Author: ShNLo PM
Five golden tickets, one found after the other, and a young girl's dream, shattered. But can it be repieced when she sneaks into the factory?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Adventure - Chapters: 5 - Words: 11,803 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 12-18-05 - Published: 12-02-05 - id: 2686093
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: The Author of this fanfiction is not using this story to gain money in any way, shape, or form, nor does the Author claim ownership of the fictitious characters created by Roald Dahl, used most recently in the 2005 Tim Burton film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Summary: A stupid little impulse story the Author simply had to give her mind time to write, for otherwise it would continue to plague her brain until she did. The Author has written a story about what would happen if a girl with her own frame of mind happened to 'gain access' to the amazing Chocolate Factory of Willy Wonka.
"Onward!" Mr. Wonka shouted ahead to the Oompa-Loompas, who began rowing at a nice, steady pace. I turned slightly and looked at him, but when I found that he was looking at me I snapped my head forward to stare silently ahead. I shivered, for some reason. I felt as if some impending danger was about to take place.
The Chocolate River sloshed heavily beneath the boat and oars, as the Oompa-Loompas rowed towards a dark, ominous tunnel ahead.
"How can they see where they're going?" Violet Beauregarde sneered, turning back to Mr. Wonka, a frown heavily imposed upon her pale features, her short blond hair boxing in her face and making her look like another of those female Harpies that plague life as it should so nicely be.
"They can't," Mr. Wonka replied with an unfathomable face, and I stared at him with wide eyes. He ignored me. As usual. "There's no telling where they're going. Turn on the lights!" he called ahead. Lights on the front of the sugarboat clicked on and suddenly the tunnel was illuminated, revealing pillars of curvy sorts keeping the ceiling up. The chocolate rushed through the tunnel with a roaring, splashing sound that filled the tunnel and our ears.
"Can you remember the first piece of candy you ever ate?" inquired Charlie of Mr. Wonka, who tilted his head to the side. A glazed look filled his violet eyes, and his mouth frowned. "No…" he said softly, and suddenly he seemed lost. Like a little boy, who is experiencing his first… well… chocolate.
The chocolate rapids carried us faster throughout the tunnel, and was it my imagination, or did the Oompa-Loompas speed up their rowing? I swayed back and forth, and as the boat took a spectacularly sharp turn I lurched dangerously out of the chocolate river, lost my balance, and fell right over the side!
I felt a hand on the back of my shirt that pulled me up, my nose coming almost within touching range of the sweet chocolate. It plopped me hard back into my spot, then slapped me boldly on the back. I went into a coughing, choking fit. "Serves you right," said a voice from behind me, and then the voice giggled.
I turned around to shoot a glare at Mr. Wonka, who simply gave me a shrug. "Serves me right for what?" I demanded. "The boat turned too hard!"
He stared at me with a puzzled expression and tipped his head to the left, the scrabbled to grab his hat before it fell over into the chocolate. "Hmm? I didn't say anything, ma'am!" he cried jovially, grinning and showing off those perfect white teeth. I nearly swooned.
I sighed and shrugged. "If you say so, sir," I replied in the same tone, but not quite as loudly. I lurched forward into Ms. Beauregarde as the boat slowed instantaneously, and she turned and shot a hot glare at me.
"Watch it!" she shrieked at me, all too loudly.
"People! Pay attention!" Mr. Wonka cried, nearly bouncing up and down on his seat behind us. "We're passing some very important rooms!" I turned in silence and stared upward at the bright neon words proclaiming the rooms. 'Coffee Cream', 'Clotted Cream'…
"Hair cream?" I asked, amused, and turned in my seat to look at Mr. Wonka. He grinned.
"What do you use hair cream for?" Ms. Beauregarde speculated, blinking in a bewildered way that made me giggle. Under my breath, of course. For it never does to giggle in front of the people and make the people not… friendly… anymore. Which… they never were anyway. But still, I was courteous and giggled only under my breath.
"To lock in moisture," Mr. Wonka said softly, playing with his slightly curled hair. I snickered, being ignored some more.
As we passed another room, the sound of whips cracking and a cow mooing sadly reached my ears. "Whipped cream!" Charlie exclaimed excitedly behind me, his voice full of wonder.
"That doesn't make any sense," Veruca snapped, glaring at Mr. Wonka.
Mr. Wonka glared right back. "Whipped cream isn't whipped cream unless it's been whipped with whips. Everybody knows that," he replied.
"I knew that," I said, smiling gaily at him. He blinked and stared at me.
"No you didn't," Mike said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his skull t-shirt. He was smiling sourly.
"Oh yes I did," I replied, grinning forcibly. "But I bet you didn't. That's why you were so quick to jump on me!" My grin was wicked, and I narrowed my eyes. "You're all really quite short." Which was true, to me. I was almost Mr. Wonka's height.
"Yeah, because we're children," Violet snapped.
"That's no excuse," Mr. Wonka said, sticking up for me. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, surprised. He winked at me.
"I'm a child too," I said, grinning from ear to ear; my gums hurt.
"I was never as short as you," Mr. Wonka said, grinning a grin to match mine.
"You were once," Teavee shot.
"Was not. Know why? Know why? Because I distinctly remember putting a hat on top of my head. Look at your short little arms." He observed them for a few seconds. "You could never reach."
I snickered. "Truer words were ne'er spoken, Mr. Wonka. Sir," I added, as an afterthought.
"Posh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "No need to be so formal, kiddo! We're not at a ball that serves caviar or naught." He looked around suddenly. "STOP THE BOAT!" he roared, startling me so bad that I nearly fell almost fell into the Chocolate River, for the second time today, which was turning out to be very eventful indeed.
