A/N- Something I had to get out of my system. It was actually a dream I had. I don't usually write PpG fanfiction. By my knowledge this is the first one. Please enjoy, for the love of Bubbles.
DEDICATION- To Ruhe, Dee Dee and Milo, who will never read this.
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MY FAMILY
By Blossom Utonium
13/12/2012
Currently in my life I am failing English horribly. This is my redemption on a redemption paper I was supposed to hand in a week ago. I never did. There's not much else I can do but complete this set of work; unless of course I'd like to fail. But I'd really rather not, the Professor would be so dissappointed in me....
So the topic I have to write at least four hundred words about is my family. Thanks Ms Woods, for giving me the worst subject in redemption history. My family is clear and to the point, no hidden doorways, no spooky glooming black shadows. The way it is is the way it is. And just because you've heard stuff that says otherwise in the teachers lounge from your little collegues and you're waiting for a big complicated story or a fairytale ending, Ms Woods, you may as well not even bother reading this silly thing. Just put it in a drawer for another day and put that big, red F on my report card.
Now, where should I start? How about the Professor, he sounds like a nice solid starting point. Professor Utonium. A man I have no words for. My father figure, the love of my life (Not like that!) The person that was always there. Though a busy man, he treated us well. He gave us the benefit of the doubt when needed, spoiled us silly and showered us with his unconditional love. He was, in my eyes, the coolest grown up ever when I was five. A person I openly showed my unabiding affection towards. I did just about anything for him, and I still will.
His hugs were (and still are, mind you) the softest, warmest, most loving arms I have ever experienced in my short life span. His love for us was strong, and in return our love for him is unconditional. Forever fueled. Will burn until the end of time, long after all of our bodies are nothing but their base elements buried deep under the layers of time.
He created my sisters and I in his laboratory by accident one night about ten or so years ago, with a little help from his monkey assistant turned super villain. Sugar, Spice and Everything nice; along with a dash of chemical X. A powerful explosion. Then as the dust cleared, he said we were just...there, hovering over the vat with bemused looks on our clueless faces. Fully clothed, fully powered, fully characterised. I can vaguelly remember that. Feeling nothing...empty...hollow...like a shell on a beach and then suddenly opening my eyes, finding myself where I was, distinguishing myself as if I had a card directing me as to who I was and how my personality was fed through my brain. And then attaching my affection to him the moment he named me. Kind of like a baby duckling, the first thing it sees it attaches to for life.
He still says we were his greatest creation, but I sometimes doubt that after I look at all the wonderful things that man has done over the years we've belonged to him. So many wonderful things for the good of mankind, things I couldn't possibly begin to describe without getting it all wrong and confusing you to the point of despair. He's a wonderful man, the Professor is. I don't know what we'd do without him.
My Younger sister. Buttercup. Classed as the toughest fighter, the tomboy, the one with the most sarcastic tongue in her head. I suppose on some levels that was very true. But it was never all her. She was one of those people you just couldn't sum up in less than a thousand words. I was her sister, the closest friend she ever had and the closest friend I ever had and I can still say confidently I knew very little about her. She clammed up a lot, as if it were her retaliation method. As soon as anyone hit a nerve she would double back into herself, refusing to open up for a long while afterwards. Her forgiveness was very hard to win back.
She loved photography with a passion. The way she could capture something so simple and turn it into something so complex and intricate with that black box was something I'm still not able to fully describe. Hers was a talent. Talent plus. She would have gotten work the moment she put out an offer.
But Buttercup was taken away from us about two years ago now. But not by any super villain weilding projectiles and time bombs. No, she was taken away by the makeup of her DNA. It's all in the Chemical X, was all the Professor had the heart to say to us. But we could read between the lines of his sentence perfectly well. The chemical X is poison and I know you two will be next.
It was a horrible last few weeks we spent with Buttercup. It had been as if she were suffering a rather nasty bout of flu. Loss of appetite, burning fever, coughing, steadily decreasing strength, aching limbs. The only thing that seemed to differ her from a flu was the loss of her powers...and then the glowing. Yeah...I still have nightmares about that steady green glowing and what it brought. That noise it made...I know that I'll never be able to rid myself of it, no matter how many years pass.
