This series will be based on various list of themes and so forth. The drabbles do not necessarily have to link to the theme in anyway; my mind doesn't want to oblige, it seems. Warnings of OOC for all. Thanks for all feedback.

50lovequotes: #12: Faith is believing in something when common sense tells you not to.



On the fourth day, Mrs. Bucket realized Wonka was a retard.

It was simple and clear and obvious once she thought about it— a rock glass candy caught in her throat, a winter-air sting in her eyes in that short, furtive visit outside the factory's walls.

She was not made to be grown and tamed in a jar, to be crafted among the pretty, useless eye candy made on one man's whim. There was magic, and then there was magic-- yet for all the art and glazed dreams in delicate swirls of frosted ice, for all the wild, rapturous explosions of laymen's alchemy in luxurious gallons of rich flavour, for all the imagination and terrified wonder and silvertongued wonkawonkawonka in the world--- she would not trade it for that quiet elation of everyday miracles, the simple satisfaction of merely being. Inconsequential , foolish existence, maybe, but at least she owed it to nobody.

But Wonka mixed coca and milk and packaged out love wrapped in cheap foil, and the world and her world loved him for that. There was something to be said in sending out little bars of your soul everyday in the world when you knew little boys like Augestus Gloop would put their dirty, greedy hands on it and guzzle it down without seeing the beauty of it all, without caring for your toil and determination and sad hope trapped in sticky chocolate. It took a special kind of stupidity and obstinacy to price and sell bits of yourself day after day after day and keep doing it till someone in the vast, uncaring world cared enough to take your life away for once and for all.

But that, that was all fine. Wonka was not her child.

Charlie was.