Verbal Exodus

by MySexyLexy

Who the hell feels like writing these things? I dont. So I'm first going to say:
1.) I dont own smallville or whatever. My luck isnt that fortunete; so dont freakin sue me. This is just a fan fic. Got it? Great. lol
2.) Thanks to Sabrina for encouraging me to put this on here.
Feedback is sincerely appreciated. Hit me up at if you liked it.

You cant feel words. And having that said, I dont think you'd want to if it were possible anyways. Although, a few I have known have come close to making this possible.

If paragraphs had the ability to kill; my father would be a prime example of such a murderer. As far back as I can remember, he hid his feelings beneath a cloud of sarcasm. Those consuming blue eyes... paralysing every muscle in my body.

One stare from the corner of his haunting baby blues and a few hisses of his breath were all that he really needed to do to shake me a little. But oh fuck, when the man spoke... one syllable in even the calmest voice imaginable... my mind spun off into ablivion and my knees morphed into melting plastic.

I cant say that I'm completely innocent of this verbal third degree slaying, either. Over the years I developed a skill almost as deadly as my dad's. Intimidation, next to money, is the most powerful form of power that a single person can posess; or so I've come to learn.

"Fear is the strong man's pire choix", my dad would preach. The clanking of ice in his bourbon glass imitating a warrior brandishing his clever.

I can recall standing near my mother's death bed. The wind from several nurses sending my oversized shirt into spirals. My dad's face all the while straight, studying, maybe even reading, everyone's feelings through there face's. Conducting ego experiment's with every person that had the nerve to step into the same room as him.

So many time's I wanted to cry. No, wail. Fall upon my knees and scream aloud. Run my hands over my face and plead to god to save me from my father; pour emotion into him. Make him understand that my mother was going to die.

'Why in the fuck did she marry him in the first place? What did she see in him? Why did she love him? Was it for power? Out of pitty? Sorrow?', I often wondered.

I guess if it's one thing you learn in life.... you can never ask someone that question. Love is almost as strange and sudden as life itself.

I heard the "it's because we're Luthors" sentence trail of his toungue more than a few thousand times.

'Who gives a damn if we're Luthors?', I always told myself. 'What's the difference between us and everyone else?'.

It took me a lot of years to finnally figure that out.

We simply arent the same as everyone else. Cunning warriors. Hitlers. We are them. The powerful greedy men that were born for the soul purpose to conquer. Destroy. Accept the fact that fear is a sign of weakness, a sign of insanity.

We as a society we have moved on from armies or primitive warriors and calless battles to win power. Money is our battle. Our war. The more we consume from other's the more we drive fear of attack into there hearts. Attack. Verbal attack. Why? If you own all the banks in Smallville and god knows what else you're going to become a god in your eyes. Your going to become a god in everyone elses eyes, because of that fear. And that maddening jealousy.

My father was a god in his eyes. My father is god. And his words drive that force of dominance into the hearts of the people he speaks to. That hiss. The cocky swagger. The knowledge that he more than likely owned you.

'He had no fear. As far as I knew. And if he had it I'd never be the one to find out.'

Sometimes I think my mom seen another person in his eyes. The way she stared at him; that glare. It was as if she stabbed him through the heart, disected him, she knew him. She caught the flaws.


Perhaps thats what love is.

Looking at that person and viewing someone else. Seeing something different.

My father was a better man around my mother. Maybe, he knew that she knew the real him. Fear. He felt that. He was exposed when she looked at him.

He missed her. I know he did. He missed being seen as himself.


I always thought that I would really enjoy to know my father the way my mother did. See him naked. Reviled. Fear. To see him afraid. To know that he's human. I was wrong.

Yes, if you're wondering, I am a Luthor.

I was the prince. The soul air. My father wanted me to be him. To take over the universe in the name of Luthor. To be the cunning knight that fears nothing more than losing the respect to his family name.

Yes, if you're wondering, I am a Luthor. But my name is not Lionel.

I aspired to be all that my father could have been. I wanted to be viewed as a respected man; not a feared one. I wanted the world to look back on me and be proven wrong.

It's pretty strange how long it took me to realise those aspiration's were foolish. It took me a long time to figure out how ignorant I was.

Through all the pain that my father has left over this town, even today.... The thousands of people that were emotionally slain with my father's bare hands... held captive. All I can do is look back. All I can do is wonder... if.

Now I stare upon his face. A bright protective light looms above me and reflects off the picture frame's glass onto my face. I drink his bourbon; I sit in his chair. I remember his sturn face. The straining dominance in his voice when he spoke. I can almost hear him chuckle. Almost feel his breath cascading accross my cheek.

Sitting here, I remember the last words he said to me. The way his eyes glossed over when he struggled to speak to me. The fear in his voice that I had longed for such a long time to hear. The uncertenty in his body when he moved closer to me.

I recall the rose I layed on his grave petal for petal. I remember feeling for the first time that my father was just a man. A lonely and confused man who happened to be born under the name Luthor.

I learned from him, the ability to minipulate single words into weapons. Phrases into armies, speaches into spells.

I have been physically and emotionally scarred with words.

I have been physically and emotionally healed with words.

I have been physically and emotionally changed through words.

I am Lex Luthor, son of Lionel Luthor; And I am a god's son.

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