We visit Buttercup a lot now at her quiet grave, not at her public monument. Not to mourn her loss though. No, she'd forbidden us to do that. We go there and we smile, we remember her for the way she was. The dark haired, rough -and-tuff, slightly bossy green eyed girl. Sometimes we cry, but only when we know she won't be watching us. She wouldn't approve of tears. Though the tears never last long on me because I know.... deep inside we both know, the Professor knows, Buttercup knows...that it won't be very long before the remaining two Powerpuff Girls go the same way as the first did. It's all in the Chemical X after all, and we're just as much Chemical X as Buttercup was.
I loved Buttercup and I still do, almost as unconditionally as the Professor. Her witty remarks were like a slap in the face, that attitude of hers like a freezing shower. She always managed to twist me on either side of the extremety scale like the loose elastic in a pair of old panties. And though I may have yelled at her then for that...now it doesn't seem so annoying.
I remember when she first died I couldn't look at Bubbles the same. In those big blue eyes I saw the fire, the passion that used to burn deep within Buttercup. I saw the hurt and the pain, probably the same hurt and pain I was feeling from her death but in every way imaginable it reminded me of Buttercup's last few days. The way she yelled with pain... and the way she looked at me with big, pleading eyes, as if I knew how to make her pain stop and I wasn't telling her. And for weeks afterward, everytime Bubbles looked at me with those same pleading eyes I saw Buttercup still existing deep within her, as if possessing her...
My youngest sister. Bubbles. Named for her unconditional bubbly love toward what seems like everything. For her carefree, loving persona and her fresh and young smiling face. Probably the prettiest of the Powerpuffs, with those big, smiling baby blue eyes and well-cared for silky blonde pigtails. She probably would have turned out a stunning adult if the Chemical X had allowed her. But we were created as the perfect little girls. No matter how many years will pass between us and our creation date, no matter how old we become our bodies will never change. They'll stay the same perfect little girls' bodies until we die.
Bubbles has a childlike innocence about her despite what she's seen throughout her years. Her mind has been on this Earth for eleven years, yet she's hardly changed in the least. All I know is she'll keep that innocence for the rest of her life, no matter what happens to her. Some people would die for that. For that and for the shell so sweet that it would make an M&M jealous. I suppose that's what makes her so loveable to everyone.
Bubbles calls herself and artist. I call her an artist too. She's perfectly amazing with a pencil in her hand. Some of the things she draws leave me lost for words; wondering how she achieved so much talent with the hand of a five year old. She always blushes profusively when I ask her that, thinking nothing of her amazing talent and shoving her sketchbook into a drawer for another day when I wouldn't be around to compliment her. She really is too modest; unlike Buttercup, who, if she had a talent would show it to every living person and literally bathe in the praise.
Bubbles drew many many sketches of Buttercup as she was dying. Not necessarily her in pain; merely using her body as a guideline, a shadow for so many things greater. She came up with so many before Buttercup was gone (Almost four sketchbooks of a hundred pages or so), some nothing more than rough pencil outlines that were almost undistinguishable. Others so detailed and beautiful that now, almost two years later, when I pass them framed in the hall I still look up, believing that Buttercup really is floating there, smiling with that superior smile she used that Bubbles caught with that pencil of hers in the last few minutes of Buttercup's life.
Bubbles always had problems with Buttercup; they fought like they were a couple that had been married for sixty odd years. Buttercup had caused Bubbles to cry more tears than drops of water in the Rhine. Yet when Buttercup died, she'd been the one that had been so grief-stricken she went into a rather intense state of denial. Refused to let anyone touch her for almost a year, didn't speak, didn't smile. Continually cried...
It took a lot for her to get back up after her violent push down. But Bubbles, being the fighter, the believer in love making the world go round, did get over it. I still hug her every morning though, just in case she ever does go through that stage again before we're gone and I won't have the chance to show her how much she really means to me. I'm afraid I mightn't have shown Buttercup the full might of my love for her before she was gone...
But lately, something is happening. Bubbles is starting to become ill, just like Buttercup did. She coughed so much the other day she went into a helpless fit of dry reaching... she complains constantly about headaches and muscle pain. And just yesterday, she lost her ability to fly; the largest of her superpowers. The Professor, away from Bubbles' ears, told me seriously that she would only probably have a few weeks left, if her body would react the same way as Buttercup's did. To Bubbles, he said everything would be okay. Liar.
And so every night for the past week and a half I've been praying; even though I don't believe there is such thing as a god. Please, I pray every night, please don't take innocent Bubbles away. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to die. If you need to take someone don't take her. Take me instead.
