bed onto his feet. He clasped his hands together and huffed for a moment, holding in a groan as he stood. He walked over to his alarm clock as his legs tingled with the rush, turning it off. He swayed for a moment, his vision popping with dark spots. After they subsided, he turned to his closet.

Nah. The clothes he slept in were good enough. He dusted himself off and straightened his outfit a bit. He just had to hope his mother didn’t remember the outfit he was wearing yesterday. He walked to his desk, and began to search. Brushing aside some wrappers and empty soda cans, he eventually found his stick of deodorant. It was nearly gone…he’d have to grab another one from the bathroom at some point. He didn’t bother brushing his teeth or hair; he’d just not speak into people’s faces or care what they thought of his hair.

Clark had his hand on his door’s handle when a message notification played through the headphones connected to his computer. He looked at the handle for a moment, then back to his unpowered monitor. He found himself sitting at his computer, headphones on while he messaged back and forth with one of his friends. It was about this and that, new games coming out, the difficult search for jobs…did Clark have something today?

A loud knock came at his door. Clark got up in a rush, pulling his headphones off as his mother barged through the door. She was furious, her face red with rage.

“Clark!” She yelled from the doorway, “Get the fuck off of your computer and get dressed!” Clark opened his mouth to respond, before she followed up, “I don’t give a fuck who’s on that computer, you have a job interview in ten minutes! Get ready!”

Ah, fuck. He forgot. Clark winced as she slammed the door, listening to the sound of her angry steps receding further into the house. Clark responded to his friend, letting him know he had to go. His body was sweaty now, and he winced as he opened his closet, hearing his mother storm around the house. He quickly threw his clothes off, putting on his only dress shirt. He frantically searched for his dress pants, tossing aside the crumpled contents of his pants drawer. Finally, he found them. They were slightly dirty and wrinkled, but they’d straighten out as Clark warmed them, he thought.

Clark burst out of the door, walking across the hall to the bathroom. After freshening up - brushing teeth included - he stumbled into the kitchen. His mother was nowhere to be seen. Clark cursed himself as he patted his pockets. Fuck, where were his keys? His face flushed with heat. How could he forget his interview? He swore to his mother he would try to get a job as soon as possible, and she’d believed him, despite his past with jobs…fuck. The smell of pastries tickled his nose, and he rubbed it. He could eat when he got home.

Clark’s eyes scanned the counters. Keys weren’t here. Clark turned to consider the kitchen table. He stopped dead. On the table was a spread of some of his favorite foods. Stuffed potato balls, a handful of sweet pastries, and a nice breakfast. There was even a cake. Clark choked up as he read the sloppy frosting on the top: “Good luck on the interview!” The food was cold. His keys were just alongside the cutlery. Clark snatched them up, tears welling up as his eyes burned. He barged out of the door, casting one last look at the dark kitchen before running outside. His heart was firmly in his soles and digging. He’d just have to run to the job site…even though it was over fifty minutes by walk. Clark swallowed, and hopped down the house’s steps. Clark didn’t even want to think about the conversation he’d have when he got home.

At least Clark knew where his mother was. She was in the car, revving it while looking at him. He ducked his head as he passed by, not wanting to be stopped for a scolding. After all, he was already so late…he cursed under his breath again. She didn’t say anything as Clark passed by, beginning at a jog down the sidewalk. Suddenly, the car’s horn blared. Clark jumped, turning around as his mother gestured angrily at him. She began to roll down her window. Clark stood there awkwardly, waiting to hear what she wanted to say.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She shouted, leaning all the way over the passenger seat to get closer to the open window. Clark shuffled, wondering what the right answer to this question was.

“Walking?” He tried the obvious answer. Her face turned redder, and she yelled back, “Don’t give me that goddamn attitude! Get in the fucking car!” She rolled up the window before he could answer, and revved the engine loudly. Clark walked slowly back towards the car, hugging one of his arms to his side. She honked again, and he jogged up to the passenger side door and opened it. He hesitated for a moment at the precipice of the car’s interior, before getting in. He waited another moment, before closing the door and locking himself in with the beast.

