I do not own the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor do I own the movie, which shares the same name. I don't own Johnny Depp, but if I did, oh, if I did. Mwaha.
Charlie's sixteen in this one, a good age, wouldn't you think?
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His eyes were lilac, his eyes were…amazing. They were cloudy, and caught different colors in the Factory's light, but they were most defiantly lilac. In fact, all of the chocolatier's face was made up of unrealistic colors, like the candy he so lovingly made. His skin was like cream, or white chocolate, draped over impossible cheekbones and shark features. His lips were always reddish, like the inside of a chocolate. His hair was silky, and fell down straight, like dripping dark chocolate, melting and hardening at the same time, frozen forever midair.
Nothing about the candy man's appearance seemed quite real. From the top hat that was unavailable in even the quirkiest costume shops, to the stiff velvet coat that made him the ringmaster of the factory. He was Willy Wonka, Ringmaster of Candy. He commanded how it should taste, how it should look, how it should be better than any other brand. He was unconventional, he was delicious. Although there was nothing particularly sparkly about the candy man's costume and appearance, there was indeed, a certain spark. He indulged in fantasy; he was one of the few unafraid to be who he wanted to be.
But perhaps he didn't know he didn't have to. Perhaps he banned inhibition years ago. Perhaps Willy Wonka was a one-man circus. For the most part, beasts (humans actually) did not scare him. He had tamed the beasts, made them look up to him like some confection of a God. He looked them in the eye, and they knew there was a certain something that made him something more than equal. He was a performer, an acrobat, going through the seemingly unattainable motions of owning the world's largest chocolate factory, when really he knew the secrets to make the wheels turn. He was the man behind the magic; he was the magic.
It was unfortunate that most people would never know how spectacular he was. Charlie himself couldn't help feeling luckiest when he was simply looking at the chocolate maker. He got to bask in the presence of the whimsical, daydream being. He'd felt every day since his family moved in with Wonka, years ago. Willy Wonka himself was a confection, looking at him was equivalent to eating the sweetest candy. Looking at him, it was an indulgence, every cliché coming to the boy's mind. Good enough to eat. A feast for the eyes. The chocolatier made Charlie's mouth water, and his chest feel tight. The boy had decided long ago that it was a good feeling, one that should not go away. Tucked away, maybe, but the emotion the candy man triggered was an addicting essential. Just a glance at Wonka somehow tasted good, made Charlie crave what he could not have. Being with the man would be like winning the Golden Ticket all over again…
Despite the chocolate, the licorice, the candy that surrounded him, Charlie Bucket still felt that Willy Wonka was the sweetest thing he had ever seen.
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I wrote this today. While sick. I just couldn't find anything I was in the mood to read, so I wrote. A little bit of harmless slash musings. Charlie being unrequited. It's pretty much drabble. Review anyways?