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ASSorted Chocolates & HARD candies
By : Idolhands
Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Views: 10150 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Title: Dyslexia-Echopraxia, Part I
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: PG
Warnings: darkish
Disclaimer: The following characters are not mine, but the estate of Dahl, Burton, Depp and Highmore.
Special Thanks: To "st_minority" for keeping inspiration going.
Summary: Not much, but I'll try to describe my direction: Trapped beneath the lowest layers, how far would you be willing to wander if it made you question your reality? And once crossed, where do the lines lay anymore?
"press my button"
Charlie Bucket had been told that any part of the factory his heart desired could be explored - with a solitary caveat: he could not ask questions if he visited a room which had not been formally introduced and explained. It was a strange clause but it gave the boy a sense of freedom at the same time that it kept his curiosity under control. Mostly.
The Great Glass Elevator was the best way to know what all the rooms were, a convenient list covering every inch with a translucent button by its side. One need only push the button and they would be transported there post haste. He stood inside the object staring wide-eyed at a button, at the very bottom, in a corner. It was called The Lair. It sounded very interesting and strange.
So much in the factory was tempting like this.
Friday afternoons were free exploratory time while the famous man was busy. He’d patiently waited months for Willy to pick it while they were together, but despite the hundred or so impossible rooms that were explained, not this one. Charlie had never picked a room that hadn’t been chosen by his mentor.
His finger hovered over it…
*******
The boy was very quiet at dinner that evening. Deep thoughts weighed on his mind, especially ones of doubt toward the chocolatier sitting across from him – a person who had become a hero. Wonka was happily regaling The Buckets with tales of yore while the boy tried to listen, the words drowned out by his own worries. So badly did the child want to ask questions, to get an explanation that would explain everything and restore his faith. But he couldn’t. That was the rule.
Instead, he’d racked his brains all day to find some other solution. Holding in secrets hadn’t been so difficult with someone to share them but now he was alone in this horrible knowledge.
He waited until his mentor stepped outside of their lop-sided cottage to present a question that could be asked. The nighttime factory light on the pale man’s skin gave him an ethereal glow. Words tripped out of the child's mouth, practically a question mark on the very name, “Mi-Mister Wonka..”
A mechanical spin down toward his form, eyes zeroed in like telescopic lenses, like dark didn’t phase their vision in the slightest.
Charlie swallowed. “Could I bring over a classmate next Friday?”
Twist and turn, a Rubik cube of expressions, queries asked and answered within the clockwork of the chocolatier’s mind. Was he calculating manipulation or withholding inner turmoils? Funny how questions led to more questions, how one secret and suspicion created to another.
“Don’t want your family to know, that’s why you asked me out here, huh?” A quirk of the bright mouth.
He nodded meekly.
“Name?”
“Actually, it’s the same as mine but we’re not related.”
An amused sound hiccupped out. A pause. “Of course, I’ll be much too busy to meet him.”
That was as close to permission as he was going to get.
“I understand.”
The boy lowered his head, almost in a bow as he turned away. A step from re-entering his jovial and warm home, the crook of his elbow was firmly gripped. He gasped and into his ear was whispered, “But you’re the only friend that I need.”
Then released.
Figure already far gone in the twisted shadows of The Chocolate Room.
Those vulnerable words disturbed the boy as he went to sleep that night. He didn’t know what to feel about the man at this point. Or himself.
*******
To be continued.
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