A/N: Hey guys! I know this is a little late and pretty much everyone is doing this, but I'm doing one anyway. This is my memorial for Gene Wilder. Rest in peace. Enjoy!
Charlie stood outside the factory, observing the grey smoke as it puffed into the air. He was standing right outside the gate, his back slightly pressed against it. He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know what he was waiting for. He was just standing them, absentmindedly, though nothing was on his mind at all. In all of his years, even when he lived in his old house, he had never felt this blank. He didn't know why.
He felt a tug at the bottom of his jacket. Peering down, he saw an oompa loompa, dressed in the thickest clothing for miles. It didn't say anything. It just gestured for the boy to follow him inside the factory. Charlie didn't know why. He followed the small man anyway.
Charlie usually adored smelling the familiar aromas as he entered the factory. He mostly loved gazing at every small detail, every speck of chocolate, everything. But today felt different. Today felt like he was wandering into a blank room, filled with nothingness. He didn't know why. 'Why' was the only thing bugging him. But he didn't even show much attention to that, quite frankly. It felt like all of his emotions had vanished, just as his father's job had. Just as the children in the factory had. But this time, they didn't feel like coming back.
The oompa loompa continued leading him through the factory. The two said nothing to each other. The creature sung no songs or rhymes. Charlie didn't even notice. He seemed to blank notice anything. Even his own breathing or footsteps.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, at least to Charlie, they arrived in a room he had never been in. There was nothing but grey walls and grey floors of an indescribable martial. Charlie didn't think it was candy, like the majority of rooms in the factory. In the middle of the room was a small white bed, surrounded by a polished white desk, on the left of the bed. No one else was there. Except for a figure lying under the doona cover. None of their body was shown, except for a barely peeking purple top hat.
The oompa loompa left the young man alone, shutting the door behind him. Charlie, with no rush, no desire, made his way to the bed. Now as he had a closer look, he noticed half a gobstopper on the pillow. An everlasting gobstopper.
Suddenly, the being under the cover twitched, and soft breathing could be heard. With hardly interested eyes, Charlie glanced at such movement. His hand lay on the doona cover, not even thinking of his movements, he lifted it off, revealing a barely awake Mr Wonka. The man's face was pale as a ghost's, and his were shut tight. His chest was briefly moving up and down, and every other part of his body was frozen like ice.
Charlie felt a lump in his throat. The blankness was still there. Was this the reason why? He didn't know. But for the first time, he felt intrigued to find the answer.
"Charlie.." A voice, not even close to a whisper. Charlie gazed down, realizing the unconscious man had awoken. His blue eyes gazed up at his, not much spirit left inside. But they were still so familiar, so comforting.. Not even the blankness could stop Charlie thinking of a memory or two.
The lump in his throat grew bigger. "Mr Wonka?" He asked, after a few moments of silence, his voice showing no emotion. However, the blankness was starting to shift, giving him unusual feelings. He was used to feeling depressed. After all, the majority of his life had been in a small, run-down house. He had watched other kids' faces been poured with money.. With riches and everything they desired. He had just been lucky to get a chocolate bar annually. But this was different.. He had never felt this kind of sadness before..
"Charlie," The man, frail, breathed again. "I.. I wanted you to know.." He paused, stopping completely, his voice cracking and his breathing coming to a close. Charlie's heart pumped. No! It couldn't be now! He hadn't finished! No.. That feeling inside wasn't nothingness.. It was depression.. That would stick with him forever. Not the one he was used to. An everlasting depression. Just like with the gobstopper.
Charlie fell to his knees, bowing his head. His stomach felt as heavy as an anchor. It couldn't be true! Could it? He didn't know what to do, what to say… Or maybe he did. He wanted to thank Mr Wonka again and again for everything. For changing his life. For being supportive. For being his friend. Now he couldn't. He felt a single tear drip down his cheek, but he knew there would be more to come. Then, he heard one more frail, almost inaudible whisper:
"Thank you."
A/N: Thank you for reading. I usually don't write depressing stories like this, but I wanted a change. Please R&R, fave and have a nice day.
~Ponystories