Charlie and the Chocolate factory 2

By yami27

Important note; My story happens after the film (or book) of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. I was inspired by the 2005 film adaptation of the book to write this. I haven’t read Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator so I don’t know what it’s about. If you do, please tell me. I welcome criticism but I do not welcome hostility or rudeness. Please don’t flame. I see myself as I learning author. Enjoy the story. It is my own version of what happens after the film (book).

Warning; Very, very mild man x man. Just fluff. Nothing intense. Wonka x Charlie but only because they deeply care for one another in the long run. But if you don’t like this sort of thing, turn away now.

Disclaimer; I do not own the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or his characters. They were all created by Roald Dahl himself.

Chapter 1; Hot talk

What has gone before;

Charlie, a small boy who didn’t live in a palace or a grand cathedral or had no friends, was considered the luckiest boy alive. Once upon a time he found a golden ticket out of five that invited him to see inside Wonka’s factory. And of course, finding a ticket was nearly impossible as each one was hidden in a candy bar and there were billions and billions of Wonka bars all over the world. But Charlie managed to find one and that was how, in the end he won the greatest prize of all. To own the chocolate factory. But of course that was then, and this is now.

Seven years after the publishing of the five golden tickets;

A lever was pushed. The lab was filled with hot, comforting steam and smoke that arose from a husk of a machine shaped in an oval like an egg. Chocolate aroma filled the chambers. This was delicate work. Too delicate for ompalupas. So it had to be done by the master.

The proud, tall figure haunched over another contraption, and pressed a shiny, large button that gleamed lividly from all the lab lights. Everything was going well. The steam began to clear. Sweeter smells filled the white lab chamber. The young man grinned as he turned a knob. Finally, like the end of a long awaited race of competitors, the master sighed in satisfaction as excitement mounted. A small tray emerged from the oval machine, and on its glossy, metal surface lay a perfect rounded white ball, coated in ice. Crisp mist swirled from its form into the warm air. He had done it. He had finally completed his latest challenge. His family would be so pleased.

Joyous and ecstatic, forgetting the stress and trouble of all the hard work, he picked up the compacted white ball and walked from the lab into another room, and then another until he came to the grass banks made from sugar and the bridge made from chocolate. There, he entered his original home that had been moved to reside within the chocolate factory so that he could spend time with his family there. He knocked on the door once, then opened it. His mother greeted him at once, throwing her arms around him. “Where have you been?” She gasped, “I haven’t seen you in days!”

“But mom, I work just next door.” He told her, gazing into her grey eyes and wrinkled face, “and look what I’ve accomplished? Isn’t it beautiful?”

His mother marvelled in awe. She broke the embrace and gladly took the ball that her son held out to her. She looked at it. But then frowned. “What is it meant to do?”

“It doesn’t do anything.” He assured her. “You’re meant to eat it, or savour it for the water when it drips. It’s pure. Its perfect.”

“But what is it?”

“A giant snowball. It’ll stay frozen for hours. Even without the freezer. And it’s made out of the most purest of white chocolate. The ice is sugar. It’ll be as hard as a rock if you eat it now, so I’ll wait a bit, or put it in front of the fire.” His confident smile beamed.

“You’ve done it again! Another masterpiece!” His ageing father came from the shadows to greet him. Both his parents had wispy grey hair and the light in their eyes dulled over time. But they were happy. However, a few months ago, his grandmother had died. His great grandmother passed on a few years ago, but the pain of loss was still deep. And he had but one grandfather left. And his parents were turning old. Sometimes, while he worked in the factory, he thought a lot about death, and the inevitable tick tock of time. He wanted his family to be with him forever. How was he to work and conduct business if they vanished from his side. Sometimes, he cried. Willy Wonka was doing better. Though he too was ageing, he managed to mask it by applying his pale makeup and keeping his hair neat and colored. He still laughed, joked and worked alongside his protégé, but it still left him morbidly thinking. He couldn’t bear to think about being all alone in this factory. Not even the oompa loompas would give him company.

“Charlie?”

