Author's Notes: I recently rediscovered The Powerpuff Girls, a show I really liked as a kid but hadn't watched in years. After rewatching several episodes I remembered why I liked it so much, and then an idea for a fanfic came to me, and I just had to write it down. Just to let you know, this fic will mostly be taking inspiration from the original PPG series. Nothing against the new series, I'm just not very familiar with it. Anyway, thank you to those who are giving this new story a chance. Hopefully it will be a good one. I also hope you will leave a review :)

Chapter 1

Find Yourself, Lose Yourself

The city of Townsville. A city full of goodwill and hope for the future. A city full of dreamers and bright shining minds, and one place for those shining minds to flourish and grow is Golden Brooks Middle School.

It was a cloudy morning as the Powerpuff Girls got ready to face another day at school. Bubbles brushed her blonde pigtails and checked her phone for the millionth time to see if any of her numerous friends had called. Buttercup slid her arm over the dresser and let whatever contents were up there fall into her backpack so she could save time. She had basketball practice that day as well as needing to touch base with Mitch about that party he was throwing next weekend. Blossom had trouble choosing between several pink dresses (all identical and neatly pressed) and finally decided to go with the pink one (as opposed to the pink one).

Blossom then meticulously packed each and every item she would need for school in her backpack and checked the mirror to make sure her hair and bow were perfect. They were, so she waited for her sisters to finish getting ready.

"Oh, girls!" The professor hollered up the stairs, "Breakfast is ready!"

"Alright!" Buttercup zipped away in a streak of green light to be the first one to the table.

Bubbles and Blossom followed Buttercup at a slightly slower pace. They knew there would be enough left for them.

Everyone sat at the table and ate their eggs and bacon with orange juice. The professor read the news on his tablet and smoked his pipe while Bubbles and Buttercup raced to see who could eat the fastest and Blossom sat back and watched. Blossom found herself doing that a lot lately; sitting back, watching, noting the behavior of those around her...

The Powerpuff Girls were only 8 years old, but since they started school practically as soon as they were born they were already in middle school. Blossom couldn't help but notice the differences between the Powerpuffs and normal people now. While mentally the girls had no problem keeping up with their peers, physically was a completely different story. The girls hadn't aged at all, and Blossom often wondered if they ever would. After all, they were the first people ever created using Chemical X, so no one really knew how that would affect the aging process or even their life spans. Thoughts of her uncertain mortality often troubled Blossom.

After finishing their breakfast, the girls flew out the open window and toward the direction of the school. Buttercup texted Elmer to see if he had the answers to yesterday's homework so she could quickly scribble the answers before the bell rang. Blossom used to hate it when Buttercup cheated, but now more than anger she just felt puzzlement.

How were Buttercup and Bubbles still so far behind? Blossom mostly went to school because she was a kid and it was the law that she had to get a proper education, but she already knew most of what they taught by now. She didn't even study science and math anymore since it was all locked in her brain. Sometimes she wondered how the rest of her class was so far behind.

The girls made it to school on time like always. Despite their differing attitudes the Powerpuff Girls were still good kids that did their best to obey the rules; even if Buttercup complained the entire time. Bubbles immediately gravitated to a group of her friends by an open locker and Buttercup started talking to her best friend Mitch. Blossom went to first period social studies and sat down with her hands neatly folded in front of her. She was the only one in the room. Not even the teacher was there yet. It was typical for Blossom to arrive first.

For some reason it really struck Blossom today how lonely she was as she stared out the window at the cloudy sky. It wasn't going to rain or anything, but it was still an overcast day.

There were times like this when Blossom would feel isolated due to her routine and her intellect. The only time she could have an intelligent conversation was when she was helping the professor with a project, but she couldn't tell anyone her dad was her best friend. That was lame.

The bell rang, and Blossom was relieved that the other kids and the teacher were filing in. She didn't want to be alone today for some reason, but she didn't know why this feeling was coming upon her now. She was alone every morning, and she was the only gifted kid in school every morning. Nothing had changed, but for some reason today her feelings about this situation had changed.

Nothing too exciting happened in school for the first few classes, but then Blossom went to fifth period English & Literature, and she got a homework assignment that felt like one of the biggest coincidences of the year.

