(A/N: Note that this is not necessarily part of the FlameX continuity. Just felt like I kinda had to say that…:P)
Sunday, 12 AM
Created by the Universe
I've been thinking about the universe. Do we actually create, or does the universe? Do we destroy? That I'm sure of. The writer's job is not to create, it is to destroy, sadly enough. Many believe that they must create, but it is impossible. The story is already existent, therefore they can only destroy.
Secret7, my fictional embodiment, is destroyed. By me and a character who is trying to destroy me.
This is getting confusing.
And I'm beginning to sound like The Oracle (Matrix) hocked up on speed.
So let's get back to the story.
Blossom's eyes opened. Her sight was blurry at best, and she could see a figure standing above, watching over her.
"Blossom? Can you hear me?" he asked quietly.
"Y…yeah," she said, her eyes beginning to adjust. She was in the lab…at least, a lab. But it didn't look like the one at home…
"Where are we?" Blossom asked. As her vision slowly cleared, she could see his face. He looked different somehow. Older. "Professor…? When did you start getting gray hair?"
"This will be hard to explain…" he began, and as he did, someone walked into the room that Blossom never expected to see: Blossom.
The other Blossom had long blond hair with a blue bow instead of red, and had a small mark on her forehead, like something had been fused there a long time ago, and then, abruptly, broken apart. She looked older, at best, she was 10. She also had some kind of haunted look in her eyes, like the Professor's. She had been through much.
"It's me," she said. "I don't know how or why…but her aura…it's me alright."
"I can tell. I scanned her energy signature…it seems broken. Like she was abruptly torn from dimensions. It's possible a wormhole could've been created somehow…"
Bubbles, on the lab table next to her, was stirring. And Blossom (the first one) remembered: None of this was real.
"Flame X," she whispered. "You're…we're…not real."
"What?" the other Blossom asked quietly.
"She's been whispering things like that all night," Utonium said. "I think she might have some kind of head injury."
"You…" Blossom said. "…have to believe…Believe me…"
Blossom faded into unconsciousness.
-
The sun shined brightly on the landscape. Buttercup Utonium, age 13, hovered across the beautiful green grass on the schoolyard. She smiled, looking around. Blossom was in English right now, Bubbles was in Art, and Buttercup was supposed to be in Spanish. No one would mind if she stopped for a smoke, right? She pulled out a pack of Marlboros, and lit one.
The Professor would say that she could get cancer or something stupid like that. She didn't care.
Well…she did.
She did care about her family and all, it was just that she was growing up. She didn't want to be treated like the cute little tomboy anymore. She wasn't that anymore. She hadn't been that ever since she'd…
She could barely remember. She'd died, apparently. She took another puff of her cigarette. Somehow she just came back.
She didn't want to think about it, and dropped the cigarette. She stepped on it, of course, and walked on. It was getting strangely dark. Not only the story, but the sun.
And it abruptly began to rain. Buttercup blinked, looking around. One of the rain drops fell onto her hand. It wasn't water. It was…blood.
"No…" she whispered. She backed up, and suddenly felt hands grasp at her. As the world shook, and as she gradually fell from consciousness, she heard a voice:
"My dear…my pretty…what a powerful weapon you will become…"
End of Chapter 4