Me. My name is Blossom. I know people call me the bossyest of the Powerpuffs, the unspoken leader, the girl with the silly red bow in her hair. Just like when I described Buttercup, that's not all of me.
I'm no good at art. Bubbles can draw and Buttercup could take photographs but I can do nothing of the sort. My drawings turn out looking more like sophisticated stick figures rather than the tree I was so hoping for, and my photographs are rather nice; if you wanted a photograph of my thumb, that is. I wasn't gifted with the power of art, but I think I was gifted in the scientific section. I love forensic science, it fascinates me. All the clue studying, footprints, fingerprints, ballistics, being able to solve a crime using nothing but what was left at the scene. It's just one of those things that catches my attention more than anything else. The Professor says I'll be a great forensic scientist one day, but I'm sure I won't last long enough to graduate from high School let alone be able to attend college.
I never was the best sister. I was bossy and slightly mean at the worst of times. But do take into account that, even though I have superpowers, I don't have the superpower to turn back time, to make everything right again. Goddamn, if I did I wouldn't be writing this stupid essay in the first place. And so, I have to take advantage of what I have now. What do they say? Seize the Day?. Yeah, that's it. Seize the Day. Let Bubbles know how much I care, take the time out to talk to the Professor, let him explain that quantam physics question I yawn and make up an excuse to get away from. Make sure Buttercup's grave is always clean and neat, with a few buttercups neatly in the vase (Not the red ones though, she hated the red ones). Be the best sister. Listen. Pray. Believe... Seize the day.
Our bond as a family might have been severed when Buttercup died, like a torn ligament we were apart for a while. I didn't talk to Bubbles when she needed it most, and she refused to let me anywhere near her when she went through her stage and I needed the feeling of touch, the feeling of being loved the most. Meanwhile the Professor, trying to find some kind of non existant medical cure to keep us alive toiled in his laboratory day and night. But no matter how much time it took on our crutches we healed once again, bonded together perhaps for the weaker with a link being lost, but healed nonetheless. If anything it bonded us even closer, having to work harder and deal with the severe loss..
And as for the Villains. Well, as you'd have guessed (And probably know, seeing as you've lived in Townsville your whole life) found it the perfect time to show themselves off. Their train of thought inisting that with one Powerpuff down, the battle for Townsville and then the world would be one over three times more likely to suceed. But they were very wrong. Bubbles and I kicked it into high gear, ten times stronger than we ever were. Perhaps propelled and fueled by our individual but awesome griefs deep inside. At least that's my explanation. And as for the Villains now? (Thankfully) they haven't tried anything. They still don't know Bubbles is very sick, and the Professor insists it stay that way. If they knew they'd probably all attack at basically the same time, like they had when word got out Buttercup had died. But if they did it again.... I don't think I'd be able to handle them alone...
Now that I've sat down and written out these feelings... I don't think I'll be able to handle another death alone. Not Bubbles'....
Now, Miss Woods, let's be realistic. You will most certainly never recieve this assignment, or at least this take of it. You may never know my feelings about a lot of things, for the one I give to you will most certainly only contain the 10 most used words in the English Dictionary and last about one line for each person. Perhaps along the lines of 'Blossom is me. Professor Utonium is my Dad. Buttercup is Dead. Bubbles is Dying'. I sure as hell won't recieve a good mark for it, and you'll go into another of your 'You used to be so good at your work, Blossom, what went wrong' speeches. My ears are ringing from those...
But is not failing important to me at this time of my life? I thought this would be one of the things I'd never catch myself saying but no, no it isn't. The wellbeing of Bubbles is more important to me. Trying to get the Professor to come out of the lab (He's been working around the clock to try and develop a serum to reverse the affects of the Chemical X ravaging Bubbles and soon my own bodies) and spend some time with us. It may in fact be his last chance. Just like I had my last chance. Seize the Day.
Writing this assignment has made me see so many things that seemed to hide beneath my surface. My family is everything I have in this world. I have no morals tying me down, nothing incredibly special about my life and no material posessions to guard. Everything revolves around my siblings, around my creator. School doesn't matter, friends are not important (as well as non existant) and my social life was long ago plagued by the urgency to save the World on a regular basis. My family is the thing I cling the most tightly to; like a newborn baby to its mother. If I loose my family, whether it be the subconcious or literal, I have no reason to live. And at this time and place, Miss Woods, I don't want to take that chance.