"Class, over the weekend I'm going to give you a creative writing assignment," The teacher intoned, and a couple troublemaking kids in the back groaned, "Now now, this isn't a boring assignment at all. Over the weekend I want you to write about how you feel when you're alone. It can be any kind of writing. A poem, a short story, an essay, or whatever else your mind conjures up. It can be happy, sad, angsty, thought provoking, etc."

Normally Blossom wasn't a fan of creative writing work. Oh sure, she could do it somewhat, but she didn't much care for artistic stuff. That was more Bubbles' department. This, however, felt different. Blossom was feeling lonely lately, and she did feel the need to express herself, and just like all of life's problems the answer was homework.

...

After school that day Blossom sat at her desk and tried to write something brilliant for her creative writing class. She knew she felt lonely, and she knew how she felt about it, but for some reason she had trouble getting her thoughts down in writing.

"Hm..." Blossom stared at the computer screen and the blinking cursor in hopes of inspiration hitting her like it did writers in the movies, "Okay then..."

She tried typing out her feelings, but it didn't have the flare she was looking for in her work.

I Feel Lonely, By Blossom. Today I felt bored and lonely as I sat at my desk at school. I waited for 2.3 minutes for the rest of the class to show up. Again. Loneliness is like a...a...

"Okay, what is loneliness like?" Blossom asked herself as she stared at her uninspired words, "Loneliness is like a...shoe! That has no partner. Because you need two shoes. Okay, that's not good. At all."

Blossom growled in frustration and lightly bonked her head against the keyboard. She wondered if she could call it modern art if she just banged her head against the keyboard repeatedly and turned in whatever letters appeared on the screen.

No, that's not good. That's what Buttercup would do. Think Blossom, think!

Then she typed again, but the next so-called poem was even worse than the last. She needed to do some research, so she logged into a website where artists submitted their poetry and other original writing content. She hoped that reading a few of these poems would inspire her to stop being lousy.

She narrowed it down to poetry and then typed in the word lonely. There were thousands of results and Blossom didn't know which one to pick, but then she saw one poem that had over 2,000 likes that was from a user in Townsville. Maybe this should be where she starts. Blossom clicked on the poem and immediately noticed that it didn't rhyme.

"Wow, way to be a baby about this. Not all poems rhyme, you know that," Blossom chastised herself before continuing to read the poem in its entirety.

Lonely But Not Alone

By WildThing-HeartStrings

The thoughts of my mind are a water fountain that I have shattered and stifled with a cork.

The silence welcomes those around me, and banishes my thoughts into a dark spacious cavern with no escape or return.

If I were to unplug the fountain and allow the sparkling ideas to flow, I would be cast up into the abyss, for my abyss is above me in my wretched state. Nothing is below.

My eyes are bloodshot and worn with the reality of the fetid tides of the world around me.

I am surrounded, yet I am alone.

See the diamonds glistening on the ground, only to pick one up and be cut to the bone by the broken glass that was only an illusion to my hungry soul.

I hunger for beauty, I lust for peace within my rotting heart. The fountains of my heart are full of music, laughter, and profound thoughts that I dare not speak lest I be condemned to the damnation of isolation.

I am surrounded, yet I am alone.

Hear the mocking laughter; the crowd to which I have melded. See the reflection of injustice in the eyes of a helpless widow. Up, up, even down is too good for me.

Why must my mouth be silent? Why must my very language be impropriety? If I were to speak my peace I would be shut out forever by the harpies of injustice.

What is a friend? What is an enemy? Are these not merely two forms of the same desire, that of attention?

Hear me from the bottom of my well! Seek my fountain, oh merciful dainty ears of beauty! Hear my plaintive cry as I fall into the pit of despair!

I am surrounded, yet I am alone.

Whether the poem was professionally written or not was up for debate, but it struck a chord with Blossom. This poet had captured the feeling of not actually being separated from society and yet feeling like you have no place within it at the same time. That was how Blossom was feeling. Someone actually understood.

Part of her wanted to try to write her assignment now, but another part wanted to know more. She wanted to know how to put her feelings down in a way that others could understand and appreciate. She decided to send a message to WildThing-HeartStrings to see if this person would actually respond.

