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




TWENTY-TWO

Well, Dear Diary, tomorrow's the big day. The doctors say I can go home, but it's going to be awhile before I can even go in the Danger Room to train, let alone get back to fighting crime alongside my sisters. They've been doing a terrific job without me, though.

They've been really great, Professor, too. They practically moved in here but I finally convinced them they'd be helping me out more if they slept at home where they were used to it; that I worried about them worrying about me. They're now keeping their visits down to an hour a couple times a day. To be honest, Dear Diary, I've been glad to have the privacy to think, and to write in you. I'm not any closer to figuring this out.

The doctors told me I was lucky; a half an inch either way and they wouldn't have been able to save me. As it was, the operation to fix the hole in my heart took seven hours and I was in a coma for another two days after.

"So what's the problem?", you might ask. What's to figure out? Doesn't the coma explain everything? I could have dreamed up this whole insane story during those two days, with the drugs helping out a whole lot. In fact, I overheard the doctors telling Professor that there were a few times when I was very close to not making it. That would explain all of my 'deaths'. Each time I 'died' was when I was close to actually dying, and each episode of 'reliving' was my brain's drug-inspired reaction to it. Makes a lot of sense, when you stop and think about it. So, what's the problem?

Here's the problem. Everyone's been great to me. Mayor and Ms. Bellum and Ms. Keane and lots of my other friends have come to see me. My room was so full of stuffed toys and balloons and stuff you couldn't even move. Bubbles took home a few she really liked and they gave the rest to the sick kids here and the other hospitals in Townsville. It's slowing down now, but there's been so many get-well cards I haven't been able to read half of them yet. From all over the world, from places even I haven't heard of, imagine that!

Sounds like I'm complaining, doesn't it? What could be wrong with such an outpouring of love and support? Nothing at all, and I'm grateful for it, really. Except for one thing.

Today is September 2nd. The 'accident' happened two weeks ago. I came out of the coma early on Tuesday, the 22nd. After a day of disbelief that I was actually alive beyond August the 19th, mixed with my joy at seeing my family; I felt up to reading some of my 'fan mail'. The hospital did a nice job of keeping it in the order it came in, and I was looking at the return addresses to see all the different places they were from. I'd gotten through about twenty when the next one had no return address. I looked at the postmark; sometimes they have the city on them. This one didn't even have that. I felt a bolt of ice shoot down my spine when I saw the date. It had been mailed on the 17th. Two days too soon. I'm glad no one was here to see my face when I ripped open the envelope.

Inside was a nice card, and in the card were two neatly folded sheets, typed and double-spaced.

Dear Blossom

I sent you this a bit early because I wanted it to be one of the first things you see. I want you to know that what happened to us was real. I can't get the memory of seeing you chained to that hospital bed out of my mind and don't want you to ever have to go through that again.

I don't know what physical state you will have found yourself in when you wake up, (though I'm sure it'll make the evening news!) but there is a good chance you will think it was all a dream. That would be a nice, clean way to make it go away, but someday those dreams will come back to torture us. We know in our hearts it all happened and the only way to get beyond it is to deal with it. That's not as easy as it sounds, because we have no one to talk to about it.

We do need to get it out somehow. I have a big advantage, because I've lived so many more years than you and have experienced many more things. I've decided to quit my job and write. I have enough crazy experiences inside of me for a dozen books, and at my age, I can get away with anything. My reality will be fiction for others. You won't have such an easy time, I'm afraid. Such things coming from a child aren't well received by the adult world, as you well know. Still, I think you should write down everything you can remember while it's still fresh. Maybe a diary or something that you won't be showing to anyone. Maybe when you are older, you'll want to do something with your memories.

Keep them or forget them, but don't let them torture you. Blossom, whatever guilt or bad feelings you may have over things you've done, please let go of them. I am no closer to understanding what it was that we were caught up in, and I've had over a hundred years to think about it. I've found no religious writings to explain it and have come to the conclusion that thinking about it will just give us a headache. Knowing will not change anything that's already happened, will it?

All I know is that our futures are as blank as the empty pages I am starting to fill up. The only thing we can change is what we decide to do with our lives, starting today. I know that you and your sisters are going to go on and do wonderful things with yours. I think it's best that you don't know who I am (well, you know my name, but I'll be writing under a pen name), but I want you to know that I will be following your careers as you grow into the fine young adults I know you will become. If I'm around that long; I'm home recuperating from that heart attack and I need to clean up my act if I don't want another. I don't look anything like that guy you met. I'll tell you one thing, I never want to see roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy again! I must have fallen into that plate a hundred times before it finally stopped. That was quite strange, but I suspect that I'm very lucky compared to what you must have gone through. But you are a strong person, Blossom, and I know you can handle it. You and those sisters of yours are very special now, but you are going to really be something when you grow up, and the world will be a much better place because of it. You know, I think you and I have more in common than just what we experienced. I believe you're going to make a good President yourself, someday. I hope I'm still around when it happens.

Your friend,

The 'President'