It wasn't raining. Despite popular belief, the heavens don't decide to depress the fuck out of the pathetic humans whenever one dies, with their tears of fake sadness. Every cheesy film ever produced showcased that when someone dies, the only way you can tell is when it's raining. Rain wasn't bad. At least not in his opinion.
"It feels like it should be raining,"he muttered under his breath. Heck, it should be dropping gallons from the sky. That was at least how comically down he had felt. There was no denying it. He was sad. And he was dead.
Charlie Bucket stood in front of the gray stone protruding from the ground. He looked down in both depressing anger and angering depression. It has been a week. A week without him by his side, constantly being the ridiculous person he was. A week without a smiling. It began to annoy him.
He ran a hand through his chocolate brown hair. Yeah, that would be a good way to describe it. Like chocolate.
"Good job", Charlie grumbled once more. "Now you've been reduced to getting upset over anything that reminds you of him."His chocolate brown hair. His incredible creativity when it came to anything to do with chocolate. Him.
Willy Wonka died in a freak accident that had occurred in the factory. On the exact day 15 years ago, the Charlie had first visited the successful business of Wonka's. Charlie remembered it as if it were yesterday. Meeting him was one thing, but inheriting the entire chocolate empire was an idea from a different planet. Yet, somehow, here he was with all of this money, with all of this success, with all this...loneliness.
Charlie dropped the flowers he had brought. Sugar petals, he called them. It might have attracted bugs and small animals if the sugar used to make the beautiful flowers contained hadn't contained a strong smelling pesticide. What a clever idea! He remembered the exclamation he made when he first received the idea. Charlie you're a genius! He said.
Tears dotted the lids of his pickle green eyes. Charlie moved a hand to wipe them away. He refused to cry again. He used the other hand to grasp his aching heart. If it wasn't for him, he would either be on the streets begging for food once again or dead. Though right now, Charlie preferred the latter. He knew it, Death had added Charlie's name the list.
Through his tears he had managed an empty smile. He's rambling. He decided long ago. This wasn't an accident. He decided to find who was responsible. He continued smiling, even managing a chuckle. He decided to make them pay in every way imaginable. That chuckle turned into a laugh.
He laughed as the sun had set and storm clouds gathered.
He laughed as the first drop of rain ker-plunked on his messy, chocolate brown hair.