Blossom checked her messages off and on for about an hour before deciding that the poet probably wouldn't reply that evening. She decided to take a break from her homework and grab some dinner.

After dinner and dishes Blossom went upstairs to prepare for bed. She absentmindedly checked her messages again on her phone and noticed that she had a new message from the poetry website. The poet had responded!

Dear Guest,

Oops, Blossom thought. I forgot to make an account...

Dear Guest,

I am so pleased that you found my poem to be inspiring to you. I do so love it when my work can make a difference for someone else. I mostly just write poetry to relieve stress and vent my frustration in a constructive way. You had asked about my writing process, and honestly I don't really have one. When I'm feeling down and have access to the computer I just sit down and type whatever's on my mind. Tell me friend, what is on your mind? Perhaps telling someone will inspire you to write a poem you can be proud of.

Sincerely,

Wild Thing

Blossom was happy she got a response, but it was admittedly less than helpful. Just sit down and write? She already tried that! Still, this person agreed to help her with her problem, so maybe they could still help, assuming their next bit of advice wasn't just something corny like 'believe in yourself' or 'don't give up'.

Blossom made an account on the poetry site, opened a direct chat, and invited Wild Thing to join her.

...

WildThing-HeartStrings: Hello, you must be Guest :P

EverythingNice98: Yeah, that was me. I just can't get the hang of writing down my feelings in a way that doesn't sound redundant. Any advice?

WildThing-HeartStrings: Don't use the same words unless you have to. Let's say you feel sad. The first time you could say sad, but the second time try a different word like melancholy, rueful, or morose. There are many shades of sadness, just as there are many shades of all sorts of different emotions. Get it?

EverythingNice98: I think so.

WildThing-HeartStrings: So then, tell me how you feel...

EverythingNice98: I feel like no one understands me when I speak. Like everything I say flys right over their heads!

WildThing-HeartStrings: I totally get that. The only ones that seem to understand me when I talk are my friends, and even then they don't really get it.

EverythingNice98: Exactly! My dad is the only one that understands how it feels to be the nerd in the group. Not even homework makes me feel accomplished anymore. I feel like I'm wasting my time.

WildThing-HeartStrings: You are.

EverythingNice98: What!? What are you talking about?

WildThing-HeartStrings: I mean your intellect doesn't come from a lesson plan or a boring teacher droning on and on. Your personality and your will to learn comes from inside of you. Now, you wanna write a poem? Show me what you've got.

EverythingNice98: Well...okay. The clouds were grey today. I felt like flying, but I thought it might not be such a good idea. How could I see where I'm going if the clouds are grey? You see Wild Thing? This is terrible!

WildThing-HeartStrings: Admittedly it's unpolished, but I kind of like it. You take an absurd concept and give it an even more outlandish thought process, all while making it sound utterly mundane. Try to expand on that.

EverythingNice98: You liked it!? Are you crazy?

WildThing-HeartStrings: Of course I'm crazy. Couldn't you tell? Pfft!

EverythingNice98: LOL!

WildThing-HeartStrings: Think of it this way, the word unique sounds like the word eunuch. I always considered that this might not be an accident. After all, unique and creative individuals are cut off from the rest of society and become entities unto themselves, just like a eunuch.

EverythingNice98: Okay, where did THAT come from?

WildThing-HeartStrings: Exactly. Take your oddest most outlandish thoughts and give them life through your writing. You'll be surprised at what you come up with. Good luck with your homework, and I hope you find what you're looking for through your poetry. I must abscond now, but I do hope to see your words dancing across my screen by the morrow. Farewell...

EverythingNice98: Bye :)

...

Blossom logged off and sighed, wondering if Wild Thing was right about just writing whatever crazy thing came into her mind. She opened her document again, everything already deleted because it stunk. She took a deep breath, and tried to think of what was on her mind. She thought of the homophone Wild Thing spoke about, and suddenly an idea came to her.

The Herd That Heard

By Blossom Utonium

The words herd and heard sound the same, and in a way they serve to complement each other. For if someone is not heard, then their own herd cannot be found. Herd in this context refers to a large social grouping such as that of buffalo or cattle. In this case however the cattle refer to my fellow classmates, and I feel that I am not heard. I am lonely, because even when I speak, I am not heard. Therefore, I feel I have no herd, not anymore.