We all scrambled out after Mr. Wonka, who had leapt from the boat and hurried off at an alarming pace. I stumbled on the edge of the platform, fell flat on my face, and ended up crawling to the doorframe where I hoisted myself up, panting from effort and feeling very bruised. I was nearly knocked over again as Veruca Salt hit me in the shoulder with hers', grinning wickedly with contempt. Violet Beauregarde followed suit, and Mike Teavee's shot ripped my fingers from the door and sent me tumbling to be stepped on by the same procession of short little midgets.
I lay there, and sighed. Why do I get treated like this? It's not as if I did this to them, although that thought wasn't far from my mind.
I was suddenly and horribly aware of three faces staring down at me; an elderly gentleman, a kind young boy, and a certain eccentric candymaker with vividly purple eyes. I blinked my own blue-ish-green-ish ones up at them. They were all frowning in concern. I mumbled something. They looked at each other, then two pairs of hands grabbed hold of my arms and yanked me up off the ground.
"Ignore them," Charlie whispered to me. I had the serious urge to tell him that I couldn't be nice to such – enter unpleasant foul words here – people, but I ground my teeth together and kept my mouth shut. I pretended I had lockjaw. It worked. Mostly. I still grumbled a large string of curse and foul words under my breath that nobody heard.
Whizzes, pops, bangs, and shrieks greeted me as we entered the Inventing Room, and I was overwhelmed suddenly. The magnitude of the room we had just entered caused the breath in my throat to die. I choked on my breathless situation for a minute, then finally found my breath and sucked it in deep.
"It's amazing…" I whispered, an enormous grin spreading itself over my face in wonder. "Truly amazing!" I was paralyzed with joy, and stood stock still, barely daring more than to breathe, for it could immediately shatter this wonderful fantasy as it would be. I bit my lip until I tasted the awful copper taste of blood, and wiped my lip on my arm, leaving a long streak of the dark red fluid that ran through my veins.
"Go on!" cried Mr. Wonka from behind me, causing me to jump. I turned and stared at him, and he grinned. He'd gotten payback. "Go explore. Just don't… touch anything." The others scurried off like mice going to find food, and I tilted my head interestedly at Mr. Wonka. He copied my action, staring intently into my eyes.
Did I see anything in those eyes? Yes, in fact, I did. I saw the genius behind the eccentricities. I saw the loving person behind the shy and withdrawn outside features. I saw… Willy Wonka. And I liked it. He smiled genuinely at me, and I warmed, then walked slowly off to check out some things.
"Hey Mr. Wonka, what's this?" sneered a certain blonde-haired gum-chewer, peering intensely into the porthole of an enormous tank filled with water. The machinery above it shot large, brightly colored candy balls into it with loud, successive pops. Everyone crowded around Violet for a better look.
"Oh! Let me show you." He jauntily sprinted over to where we were, and positioned himself in front of us. He turned somewhat and leaned down a hand over the side of the tank, where a swimming Oompa-Loompa handed a bright red ball to Mr. Wonka. "Everlasting Gobstoppers!" he announced, holding the jawbreaker up for us to see. "You can suck on it all year long and it won't get any smaller!"
"Then it's like gum," Violet murmured, speculating.
"No. It's not like gum." He sounded defiant when he said this. I grinned. "'Cause if you tried to chew one of these gobstoppers, you'd break all your little teeth off. Sure taste great, though." He peered at the gobstopper and then walked off to another section.
I hid a snicker as I imaged Violet Beauregarde breaking all her teeth off.
"Hair toffees!" he said, when everyone had gathered around him. "You suck down one of these little boogers, and in exactly half an hour a brand new crop of hair will grow out all over your little noggin! And a mustache! And a beard!"
"Who would want a beard?' Mike scoffed. He still had his arms folded over his chest, and his face looked like it would suck into his head.
"Well… beatniks, for one. Folk singers and motorbike riders. All those hip, neat, keen, and groovy cats. It's in the fridge, Daddio. Are you hep to the jive, can you dig what I'm layin' down, I knew that you could, slip me some skiiiiin, soul brother!" He held out his gloved hand towards Mike, who glared at it, then glared up at Mr. Wonka. Mr. Wonka retracted his hand and frowned. "Anyway, the mixture's not quite ready yet, 'cause an Oompa-Loompa tried one yesterday, and, he, well…" He looked to his left, and in came walking an Oompa-Loompa, covered from head to toe in chocolate-colored curly hair. "How are you today?" Willy asked slowly, loudly, and the little man gave him two thumbs up. "Well, good."
Everybody had been very wide-eyed up until now, and when Mr. Wonka walked off everybody calmed a bit.
"Come over here, there's something I want to show you."
A/N: Sorry for song long a delay, I've been really busy with a story that I'm going to keep locked up until I've finished it – sorry, fans. I've updated my profile some more, by the way, so it'll give you all a better idea of what I'm like.
As far as the story goes, this one didn't do all that much from between Augustus Gloop's and Violet Beauregarde's accident, which is in the next chapter, but I thought it'd add some light-hearted humor whereas most of this is kind of dramatic, the kids getting into accidents and all, but I'm not telling you whether the ending is dramatic or not… it'll spoil the ending. –Wink wink.- You'll just have to stick with it and see.
Daemonfaeriequeen: Thanks, yeah… she IS turning into a little Miss Wonka. Weird, isn't it?
Reviewers: As I've always said, I'm open to praise and flames. Just don't banish me to the Eternal Stove. Argh. But also as I've always said, flames just force me to build a barrier, build my character, and hone my writing skills. So there. –Wink.- And I can rhyme, too.