My name is Bellatrix Viridia Utonium. Yes, as in that Utonium. I'm basically 20 years old, and i'm a creation of Professor John Utonium, creator of the PowerPuff girls, my sisters. I was created as a 5 year old just like any artificial human made with Chemical X, but the professor threw me away on my 10th birthday when he wanted little bug eye girls; he made the PPGs a year later.
Yea, I don't really look like a powerpuff girl; my only real PPG feature are my pupils and irises, but other wise I look like any woman my age; black glossy hair styled into long goth pigtails (think Abby's from NCIS), some silver piercings on my ears, deep purple eyes, with unassuming facial structure; I don't have any special facial features apart from my eyes. Everything is basically average shaped, except for my mildly pointier than average chin, I guess. I'm about 5'10", and I'm a little thin but not starving. I'm pale but I look relatively healthy for a pale person, but my health hides my bitter sadness, which isn't hidden well enough, as you can tell I'm pained by my ever-slightly furrowed brows and a natural mild frown on my lips, which were painted with a dark purple lipstick today. The reason I've got lipstick on is because I've got to look presentable for my job. You see... I work at a clothing store, basically a Hot Topic, I guess.
I threw on a black shirt and draped myself in an opened Old Navy jacket, put on my grey skirt and put on striped purple and black stockings underneath. I jumped into a pair of brown boots and slid into my fingerless gloves. I put on some mascara, and I was set. I opened the door of my dumb apartment and took off flying.
"The Town of Citiesville looks nice," I told myself sarcastically. Yes, I live in Citiesville. I dare not share a city with those mongrels I am legally related to. People didn't point or look; I'm just another miserable woman in a city of melancholia. I sigh deeply. "Here goes another day at my stupid job," I whine. I land outside of the mall where the Hot Topic was, took a moment to fix my hair, and walked in.
The mall was packed with all types; Preps, punks, goths, emos, clueless parents trying to use their new phones, and people just buying stuff. Of all the malls in America, this one was still somehow popular. Guess us millenials missed a spot. I glanced to the Claires', then left two stores to the gap between the Gamestop and the Spencer's; down that path was a special subset of counterculture stores. We called it the Misery District, because it was largely goth type stuff. I walked down and went to the Hot Topic, which was just betwixt another Spencers and America's only Village & Vanguard.
Cecelia, the girl who worked the previous shift was just clearing off the counter. "Hey Bella, glad you made it on time this time!" she joked. I replied with a sarcastic double-"har". I flew up and over the counter and i sat down to work. It wasn't a particularly busy day. I spent most of my day drawing and texting, because it was just a slow day I guess. "Why god, why? this is boring! i hate you," I thought at god directly. i HATE MY life so much. It's always the same shit every day forever. But then, something happened that broke this cyclical cycle.
Mojo Jojo suddenly appeared.. with a gun! "HAHA! I am MoJo JoJo and 'yo gonna be no mo! I have a gun, just one, and baby it wants to bang!" I stared incredulously. "That is to say, it will bang with a bullet that it shoots out, producing the eponymous 'bang' sound. It's going to bang, but not have sex, my implications were accidental." Then he shot someone dead and tried to take my cashier! I wasn't having it. "Fuck off!" I said as I kicked him in his little dick. "ooch my balls!" he cried in his little monkey voice. 'Where's your mojo now, Mojo?" I said sadisticly as I loomed over him like a tall statue. "Please have the mercy for me!" I jumped on his ribs and broke him. Mojo Jojo was No More. I took the register back and set it back on the counter. the police arrived and questioned me for a second, then congratulated me of stopping such a nefarious criminal. "I'm no hero, I'm just a girl trying to do her job..." I replied wistfully every time.
That night, I went home. I took off my clothes to just the pink and black panties and balconette brasseire. I lied down on my bed and cried. I always cried; who woudln't cry with a life as shitty like mine? "When will things change? When will my life truly begin? Or am I just here to suffer? Maybe... we're all here to suffer. Forever." I said sadly as I curled up and went to sleep.