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A/N- Thanks for taking the time to read. Hope it wasn't as pathetic as I think it was :)
DEDICATION- To Ruhe, Dee Dee and Milo, who will never read this.
************************
MY FAMILY
By Blossom Utonium
13/12/2012
Currently in my life I am failing English horribly. This is my redemption on a redemption paper I was supposed to hand in a week ago. I never did. There's not much else I can do but complete this set of work; unless of course I'd like to fail. But I'd really rather not, the Professor would be so dissappointed in me....
So the topic I have to write at least four hundred words about is my family. Thanks Ms Woods, for giving me the worst subject in redemption history. My family is clear and to the point, no hidden doorways, no spooky glooming black shadows. The way it is is the way it is. And just because you've heard stuff that says otherwise in the teachers lounge from your little collegues and you're waiting for a big complicated story or a fairytale ending, Ms Woods, you may as well not even bother reading this silly thing. Just put it in a drawer for another day and put that big, red F on my report card.
Now, where should I start? How about the Professor, he sounds like a nice solid starting point. Professor Utonium. A man I have no words for. My father figure, the love of my life (Not like that!) The person that was always there. Though a busy man, he treated us well. He gave us the benefit of the doubt when needed, spoiled us silly and showered us with his unconditional love. He was, in my eyes, the coolest grown up ever when I was five. A person I openly showed my unabiding affection towards. I did just about anything for him, and I still will.
His hugs were (and still are, mind you) the softest, warmest, most loving arms I have ever experienced in my short life span. His love for us was strong, and in return our love for him is unconditional. Forever fueled. Will burn until the end of time, long after all of our bodies are nothing but their base elements buried deep under the layers of time.
He created my sisters and I in his laboratory by accident one night about ten or so years ago, with a little help from his monkey assistant turned super villain. Sugar, Spice and Everything nice; along with a dash of chemical X. A powerful explosion. Then as the dust cleared, he said we were just...there, hovering over the vat with bemused looks on our clueless faces. Fully clothed, fully powered, fully characterised. I can vaguelly remember that. Feeling nothing...empty...hollow...like a shell on a beach and then suddenly opening my eyes, finding myself where I was, distinguishing myself as if I had a card directing me as to who I was and how my personality was fed through my brain. And then attaching my affection to him the moment he named me. Kind of like a baby duckling, the first thing it sees it attaches to for life.
He still says we were his greatest creation, but I sometimes doubt that after I look at all the wonderful things that man has done over the years we've belonged to him. So many wonderful things for the good of mankind, things I couldn't possibly begin to describe without getting it all wrong and confusing you to the point of despair. He's a wonderful man, the Professor is. I don't know what we'd do without him.
My Younger sister. Buttercup. Classed as the toughest fighter, the tomboy, the one with the most sarcastic tongue in her head. I suppose on some levels that was very true. But it was never all her. She was one of those people you just couldn't sum up in less than a thousand words. I was her sister, the closest friend she ever had and the closest friend I ever had and I can still say confidently I knew very little about her. She clammed up a lot, as if it were her retaliation method. As soon as anyone hit a nerve she would double back into herself, refusing to open up for a long while afterwards. Her forgiveness was very hard to win back.
She loved photography with a passion. The way she could capture something so simple and turn it into something so complex and intricate with that black box was something I'm still not able to fully describe. Hers was a talent. Talent plus. She would have gotten work the moment she put out an offer.
But Buttercup was taken away from us about two years ago now. But not by any super villain weilding projectiles and time bombs. No, she was taken away by the makeup of her DNA. It's all in the Chemical X, was all the Professor had the heart to say to us. But we could read between the lines of his sentence perfectly well. The chemical X is poison and I know you two will be next.
It was a horrible last few weeks we spent with Buttercup. It had been as if she were suffering a rather nasty bout of flu. Loss of appetite, burning fever, coughing, steadily decreasing strength, aching limbs. The only thing that seemed to differ her from a flu was the loss of her powers...and then the glowing. Yeah...I still have nightmares about that steady green glowing and what it brought. That noise it made...I know that I'll never be able to rid myself of it, no matter how many years pass.
