VIII

Blossom felt a punch enter her cheek. It was the teenager, of course. She responded with a kick to the stomach that caused her leg to be grabbed, and her to be thrown across the room.

"No! Buttercup! You don't have to do this!" Blossom pleaded.

"For the perfect world, you must die," the wilted Buttercup said, no emotion in her voice.

Blossom was silent, then soared towards her opponent, tears running down her cheeks. He will pay, she thought. Whoever did this will pay…

Book smiled, staring at the younger Blossom.

"Everything will be perfect again. Don't you see? We'll be together…your soul will be in my hands, and your body will be eternally joyous," Book said, not knowing how incredibly terrifying that just sounded.

"Of—of course…" Blossom whispered, beginning to cry.

Book was about to pick up the pencil, about to stab it into her, when suddenly, someone grabbed it.

It was me.

"This is enough, Book!" I whispered. "You need help."

"Shut up…SHUT UP!" he screamed back at me, delivering a kick to my shin. I took the kick, feeling the sting of the pain surge through my body.

"It doesn't have to be like this," I said. "You can have your own story! Just like before!"

"You think I'm that daft?" he said. "You must be mad."

"What you're about to do," I said. "will ultimately"

"Quiet." he whispered, pure malice in his voice. "Everything must be perfect."

"Don't you see what you're doing?" I cried. "You're not the hero you once were! You've become a monster! You've given in to the evil within you!"

Book was silent. "You're the true evil," he whispered, his voice full of madness. "You…created me. You…made my story. You"

Book suddenly felt something enter his chest. It was his pencil, now held by Blossom.

Everything felt like it was frozen.

Blood poured from Book's chest, and I gazed in horror. Blossom's eyes were welling up with tears as she did it. She had never killed someone before. Neither have I.

Time started again, and Book collapsed, a small puddle of blood beginning to surround him.

I made a cross motion with my hand. He had been a good character, until he was ultimately corrupted by his lust for power.

I wonder, since he was based on me, if that will happen to me.

I don't take the time to think about it, glancing around. Everything is melting, changing…it's like a nightmare.

Blossom finally spoke up. "Is he…"

"Yes. He's dead."

The tears came again, and I tried to comfort her.

"Blossom, it may be horrible, but things can be how they used to be. I can change all of this. We just have to get out of here before"

A building tilted, about to fall on me. A green beam of light shot past me, grabbing me. It was Buttercup, a look of grim determination on her face. And tears. It was the real Buttercup.

"I'm sorry," she said. I looked into her eyes, and a twinge of guilt awakened in me. I had caused all of this. I was the writer, wasn't I? And why did I do this? Why?

Because…I needed it.

It came to me at that moment. These characters…the whole reason for writer—was because of emotion.

Authors write to relate to their characters, giving them the same emotions they feel. I must feel lost, then. The teenage Blossom flies next to me.

"Book somehow lost control of—" she paused. "Blossom…what's that on your hands?"

The red liquid shined in the fading sun. She ignored the question.

"Set me down here," I said. They put me down.

All of the color was leaving the city. Everything, the exception being me and the girls, was beginning to look blurry.

"We need to get out of here," I said. I created a dimensional transporter in my hand. "This entire dimension was based on Book's mind. Without it, it crumbles. And we don't want to be forgotten in the dark recesses of my mind. Some nasty stuff lurks there…" I said. I looked distant, as if I was haunted by something long past. Then I looked toward the girls. "Dimension 001.7."

They set the coordinates. I felt the dimension I was in wither away, and everything changed…

The City of Townsville

Blossom Utonium felt strange. She had just had the strangest dream, that—

No, don't even think that. THAT was not a dream.

I walked into the room, and her eyes widened.

"Who the heck are you?"

She didn't recognize me in my glasses and other normal garb. She also didn't know I was a teenager.

"Secret7," I managed to laugh.

"No way."

"Yeah. I thought I'd show you the real me," I said. "So here I am."

"You're not a god?"

"No. I'm just a teen, full of ideas and hormones."

"What are hormones?"

"Um…nevermind. As you can see, everything has been restored to utter normalness. Or at least as normal as things can get in Townsville."

"Yeah."

"So would you like to forget?" I asked.

She sat there, contemplating. Whether to remember all she went through, or to forget it ever happened.

"I want to remember," she said. "After all, somebody has to remember these things. I don't want this to just fade into history."

I smiled. "Good choice."

I walked out of the room.

As I type this, my time as a PpG author is almost up. The PowerPuff Girls have run their course for now, and as much as I hold the show dear to me, I need to move on toward other things. I hope the next generation of PpG authors remembers me and my stories, but for now, I'm taking a vacation from the PowerPuffs.

On another note, I've rethought the purpose of being an author. It is not, as I first thought, to destroy. It's about living. It's about having characters who you can relate to, to pour your emotions into.

And on that note, I'll see ya. I'll be back,

Best of Wishes,

Agent Secret7

End

(A/N: I really am taking a vacation from PpG fics. I hope you enjoyed this one, and, as I said, I'll be back…)