DYING TO LIVE



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




EIGHTEEN

Life, or what was left of it for me, eventually got back to normal. Professor bought my new friend's fib. That took care of it as far as he and the rest of the world were concerned.

With Buttercup and Bubbles, it was different, at least for awhile. They knew me a little too well. They kept asking questions about the President, about the future, about the other, horrible things I'd spoken of. I kept brushing them off. I told them that the President was a really nice man and that there was something that he made me promise to never tell. Which was true.

"Wow. The President told YOU a secret?"

About the rest of it, I had nothing to say.

"Gee, guys, I don't remember any of that stuff. Those must have been some nasty chemicals I got into if they made me talk crazy like that!"

"But, how come you knew what was gonna happen with Fuzzy?" Bubbles demanded. Buttercup was watching me very carefully.

I blamed it on the 'para-psycho junk' caused by the 'chemicals'.

Pretty soon, they forgot about it and life went on. We did our jobs protecting Townsville but other than that, we were like any other six year-olds. I did start paying more attention to the world outside, though; watching with interest what my secret friend, the President, was doing.

2000 was an election year and I wondered how he would handle it. He knew he'd never see Election Day but he was so popular it was unthinkable for him to not run.

He dropped the bomb in February, announcing that his doctors advised him against it due to a recently discovered 'condition'. I smiled. He was preparing the world for the shock. The more I watched and learned, I saw that he had picked the right person for Vice President, someone who would make a great leader, and had the full support of the President and much of Congress and the press, too. Though my friend and I wouldn't be around to see it, America would have its first woman President. At least in this world. When and if I lived one more time, our national disgrace would still be in office. Then it hit me, I WOULD get to see this woman be President. Just for a week, but at least I would always know that it did happen.

Winter passed into spring and then summer as we graduated from first grade. I did my best keeping Professor away from his experiments to spend time with us. I wanted the three of us to enjoy as many good times with him as possible that summer so they could remember them after I was gone. I made sure I told them every night before bed that I loved them. It was something I hadn't done enough.

The days ran like sand through an hourglass and I couldn't slow them down. It was finally the morning of August 11th. I was thankful we had no crime to fight because I wanted to be home when it happened. I suggested a good, tough training session in the Danger Room to get my mind off it and make the morning pass faster. Buttercup was all for it and we had a great workout. Almost before we knew it, Professor was calling us for lunch.

It was almost one when we finished eating, and I went outside. I sat on our little bench in the shade of my favorite tree. I hoped the Girls would stay inside so I could be alone with my thoughts, and they did. My heart pounded faster and faster as I looked at my watch. What was he feeling at that moment? Was he afraid? If this was really the end for him, and for me in 8 more days, I wanted peace for both of us.

At 1:20, I closed my eyes and prayed for that very thing. I sat there with my eyes closed, willing the tears to stay out of them. When the news broke, my sisters would come charging out to tell me and I had to act like I was shocked. They weren't stupid, and to be crying, acting like I knew it was coming, would get them to remembering my rant about my own death. I didn't want to start that all over again. As soon as they told me, then the flood could start.






I knelt there in front of my friend the President's flag-draped casket with tears running down my face until it was time for us to move along. The thing was, though, I wasn't crying for him. I didn't know if he was 'reliving' again or if the thing, whatever it was that had hold of us, creature, spirit or cosmic fluke, had finally let him be. But, somehow, I felt that he was okay.

I cried because Bubbles was crying. Buttercup was awed by the hugeness of the Capitol Rotunda, where we were part of the hundreds of thousands that filed through, paying our respects. She just stared all around her, at the military honor guard, the faces of the famous people she'd seen on TV but whose names she didn't know. Bubbles seemed awed, too; right until it was our turn. I don't know why, because she didn't know him, only talked to him for maybe a minute that once at the hospital. Maybe she was feeling bad for me, or because of her sensitive nature, she felt the sadness that most of the world felt. But as we knelt briefly, she began to cry; and it suddenly hit me that in less than a week, she would be wearing the same black dress, kneeling before my coffin. I'd never really thought about my other four funerals before now; three where I'd probably been treated like some kind of hero though I didn't deserve it, and that one. A cheap pine box in an unmarked convict's grave, and that was too good for me. But my mind pictured the one to come, and when I saw the pitiful look on Bubbles' face, I started to lose it. I reached out and took her hand, wanting to tell her not to cry for me; but of course, I couldn't do that. Buttercup saw, and took Bubbles' other hand, and she started crying, too. Professor quickly put his strong hands on our shoulders and gently eased us away to let the next mourners have their turn.