We visit Buttercup a lot now at her quiet grave, not at her public monument. Not to mourn her loss though. No, she'd forbidden us to do that. We go there and we smile, we remember her for the way she was. The dark haired, rough -and-tuff, slightly bossy green eyed girl. Sometimes we cry, but only when we know she won't be watching us. She wouldn't approve of tears. Though the tears never last long on me because I know.... deep inside we both know, the Professor knows, Buttercup knows...that it won't be very long before the remaining two Powerpuff Girls go the same way as the first did. It's all in the Chemical X after all, and we're just as much Chemical X as Buttercup was.
I loved Buttercup and I still do, almost as unconditionally as the Professor. Her witty remarks were like a slap in the face, that attitude of hers like a freezing shower. She always managed to twist me on either side of the extremety scale like the loose elastic in a pair of old panties. And though I may have yelled at her then for that...now it doesn't seem so annoying.
I remember when she first died I couldn't look at Bubbles the same. In those big blue eyes I saw the fire, the passion that used to burn deep within Buttercup. I saw the hurt and the pain, probably the same hurt and pain I was feeling from her death but in every way imaginable it reminded me of Buttercup's last few days. The way she yelled with pain... and the way she looked at me with big, pleading eyes, as if I knew how to make her pain stop and I wasn't telling her. And for weeks afterward, everytime Bubbles looked at me with those same pleading eyes I saw Buttercup still existing deep within her, as if possessing her...
My youngest sister. Bubbles. Named for her unconditional bubbly love toward what seems like everything. For her carefree, loving persona and her fresh and young smiling face. Probably the prettiest of the Powerpuffs, with those big, smiling baby blue eyes and well-cared for silky blonde pigtails. She probably would have turned out a stunning adult if the Chemical X had allowed her. But we were created as the perfect little girls. No matter how many years will pass between us and our creation date, no matter how old we become our bodies will never change. They'll stay the same perfect little girls' bodies until we die.
Bubbles has a childlike innocence about her despite what she's seen throughout her years. Her mind has been on this Earth for eleven years, yet she's hardly changed in the least. All I know is she'll keep that innocence for the rest of her life, no matter what happens to her. Some people would die for that. For that and for the shell so sweet that it would make an M&M jealous. I suppose that's what makes her so loveable to everyone.
Bubbles calls herself and artist. I call her an artist too. She's perfectly amazing with a pencil in her hand. Some of the things she draws leave me lost for words; wondering how she achieved so much talent with the hand of a five year old. She always blushes profusively when I ask her that, thinking nothing of her amazing talent and shoving her sketchbook into a drawer for another day when I wouldn't be around to compliment her. She really is too modest; unlike Buttercup, who, if she had a talent would show it to every living person and literally bathe in the praise.
Bubbles drew many many sketches of Buttercup as she was dying. Not necessarily her in pain; merely using her body as a guideline, a shadow for so many things greater. She came up with so many before Buttercup was gone (Almost four sketchbooks of a hundred pages or so), some nothing more than rough pencil outlines that were almost undistinguishable. Others so detailed and beautiful that now, almost two years later, when I pass them framed in the hall I still look up, believing that Buttercup really is floating there, smiling with that superior smile she used that Bubbles caught with that pencil of hers in the last few minutes of Buttercup's life.
Bubbles always had problems with Buttercup; they fought like they were a couple that had been married for sixty odd years. Buttercup had caused Bubbles to cry more tears than drops of water in the Rhine. Yet when Buttercup died, she'd been the one that had been so grief-stricken she went into a rather intense state of denial. Refused to let anyone touch her for almost a year, didn't speak, didn't smile. Continually cried...
It took a lot for her to get back up after her violent push down. But Bubbles, being the fighter, the believer in love making the world go round, did get over it. I still hug her every morning though, just in case she ever does go through that stage again before we're gone and I won't have the chance to show her how much she really means to me. I'm afraid I mightn't have shown Buttercup the full might of my love for her before she was gone...
But lately, something is happening. Bubbles is starting to become ill, just like Buttercup did. She coughed so much the other day she went into a helpless fit of dry reaching... she complains constantly about headaches and muscle pain. And just yesterday, she lost her ability to fly; the largest of her superpowers. The Professor, away from Bubbles' ears, told me seriously that she would only probably have a few weeks left, if her body would react the same way as Buttercup's did. To Bubbles, he said everything would be okay. Liar.
And so every night for the past week and a half I've been praying; even though I don't believe there is such thing as a god. Please, I pray every night, please don't take innocent Bubbles away. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to die. If you need to take someone don't take her. Take me instead.
