A PpG 'alternate reality' fan fiction
By I am a good fighter
DISCLAIMER: Powerpuff Girls created by Craig McCracken and all characters associated with the show are owned by Cartoon Network
Story idea adapted from the novel 'Replay' (c) 1986 by Ken Grimwood
This story is rated PG-13
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is not at all like the TV show, so I would call it an 'alternate reality' fiction, and have rated it PG-13 due to its dark nature and a very few instances of strong language. If you want a cartoon-type fiction, please go no further.
Blossom is the centerpiece of this story, she tells it from her perspective to her diary. The idea behind it is not original. It is taken from one of my favorite works of fiction, 'Replay' by Ken Grimwood (1986, Arbor House, NY). Just like in the book, there are no real answers to the questions raised. It's up to each of us to make up our own minds what we think about life, death and what comes after. This story differs from the book in two major regards: One, the book is, in a way, a love story. That would certainly not be the case involving the PpG. Secondly, in addition to the mysteries of living and dying, the book also centers on the concept of fixing past mistakes. My story doesn't go into that in great depth. Blossom does agonize over things she's done, but spends most of her time just dealing with the situation she finds herself in. It's also considerably shorter than the 300 plus page novel.
Some people think when you are doing an adaptation, you are being unfair to the characters; you are just making them actors in someone else's play. There is some truth to that. Craig McCracken said in an interview he didn't want to see 'PpG do Titanic'. But I wanted the experience of doing an adaptation at least once, and I believe I have kept things within the Powerpuff universe, even if it's not humor. How many plots of movies, TV shows, cartoons, etc. are really adaptations of someone else's idea? Lots of 'em, I can tell you that. It's also my first attempt at writing in the first person. I looked at it as good practice.
Dates used here regarding certain 'events' from the TV show have no relation to the order with which we've seen them. A story like this needs some continuity and the show has little or none, so I had to create some. I've also taken a bit of artistic license with the PpG's ages. They actually grow older, while on the show they're assumed to be five forever.
Comments would be most appreciated, and I hope you like it enough to find the book and read it. If you don't like it, blame me, not the novel 'Replay'. It's too good a book to pass up. It can be bought new at Amazon.com; good used copies can be found through web sites such as www.bookfinder.com, or you may find a copy at your local library.
Dear Diary: I don't know where to start, so I guess I'll start at the beginning. I know, that sounds really dumb, but I am filled with questions for which there are no answers. Just when I thought I had the perfect explanation for all of it, too. Now my thoughts are a confused mess. Maybe writing it down will help. Well, here goes. Oh, wait. It might be easier if I just write down conversations the way I remember them, even though it might look funny to anyone who reads this. I don't plan on ever letting anyone get their hands on you, though, Dear Diary. I'm doing this for me, I just hope it works.
I died August 19, 2000, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. All our lives we knew that our jobs were dangerous, that something like this could happen. But I never believed it would happen to me. I was too smart, too prepared, too many other things that I would soon find out I wasn't at all. And when it happened, I was wrong about that, too. I really thought dying would hurt a lot more than it did. I hardly felt a thing. No, what hurt was seeing my sisters' faces, feeling their tears splashing on me; knowing that they knew I was about to leave them forever.
I still don't know for sure how it happened, because I always try to be careful. I knew that giant porcupine-monster's quills could be trouble; in fact, I warned Buttercup and Bubbles to stay away from it. It launched a whole bunch of those quills at us when we first got to it; some of them went right through trees and buried themselves in the sides of the concrete and stone buildings of downtown. Making sure we all stayed a safe distance away, I had Bubbles stun it with one of her sonic blasts, and I hit it with my ice-breath. The thing fell over, crushing a store, but now its unprotected belly was exposed, just like I wanted. The three of us moved in and whaled on it pretty good. I was sure we'd finished it, and I was about to give Buttercup the order to throw it into orbit when I felt something like a bee stinging me in the middle of my back. It had to have been a ricochet from one of those first quills, because I watched the thing come out of my chest and go right through a parked car. Like I said, I hardly felt it, but I couldn't breathe. I fell to my knees and when I looked down, there was a dark red spot spreading on the front of my dress.
I must have been dead in seconds, but the whole thing seemed to be happening in slow motion. I was on my back, looking up at the perfect blue sky. I could hear the Girls screaming and then they were leaning over me, crying, pleading with me to hang on, their eyes telling me they knew it was too late. There was no pain, but I felt cold, so cold. I tried to tell them not to worry, everything would be OK, but no words came out, only a gurgle and something warm and wet and salty. I could see the time on Bubbles' watch read 1:17, then I couldn't see anything anymore, but I could feel them on the ground next to me, hugging me. The last thing I remember hearing was Buttercup sobbing "No, Blossom, please, I love you!"
I thought to myself "So, this is what it's like. No bright light at the end of a tunnel, no angels with trumpets, only an icy darkness. No watching your life replay itself in front of you."
I couldn't have been more wrong.