She put the car in drive, and Clark’s body lurched as she took off. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The engine roared in place of his mother, and they screeched down the street. By drive, the place was only ten minutes…driving like this, probably five. Clark gulped, and sighed. His body shook a bit with the tension. Against his will, his eyes began to well up with tears. He choked up, coughing a bit to try and hide it as he looked out of the window. With a bit of effort, he sighed shakily, and began,

“I’m really sorry. About the breakfast, and-”

“Don’t even bother. If you were really sorry, you’d change something instead of sitting in that room all day. Don’t fucking lie to me. You know how I feel about lying.”

His mother didn’t look away from the road, but Clark felt her gaze on him just the same. He shrunk a bit away from her words, whimpering out a “Sorry…really.” The rest of the car ride passed in silence, with Clark trying to hold down his sobs. His eyes and cheeks burned, cool streaks of tears streaming down his face. He sniffled, cursing himself out in his head. He put his head against the window with a bang, the flash of pain somehow satisfying him slightly.

They arrived in the rear parking lot of the place he was supposed to work at. Clark got out of the car, turning to thank his mother, apologize, or just say something-

She drove off. Just before she left, Clark got a glimpse of her own red face…covered in tears. Clark wiped his face off, before turning to the building he was going to interview in. It was a fast food joint.

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All of this strife, worry, and preparation…to work at a fucking fried chicken joint. Clark fell to his knees in the back parking lot. He was pathetic. He dropped his head, tears falling from his cheeks as his body shook. All of this…how shameful to get so worked up about it. To avoid it. He should’ve been working five years ago. His mother had been struggling to afford everything she and he needed…working alone. His father hadn’t been around, and Clark hadn’t been around for his mother either.

Clark would have to change that. That started with getting this job. Clark got up, wiping off his face as he resolved himself. He’d get this job against all odds, then start to work things out with his mother! He’d have to cut down on the gaming, but he could get by. With determination, he looked up…

There was someone looking at him from the back door of the fast food place. Two, actually. Someone else was peeking over their shoulder. The peeker rushed away with a giggle as the one standing in the doorway asked, “You good now?”

Clark flushed, stuttering out, “Oh, y-yeah, I’m good…Thanks.” He wiped his face a bit, and started to walk up to the door.

“Alright, good. Just heard the crying and wanted to make sure you weren’t having a crisis or anything. Have a Chicken-Good day!” They turned away, beginning to close the door. Clark called out, rushing for the door, “Wait!”

The person stopped, opening the door slightly and peeking out, “What’s up?”

Clark swallowed, answering, “I’m here for an interview…?”

Some time later, Clark exited the building. That was awful. He felt sick just recalling the experience…it was best he pushed it out of his mind. He sighed, still mulling over what to say to his mother. How could he really apologize…not just for today, but for everything before it? Even now, he couldn’t even say he was going to change…not when he just bombed the interview.

Clark hung his head. He didn’t really want to walk home…he reached into his pocket for his phone. His eyes widened. It wasn’t there.

“Fuck!” He cursed, frantically looking in the parking lot. Clark searched, knowing exactly where his phone was. On his desk, forgotten in the haste of getting ready to leave. He sighed, readjusting his shoes as he got ready to walk home. Well, at least he had some time to think.

It was a little cold out, Clark thought as he shivered. He’d mulled over the things he’d say to his mother over and over again. Apologize…and apologize again. He shook his head. That wasn’t good enough. What was? As he walked along the sidewalk, he kicked along a small chunk of concrete. He continued to puzzle over the right things to say. As he did, he accidentally kicked the chunk of concrete into the street.

“Oops,” Clark said out loud, watching it bounce into the street. There was something happening on the other side of the street. His eyes traveled upwards, and he soon heard more of the scene as it unfolded. Two people were shouting at each other across the road. Clark could see one of their faces as they yelled, the other with their back turned to Clark. He stopped walking, curious as to what the trouble was about. With the gently whistling wind, it was too hard to hear from this far away. Clark edged a little closer to the curb, leaning a bit towards the street as he focused on the words.

