It was a rainy day in Townsville. Blossom and Buttercup discussed battle strategy in the dining room while Bubbles colored contentedly in the living room. Bubbles drew a pink cloud that reminded her of Fuzzy Lumpkins.

“Hey,” she thought, “maybe I should make an album of all the villains we’ve fought. That would give my sisters a vizoo ref - a visoola reperents - a something to look at during their plans and it would be really fun!” So she set to work with her trusty box of sixty-four crayons and a big white sketchpad. Working quickly, she soon had several portraits completed. She gave them all big smiles, so they would look less scary. Finally there was only one portrait left to do. She looked glumly at the paper. Giving this one a big smile wouldn’t help, because he was always smiling. His smiles meant no one any good. But if the album were to be complete, he  would have to be in it. So she bravely picked up her red crayon and went to work.



She ended up leaving out his mouth. Better no smile OR frown than a scary look. Well, this looked kind of scary too, but at least he couldn’t say anything now. She tore out the sheets, tied them together with a nice blue ribbon, and cautiously entered the dining room. “Um, Blossom?”



“What, Bubbles,” snapped Blossom. She and Buttercup had just reached a conclusion of sorts about the fastest way to disable a Death Star from the inside, and if there was one thing Blossom disliked, it was being interrupted whilst on an intellectual roll. She forced herself to remember that she was Leader and therefore Responsible, so she said more politely, “I mean, yes, Bubbles?”

Bubbles meekly extended some papers. “These are for you guys, to help with fighting crime.” Blossom flipped through them. “Hm...uh, very nice, Bubbles...say, isn’t there something funny about him?”

Buttercup flew closer to look. “Cool! Target practice!” She grabbed them out of Blossom’s hand, tore off the ribbon and flung the papers into the air. “Take that! And that! And that!”  She eye-blasted each one of the portraits, turning them into ash before they hit the floor. “Now that’s the best way to destroy the captain’s lounge! And the engine room! Just burn everything! Thanks, Bubbles! By the way, nice pictures!” She was surprised when Bubbles burst into tears. “NOW what?”

Blossom comforted Bubbles. “You weren’t supposed to destroy her pictures, Buttercup!” she yelled over Bubbles’ heaving sobs. “They were visual aids!”

Bubbles broke free of Blossom’s grasp and rained blows on Buttercup. “You big dummy!” she hiccuped. “You ruin everything!”

Buttercup, expertly blocking each wild punch, said, “Geez! I’m sorry! I didn’t know, OK?”

Blossom pulled Bubbles back by her dress and said, “Buttercup, you have got to think before you act. Just wait ‘til the Professor gets done in the lab and then you’re really going to get it!” She led Bubbles away, saying over her shoulder, “I bet you get grounded for a week!”

Buttercup, astonished, hung in the air. Then she frowned. Things like this were always happening. It wasn’t fair! She never meant any harm! If Bubbles weren’t so dumb and Blossom weren’t so full of herself, Buttercup’s life would be a whole lot better. It was their fault, not hers! She sank to the ground and guiltily eyed the little piles of ash. She thought, I do NOT want to stay home because of something this stupid! C’mon, think, Buttercup! Wrestling her anger down, she said aloud, “Well, I guess I would be mad if one of them accidentally destroyed my stuff.” She zigzagged back and forth in the air, thinking. “I’ve got it! I can make it up to Bubbles!”

She flashed into the kitchen and made olive and cheese bunnies, radish roses and carrot dragons. “There! That looks dumb enough for Bubbles!” She zipped out to the living room, ready to yell up the stairs, when she noticed Bubbles’ crayons spread out over the floor. “Only sixty-four? Hah. I can do better than that!” Grabbing her change purse, she streaked out the door.

Bubbles felt a lot better. Blossom had let her style her hair into two red braids sticking-out, just like Pippi Longstocking, and Bubbles was pleased with her handiwork. Blossom made a funny face when she saw herself in the mirror, but Bubbles was sure that Blossom liked it. “Just think, Blossom, now you can wear two bows!”

Blossom was spared from answering by Buttercup’s cry, “Hey, you guyyyyys!” They floated downstairs, and Bubbles folded her arms, prepared to glare. She forgot all about it when she saw Buttercup’s platter of edible art. “Wow! Look what she made, Blossom! Oh boy, roses and everything!”

“And that’s not all,” said Buttercup. From behind her back, she proudly pulled out a dark yellow box with green chevrons. “This is for you, Bubbles.”

Vision and sound dimmed for Bubbles. All she could see was the box labeled “120 CRAYONS. DIFFERENT BRILLIANT COLORS.” She could barely hear her own voice saying, “Well, I’m more of a traditionalist, but I don’t mind trying new things.” She had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined there would be so many different colors of crayons! In her mind, an angelic chorus swelled to a climax as she touched the box.