"It's still not good, but it's better," Blossom finally decided as she deleted the poem and turned off her computer.

Blossom heard Bubbles and Buttercup arguing over the TV remote and decided she would just sit in her room and read a book. A book on string theory seemed like the perfect engaging read before bedtime, and she went to bed hoping that the next day she would finally think of what she wanted to say...

Meanwhile, across Townsville in a condemned house sat five squatters that many in Townsville would recognize all too well as the Gangreen Gang. Most people didn't know the ruffians lived in this area, otherwise they likely would avoid walking the streets near the old worn down house.

A dim light from a retro Windows XP computer lit up the face of the man currently occupied with writing on the direct messaging board of a poetry website to a new friend that called herself EverythingNice98. School kids considered some of the dumbest little things problems, but the green man didn't mind sharing his wisdom with someone that was willing to listen.

"Hey Grubber, get off the computer! It's my turn!" Little Arturo shouted as he poked Grubber in the back of the head, "Come on, man! I wanna play pinball!"

"Pfft!" Grubber replied begrudgingly.

He typed a quick goodbye to his new friend and got up off the floor so Little Arturo could use the computer. With nothing better to do, Grubber checked up on the other gang members to see how they were faring.

Big Billy and Snake were playing cards, which seemed like a waste of time since Big Billy never won (without someone letting him), and Ace was smoking by the broken back window. Overall it was a normal boring night.

Grubber, not knowing what else to do with himself, stood on his head and blew raspberries at the other gang members while swinging his legs back and forth. This earned a passive look from Snake and a questioning stare from Billy.

"Dah...What's Grubber doin'?" Big Billy asked in his slow derpy voice.

"Who caresss?" Snake hissed dismissively, "Who can ever figure out why Grubber doesss what he doesss?"

Grubber then let himself fall over and then while laying on his hunched back he blew a few more successive raspberries. The gang knew to interpret those noises as "Look at me! I'm a beached whale!"

Ace grumbled as he looked out at the starless cloudy night. He stomped out his cigarette on the ground and turned to look at the gang. Arturo's pinball game was loud and it was starting to get on the gang leader's nerves.

Ace loudly whistled and hollered "Listen up!", and immediately all sound stopped and every gang member was standing at attention awaiting Ace's command or announcement.

"That's better," Ace replied in satisfaction, "Yo Snake, how we fixed for food?"

"We ran out yesssterday," Snake replied nervously; knowing keeping track of the food was his job.

"Terrific," Ace replied sarcastically, "Who's got money?"

Everyone rummaged through their pockets to see what they could find. Ace pulled out a dollar, Snake pulled out three quarters and a button, Arturo pulled out his comb and a nickel, Grubber pulled out a hacky sack and a handful of dead earwigs, and Big Billy pulled out a used wad of gum and more pocket lint than anyone should ever have stuffed in their pockets.

"Okay then," Ace replied in an accepting tone, "Yous guys is lucky I just swiped a gun from some stiff a few days ago."

"Why do we needsss a gun?" Snake asked obliviously.

Ace smacked him in the face like he always did when Snake said something stupid, and Snake rubbed the sore spot on his large reptilian nose.

"We need a gun to rob Malph's, you idiot!" Ace shouted in exasperation, "Unless you like starvin' better?"

"No, no Accce! It'sss a great plan!" Snake quickly replied to avoid his boss's wrath.

With that matter settled, Ace led the group out of their flop house and they started sauntering over to the all-night convenience store to steal as much money and food as they could carry.

Grubber sometimes wondered if this lifestyle would ever end. He was 23 years old now, which wasn't all that old, but it still meant he had spent the past 12 years of his life as a member of the Gangreen Gang. Thinking back on stuff like that made him feel like the prime of his life was already behind him.

He remembered when the gang was something to be feared and loathed. They were young, there were no Powerpuff Girls, and they could do whatever they wanted. Now they had to be quicker, and their scores had to be smaller. It wasn't about having fun and picking on little kids anymore. Now there were rival gangs, supervillains, and superheroes. Now the scores they pulled were mostly for survival and nothing more. His abyss really was above him, because he had hit rock bottom years ago.