It was no good. He just couldn’t get an idea of what the trouble was. He shrugged, deciding to watch them argue for a moment. All of a sudden, the confrontation grew much more heated. Clark watched in horror as one of them reached for their waistband. Surely this person wasn’t about to pull out a gun…right?

To his horror, the fellow did - in fact - withdraw a handgun from their waistband. They cocked it. As the gun began to be aimed, Clark felt as if time slowed. He could suddenly see the other side of the street in startling clarity. He watched as the soon-to-be shooter lifted their aim, putting Clark on the receiving end of the barrel for a split second. They pulled the trigger too early. The gun fired, missing their intended target Clark flinched. The person the shooter was arguing with grabbed their hand and stopped them from aiming it any further at them.

Clark felt a sudden pressure in his chest. He breathed in, and suddenly choked. He coughed, but nothing came up. He breathed in again, but it felt like there was something wrong…like he was breathing in…blood. He looked down at his chest. There he found a blossoming bloodstain, just over his right lung. His eyes widened in shock. He just got shot. He dropped to his knees, panicking as he put a hand over the gunshot wound. What should he do? He could feel more blood dripping down his back. He took a panicked, laborious breath. It didn’t feel like enough…but each time he took a breath, more blood filled his lungs. He tried to calm himself to no avail. He reached for his phone…fuck, he still didn’t have it!

Clark tried to call out for someone to call an ambulance…but his voice didn’t come out. He felt his mind starting to scatter, to completely shut down. The duo across the street looked across it, seeing Clark. He held up a hand, showing them the blood on it. Surely they’d understand, right? They’d call an ambulance, right? Thank God, he was save-

They turned away and started to run. Were they scared of the blood? No, Clark thought, they just don’t want to be charged with shooting me. But…if they left, who would call for an ambulance? Clark was on a side street…there was no guarantee someone would come to help him. There were no buildings on his side of the street, either…

He collapsed onto his chest, huffing as he reached for his back, trying to hold in the blood. Though even inside of him, it presented a threat to his life. He felt his lung shift, and a terrible wheezing noise began from his chest. His breath…was escaping him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe enough. He felt like he was suffocating, and began to take deep breaths. The adrenaline wore off, and the pain set in. He gasped, both from the radiating agony and lack of oxygen. He tried to push himself up, but his hand slipped on dust.

As he crashed back to the sidewalk, Clark consigned himself to his fate. He breathed in and out as calmly as possible, trying to prolong what little he had left of life. Fuck those idiots for shooting him. Fuck people for not being nearby…and fuck Clark for not just moving on instead of being nosy. Fuck Clark for forgetting his phone at home. Fuck Clark for needing to have a job interview at this time anyways. Fuck Clark for never exercising to get a fit body to survive this. Fuck Clark for…everything.

Clark cringed, closing his eyes as another wave of pain washed over him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself yet again. He was sweating like crazy despite the chill, each breeze whisking away his feverish heat. Hot, then cold. Hot, then cold. He was shaking as well, his chest quivering with the effort of each breath. Hot, then cold, then…cold. Clark’s body gave up, beginning to get cold as Clark himself began to fade.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured to the air, “I’m sorry…Mom. I-”

His eyes filled with tears, as he said the words he forgot to say earlier.

“I love you, Mom. Thank you.”

Clark was always forgetting things. Ever since he was a child, he would forget things. His jacket at school, a toy at a friend’s house. The name of his father.

…Ha, wasn’t it nice to be a child? No expectations or responsibilities…just two parents to care for and cherish Clark. If he could be a child again…maybe he could do better next time. He could get a job, or become a superhero like he once dreamed. Yeah, that would be nice, Clark thought.

He gritted his teeth, his hearing beginning to ring. This was it. Tears mixed with the dust on the sidewalk to make a slurry. What a pathetic way to die.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, taking his last few breaths as his consciousness faded. Before Clark’s mind fell into eternal darkness, it formed a final thought.

Today fucking sucked.