Blossom, crunching a draconic carrot, said, “That was good, Buttercup. You took a terrible mistake of yours and turned it around. That’s what I keep trying to tell you. That’s why I - “

“Oh, shut up, Blossom,” said Buttercup automatically. “Just enjoy the moment for once, why can’t you.” Buttercup, herself, could not see what was so gosh-darn mystical about crayons, but Mr. Cooper said it took all kinds of people to make a world. She watched benevolently as Bubbles carefully separated the lid along its perforated edge and folded it  back. She was not prepared for Bubbles’ sudden frozen expression. “Oh, now what?” she asked, frustrated.

Bubbles dashed to her old box of crayons. She held up each new crayon in the light coming from the window, then under a lamp. She scribbled on paper and compared the old colors with the new. Finally she turned haunted eyes to her sisters and pronounced:

“They’re dead.”

“WHAT?” asked her sisters in unison. Buttercup was thinking furiously,   I’ll kill her, then I’ll kill myself. Blossom can bury us. I’ll have peace at last.   “Are you INSANE?” she yelled. “Who is dead?”

Blossom echoed, “Who or what is dead?”

Bubbles replaced the bad crayons in the box marked “120.” “Those crayons aren’t alive any more, girls. Something awful has happened to them.” Her face looked drawn. “I - I don’t know if there is any way we can fight it.” She hugged her box of sixty-four crayons to her. “These are all I’ve got. Don’t worry, Buttercup,” she said to her purpling sister. “It’s not your fault. No one could have predicted this, this tragedy.”

Buttercup made a strangled noise and flew away. Blossom picked up the “120” box. She said, attempting to lighten the mood, “Well, these colors are a bit dingy, but I don’t know if I would call them dead. Hey, they’re just right for drawing villains!” Faintly, from the kitchen, came the clonk of Buttercup banging her head against the sink.

It was night. Buttercup was in bed, with her head bandaged. Blossom, her hair back to normal, climbed in next to her. “I’m not even gonna ask,” said Buttercup wearily.



Blossom said, “She’s spooked ‘cause the colors are off by a bit. That’s all. She’s locking up her old crayons in the Professor’s vault because she thinks the new crayons are vampires and will drain the other ones of color.” Buttercup slapped herself in the forehead.



“Buttercup,” said Blossom, “stop that, you’ll hurt yourself!” She pinned Buttercup on the bed. Buttercup planted a foot in her sister’s sternum and kicked her up to the ceiling. Blossom, by now accustomed to friendly, sisterly, wrestling, dove back in. “Anyway, just to show -ow! - Bubbles that crayons are completely innocent, the Professor’s taking us - hold still, I’m talking to you! - to the crayon factory tomorrow and we’ll get to see how - ugh! -crayons are made. It’ll be fun, Buttercup! It was my brilliant idea, of course.”
 
“What-EVER,” said Buttercup. “I am too darn tired to fight anymore. But you’re sleeping in the middle tonight.” They were both asleep by the time Bubbles came in, carrying the “120” box.

Bubbles was very serious. She looked sadly at her sleeping sisters. How little they knew. “Sleep tight, girls,” she whispered lovingly to them. Taking Niles the crocodile with her for company, she flew outside and eye-blasted the box into a puddle of wax. Niles, aided by Bubbles, said a benediction. The box of sixty-four crayons was out of danger now. Bubbles went to bed, feeling safe.

As the moon crept along the sky, the faintest rush of wings was heard, fainter than a gnat’s. A twist of crayon shaving flapped through the air and landed in the Powerpuff Girls’ bed.

“Here’s your crayon, Bubbles,” said Blossom. “You should be more careful putting away your toys.”
 
Bubbles, confused, took the orange crayon and gasped. “Oh, Blossom...” Blossom’s hair was snow white.

Blossom said, “What is with you guys today? Anyway, I get the shower first.” She flew off. Buttercup looked at Bubbles grimly and said, “Five, four, three, two, one, ze-” and was interrupted by a scream. Blossom burst into the bedroom, gibbering. Her sisters moved quickly to comfort her. “What happened to me?” said Blossom, weeping.
 
“Cheer up, Blossom,” said Buttercup. “Maybe it was that lightning storm we went through a while back. This doesn’t change anything, really. Listen, I’ll show you.” She started to sing, “Blossom, albino and the leader!” Blossom pushed Buttercup away.
 
Bubbles held up the orange crayon and said, “THIS was GRAY yesterday. It must’ve escaped last night.”

Buttercup’s face creased into a dangerous frown. “Don’t start that again,” she warned.

The Professor came in the room. “Good morning, girls. Don’t start what? - whoa! Honey, what happened?”

Bubbles squeaked, “Buttercupboughtmenewcrayons andtheywereundead, and Imeltedthem butoneofthemgotawayand GOT BLOSSOM! And here it is!” She held out the orange crayon.

The Professor scrutinized it for a while and then said, “Get dressed, girls. The Green and Yellow Chevrons Company has a lot of explaining to do.” In a swirl of color, the fully dressed girls grabbed the professor and flew off. The pink stream had a white streak in the center.