Charlie suddenly turned as his mother gave him back his giant snowball of wonder. “Willy?”

Wonka smiled brightly as he walked up to him from outside. He brushed the chocolate snow from his shoulders. “I see you’ve been busy.” He sounded content. “Managed to crack it?”

Charlie nodded firmly. “We can try some later. Then, we can produce batches of them, sell it to the public.”

“Ah, but have you tried it out yet? To make sure that it’s safe?” His placid smile waned considerably as his purple-gloved hand gripped his walking stick.

“Yes. On the oompa loompas. Trust me, it’s fine.”

Wonka wasn’t absolutely sure if he trusted the grown boy. The child was still learning. Many things had been going wrong lately. He found out Charlie needed more guidance than initially thought. He accidentally killed an oompa loompa once when trying a teaspoon of new oil juice. Charlie still regretted it. And Charlie’s mother had a bast stomach upset after trying a glob of maritime crossed with toffee and liquorice.

“I’ll try it.” Muttered Charlie’s grandfather weakly from his chair by the fireplace.

“I know,” said the mother, “I’ll err, prepare dinner, then we can have it as afters!”

“Great idea!” Wonka chuckled as he sat on a chair himself, gazing into the cerise embers of the fire. Charlie nodded and placed the snowball in the centre of the table. Then he went into the narrow hallway and combed his hair back as he took a moment to peer into the mirror. It was placed in a gold frame. A gift from Willy Wonka himself. It was tall and reached almost to the ceiling.

Charlie Bucket let out a long sigh as he brushed back his golden hair and gazed deep into his troubled hazel eyes. Why do I feel so down? The question lingered in his head like a bad smell. But why? He had everything he could possibly dream for. The business was going well, everyone was happy, but him.

The years had crudely changed him into a tall, young man with a soft face and bold eyebrows. He made his own clothes and shoes and never went outside to progress with the public, as Wonka had done. He didn’t really miss the outside. It wasn’t that that was bothering him. No. Enough. He thought. I worry too much. I’ve got to stop it. It’s denting my work. Or maybe he was just looking to do something new. Something different. Something not from Wonka’s rule book.

Over dinner, the family eating over a feast of chicken, corn and bread, Charlie asked Wonka a question. “Willy? Don’t you ever get tired of chocolate?”

The inquiry seemed to take Wonka by surprise. “Me? Get tired of chocolate? Have you hit your head somewhere?”

“No, don’t be silly.” Charlie couldn’t find the strength to smile when Wonka playfully grinned. “But it meant it. Don’t you wanna make something entirely new?”

“But I live for chocolate! Why would you ever suggest such a thing?”

Charlie sat for a moment in silence. Then, after a doubting pause, spoke again. “Wouldn’t it be great if we created something else? Something greater than chocolate?”

“Like what?”

Charlie shrugged and ignored the dismal loss in Wonka’s tired eyes. “I’m working on it.”

1149pm. It was hard to tell night from day so it was easy to overwork through the night. Hey were so distant from the real days of the world that time was lost within the factory. Charlie yawned. He was exhausted and knew that his body was yelling that it was time as any to simply slug it and rest. He got into his own silk bed, in his own plush chamber. The curtains were rosy red and the carpet was a long, thick expense of nylon and cotton. He did love it here. Everything was so warm and comforting. He snuggled into his furry pillow and closed his heavy eyelids. For once they were ahead of schedule. Plenty of time now to think of new ideas. Wonka did look reluctant to change things. But he would be so pleased once Charlie would create something new. He was sure of it. Confidence was key after all.

He let himself snuggle even deeper into his fine pillows. There was something he missed though. Looking up at the stars shimmering up into the eternal heavens. He missed that. The sky was so magical at night. Nothing could beat the austere glow of the moon and stars. Nothing. As a boy he watched them so frequently. It was where dreams were born.

27; Well, i sure as hell hope you like the first chapter. Because it will become more and more sinister later! Mahahahah! Sorry for any mistakes blah blah blah. No flames or Wonka will turn you into a cookie!