Clayton's Story

By Dani Cregan

Beta-read by Cindy-chan(Brainstorm USTA)

Disclaimer: I don't own any character in this story except Doc Sanalood. Best Brains owns all the rest, I'm fairly sure. I'm making no money off this(and I don't want to!), my only reward is feedback...*hint hint*

Dedication: *clears her throat nervously* This story is for Cindy, my beautiful beta-reader and best friend, who sticks with me no matter what Ian decides I write. This is for Kym, the ineffable and adorable-- smile, babe! This is for David, the only person who understands my rambles besides the USTA(and may God have mercy on his soul). And this story is for you, gentle reader. Enjoy it!

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"Clayton!" a high-pitched yell echoed in the quiet town streets. "Clay-TON!!!" Down at the playground, a small, blond-haired boy fell off the steps of the slide.

"Oh, no," he whispered to himself, "I'm late again. I'm gonna be in so much trouble...." He picked himself up off the ground and started running toward his house, brushing the dry summer dust off his jeans. He slid between two loose slats in the backyard fence and darted through the kitchen.

"Wash your hands, dear," his mother called to him. She frowned and checked the clock. "Seven minutes. Seven minutes late! What were you doing that was so engrossing?" She set the milk carton on the table and turned to her son as he made his reappearance.

"I...I was...Uh, watching the clouds. They're really nice this time of day..." Clayton Forrester visibly quailed from his mother's unimpressed gaze.

"Oh, sit down. Here, give me your plate." Pearl Forrester, hardly an unimposing woman, was obviously annoyed with her young child, but wasn't quite as mad as he'd been expecting. They ate in silence, each watching the other- Clayton warily regarding Pearl with all the apprehension his six-year-old self could muster, Pearl waiting for the right time to tell her son the news.

"How was your day, Mom?" Clayton ventured, testing the conversational waters. Pearl grinned like a wolf, and he suddenly felt like the pig who built a straw house.

"Oh, just fine, until the mailman came. Your report card arrived today, you know." He winced- he had forgotten all about that. "Your teacher was not impressed, and neither was I. Honestly, Clay, you went to two years of nursery school before kindergarten, so why can't you read yet?" She scowled at him and added, "Push your glasses up." He obediently nudged the plastic-framed glasses higher on his nose.

"I don't know why. The letters don't make sense, they're just squiggles on paper." The short boy looked down with a confused look in his dark eyes. It had really seemed like Mrs. Barros liked him. Why would she say mean things? "Did she say anything good?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, yes. You're sweet, nice to the other children, you're a good follower....Forresters aren't followers, we're leaders! You'll never rule the world being a follower. And you're good...at art. You're going to end up just like your father- a nameless, blend-into-the-background lackey!" Pearl had always believed in using fear as a motivational aid; however, Clay did not react as she had at his age. He burst into tears and ran up to his bedroom. She shrugged and began clearing the table, muttering again, "Just like his father. At least he looks like my side of the family. Hmph."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Behind his closed bedroom door, Clayton climbed onto his bed and sat there, crying, with his face buried in a stuffed animal. His soft sniffles slowed as he calmed down. Finally, he raised his head and took a deep breath. "It's not my fault," he told himself. "I'm not stupid. I just look at things differently from other people." The dark eyes turned to his window. "I'm not stupid," he repeated. He laughed, but he couldn't tell what at. The dark clouds rolling in screamed "STORM!" to him, and he loved storms, especially thunderstorms. He could see patterns in the clouds that told him far better stories than the ones he tried to read at school. The thin boy was not strong, but he wrestled his window open quickly enough, and climbed the lattice up to the roof. He perched there, looking like a baby bird with his wild thatch of hair and beakish nose, all elbows and knees. "Come on, hurry up," he urged the storm. As if obliging him, the violently purple clouds rolled over his head within a minute. The rain came, falling hard and stinging his bare arms, but he stayed there, face turned upwards to see it all better. A bright flash and near-instantaneous boom heralded Clayton's favorite weather type. He never saw the next bolt of lightning, though. He felt it. The electric current ran through his slight figure, passing most heavily through a point just above his forehead, rewiring the currents of his brain with its massive, inexorable force. It happened in less than a second, and yet, Clayton Forrester's life would never return to the calm state he had known.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pearl was looking out the window idly, wondering whether this storm would blow out the electricity like the last one had. A clap hit, and her ears ached with the volume of the instant thunder. The lights flickered and went out. "Damn," she mumbled. A sudden pale blur went by the window, and something hit the ground outside with a stomach-twisting thump. "What in the hell...." The sight that greeted her nearly stopped her heart. "Clayton!" She really did love her son, she just never showed it. She didn't want him to turn out a sap, like his father. Now, seeing the burn disfiguring his face, not knowing if he was alive or dead, the character-building went out of her mind and her maternal instincts rallied to the front. She ran out to the unconscious boy, carefully picked him up, and laid him on the couch inside.