Me. My name is Blossom. I know people call me the bossyest of the Powerpuffs, the unspoken leader, the girl with the silly red bow in her hair. Just like when I described Buttercup, that's not all of me.
I'm no good at art. Bubbles can draw and Buttercup could take photographs but I can do nothing of the sort. My drawings turn out looking more like sophisticated stick figures rather than the tree I was so hoping for, and my photographs are rather nice; if you wanted a photograph of my thumb, that is. I wasn't gifted with the power of art, but I think I was gifted in the scientific section. I love forensic science, it fascinates me. All the clue studying, footprints, fingerprints, ballistics, being able to solve a crime using nothing but what was left at the scene. It's just one of those things that catches my attention more than anything else. The Professor says I'll be a great forensic scientist one day, but I'm sure I won't last long enough to graduate from high School let alone be able to attend college.
I never was the best sister. I was bossy and slightly mean at the worst of times. But do take into account that, even though I have superpowers, I don't have the superpower to turn back time, to make everything right again. Goddamn, if I did I wouldn't be writing this stupid essay in the first place. And so, I have to take advantage of what I have now. What do they say? Seize the Day?. Yeah, that's it. Seize the Day. Let Bubbles know how much I care, take the time out to talk to the Professor, let him explain that quantam physics question I yawn and make up an excuse to get away from. Make sure Buttercup's grave is always clean and neat, with a few buttercups neatly in the vase (Not the red ones though, she hated the red ones). Be the best sister. Listen. Pray. Believe... Seize the day.
Our bond as a family might have been severed when Buttercup died, like a torn ligament we were apart for a while. I didn't talk to Bubbles when she needed it most, and she refused to let me anywhere near her when she went through her stage and I needed the feeling of touch, the feeling of being loved the most. Meanwhile the Professor, trying to find some kind of non existant medical cure to keep us alive toiled in his laboratory day and night. But no matter how much time it took on our crutches we healed once again, bonded together perhaps for the weaker with a link being lost, but healed nonetheless. If anything it bonded us even closer, having to work harder and deal with the severe loss..
And as for the Villains. Well, as you'd have guessed (And probably know, seeing as you've lived in Townsville your whole life) found it the perfect time to show themselves off. Their train of thought inisting that with one Powerpuff down, the battle for Townsville and then the world would be one over three times more likely to suceed. But they were very wrong. Bubbles and I kicked it into high gear, ten times stronger than we ever were. Perhaps propelled and fueled by our individual but awesome griefs deep inside. At least that's my explanation. And as for the Villains now? (Thankfully) they haven't tried anything. They still don't know Bubbles is very sick, and the Professor insists it stay that way. If they knew they'd probably all attack at basically the same time, like they had when word got out Buttercup had died. But if they did it again.... I don't think I'd be able to handle them alone...
Now that I've sat down and written out these feelings... I don't think I'll be able to handle another death alone. Not Bubbles'....
Now, Miss Woods, let's be realistic. You will most certainly never recieve this assignment, or at least this take of it. You may never know my feelings about a lot of things, for the one I give to you will most certainly only contain the 10 most used words in the English Dictionary and last about one line for each person. Perhaps along the lines of 'Blossom is me. Professor Utonium is my Dad. Buttercup is Dead. Bubbles is Dying'. I sure as hell won't recieve a good mark for it, and you'll go into another of your 'You used to be so good at your work, Blossom, what went wrong' speeches. My ears are ringing from those...
But is not failing important to me at this time of my life? I thought this would be one of the things I'd never catch myself saying but no, no it isn't. The wellbeing of Bubbles is more important to me. Trying to get the Professor to come out of the lab (He's been working around the clock to try and develop a serum to reverse the affects of the Chemical X ravaging Bubbles and soon my own bodies) and spend some time with us. It may in fact be his last chance. Just like I had my last chance. Seize the Day.
Writing this assignment has made me see so many things that seemed to hide beneath my surface. My family is everything I have in this world. I have no morals tying me down, nothing incredibly special about my life and no material posessions to guard. Everything revolves around my siblings, around my creator. School doesn't matter, friends are not important (as well as non existant) and my social life was long ago plagued by the urgency to save the World on a regular basis. My family is the thing I cling the most tightly to; like a newborn baby to its mother. If I loose my family, whether it be the subconcious or literal, I have no reason to live. And at this time and place, Miss Woods, I don't want to take that chance.
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A/N- Thanks for taking the time to read. Hope it wasn't as pathetic as I think it was :)