With a quick prayer to the Powers That Be, she picked up the phone. The sweet sound of a dial tone met her ear. She dialed 911 with a shaking finger. Mechanically following the operator's orders, the wail of an ambulance grew closer far too slowly for her taste. The EMT's that hopped out efficiently got Clayton into the back. She went with them to the hospital, holding her son's pale, small hand through the trip. They were separated in the Emergency Room. The forms pushed in front of her seemed as Clay had described them- meaningless squiggles. She filled them out as best as she could. After an interminable period, a light-haired nurse with a curl on his forehead walked over to her. She looked up at him, startled.

"Frank? Since when do you work here?" she demanded.

"About six months ago, now. What happened to Clayton?" he asked back.

"He got hit by lightning. Obviously," Pearl sneered, using arrogance to cover her worry.

"Why was he outside at all? Damn it, Pearl, I'm his father, I think I deserve to know this!" The round-cheeked man sat beside her, eyes burning with muted anger. She sighed and let the facade drop, revealing a worried, weary mother behind the bitch.

"I'm sorry, Frank, I know I'm not helping...He was upset at me and climbed onto the roof to watch the storm. You know how he is..." She trailed off.

"I don't, really, but go on. Why was he mad at you?" She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I was kind of mad at him about his report card grades. Do you know he can't read?" Frank sat back slightly, moving Pearl's head from him.

"I didn't start reading until I was seven. He's only six. Give him a little slack." Pearl picked up the facade, dusted it off, and put it back on.

"Well, you're the nurse. How is he?" she pressed. The white-blond head shook slowly.

"Don't know. Jen was the free nurse when he came in. I'll ask her as soon as they're done, all right?" He stood up and walked back to the reception desk. Pearl slumped back into her seat. Something about her ex-lover just set her on edge every time she saw him... And she still felt a little guilty about never telling Clay that Frank was his father. Well, when he was okay...She'd tell him as soon as he was okay.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What happened?" Clayton's voice was raspy, dry, too soft to be heard. He swallowed and asked again, "What happened?" The doctor standing beside him leaned over to his eye level.

"Hello, Clayton. I'm Doctor Sanalood. You got hurt pretty badly, but you'll be okay." She smiled at him.

"That isn't what I asked. What happened?" The doctor frowned suddenly, but answered him.

"You were on your roof and got hit by lightning. You fell off the roof and dislocated your shoulder." He opened his mouth to cut in, but she went on. "You have a first-degree burn on your head, a lot of bruises, and a rather interesting new hairdo."

"What do you mean?" he asked, dark eyes wide.

"The lightning gave you a white streak right up front. It's kinda cool." She smiled. "I know a bunch of interns who'd like something like that." Clayton ignored her last comment.

"When can I go home? Where's my mom?"

"You sure have a lot of questions for such a little guy. We don't know when you can go yet. We think it would be a good idea to keep you in for a while. And your mom is in the waiting room. Would you like to see her?" He nodded weakly. "All right."

The doctor walked away. Clayton stretched out, finding several bruises more or less by accident, and gingerly felt his forehead with his fingertips. A bandage covered most of it, and he could feel the difference between the white stripe; which was rough textured, and the dark blond majority, which was softer. He looked over at the chart beside the bed.

"Severe burns...unknown mental effects...Hey, I'm reading that! What the heck?" He sat up suddenly, and gazed down at the blanket. Usually the wrinkles had a sort of pattern, a purpose for falling the way they did, but he could no longer see any connection. He looked at the lines on his palms- where once, he could have read them like a book, they were simply lines to him now. Confusion settled in as he realized that he perfectly understood everything written on the chart- from his own name to scribbled doctor's notations- but couldn't comprehend the simplest of natural design in the room around him. "What's going on?" he asked the empty room, and for the first time he could remember, the air provided no answer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Author's Note: This was my first MST3K fic. I know it's a little abruptly ended. I don't exactly know what to do with it. If you'd like to see more, C&C it and give me your suggestions; I'm always open to new ideas! Thank you for reading this.