Perfection
By Vespeva
Rated: M (disturbing themes)
A/N: Hello! Here is a somber little one piece a did a while ago I hope you all enjoy!
All he'd ever wanted was perfection, but perfection was never something that could exist outside the walls of the factory. It was too fragile, too pure. It was a delicate specimen that needed to be carefully contained, meticulously preserved, precisely measured.
He had a feeling it would shatter if he let anything come in, or out, of the factory. Locks were strengthened, doors were thickened, and rooms became airtight. Why take a chance?
Many people thought perfection wasn't a tangible thing. He disagreed. He'd seen it. Touched it. Tasted it. Perfection had crafted the very foundation of the factory. It was an air of magic. A twinkle in the eye. The thrum of a beating heart the moment inspiration hits.
It wasn't enough that it existed. It wasn't even enough that he had captured it. He wanted to recreate it. To share it with the world. Maybe then he would be able to open the doors to the factory, not to a broken world but to a world that it could survive in. A world where it would flourish. A perfect world.
Wearing a suit that would contain all of his impurities, he ventured through air locks and into the room where perfection itself was kept. Even through the suit, he could feel the chill in the room. It made his bones hurt just a little. It was an effort to force himself to collect the sample. What sat in front of him was the picture of divinity, a gift from god sent to the earth. It felt sacrilegious to even enter the room, let alone to stand in front of it. The effort to leave, however, was even harder. He could have sat in front of it until his dying breath, without a care in the world. A tear rolled down his pale cheek as he left the room with the sample, promising himself he would be back after his work was done.
Day turned into night and night turned into day. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a finished product. It hadn't taken long at all, to replicate the source and incorporate it into his brand new chocolates. He had suspected it would be harder, but logic prevailed even where it did not exist. It was matter. It could be replicated. The product would be shipped in the following days, and mass production has already commenced. There was a new hustle and bustle in the factory the chocolatier hadn't seen in many a moon, a buzz of excitement coming from his small workers. With baggy eyes underlined with heavy shadows, he watched them prepare for the launch for a small time, before turning on a heel and slipping into the shadows.
Walking through the hall, he put a square of the new chocolate onto his tongue. It melted in his mouth, releasing flavours so beautiful and so bizarre he could almost cry. This was the culmination of his life's work. His masterpiece. Nothing would ever top this, simply because it was not possible to top perfection. He put another square in his mouth, and then another.
Before long, he found himself right where he needed to be. He had finished the candy bar, but he didn't mind. He was standing in front of the unadulterated source in which it had came from.
The chocolatier dropped to his knees as the airlock closed behind him. He could feel the full force of the chill now, feel it like a storm beneath his skin. He no longer needed the suit to contain his impurities. He would be pure soon enough.
Breathless, he took a latex glove off and reached out to touch his mentor's hand. It sat on the arm of the chair, covered in a similar shade of purple latex that Charlie wore.
Charlie looked up at Wonka, drinking in his perfection. Perfection even death hadn't taken from him. Wonka's body sat propped up and frozen on the seat in the middle of the room, glassy amethyst eyes staring at nothing, pale skin almost luminous even in death. Four years, and he hadn't changed a single bit. It was as if he could blink and break into a beaming smile at any second.
A happy tear spilled down Charlie's cheek as he gazed at his terrifyingly, heartbreakingly beautiful mentor. A feeling swelled deep in his chest, and he knew he'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world.
Breathing was difficult now, but Charlie didn't mind. He was frozen in front of Wonka, in a way that had nothing to do with the chill. His vision swam as colours exploded in front of his eyes, suddenly vibrant. His heart raced, straining as a million nonsensical thoughts came rushing through his head. His mind broke. The tear had turned to ice by the time he stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating. Two magic hearts, reunited, frozen together in eternal rest.
"The two bodies found in the factory are confirmed to belong to Mr. Bucket and Mr. Wonka. Surprisingly, Wonka had been dead for quite some time! It's estimated 1-2 years, but they've had some difficulty getting an exact date given the immaculate preservation of the body. A team is still looking into the exact cause of death. Researchers have also confirmed that human DNA, along with other identified substances have been found in Wonka's new chocolates. Worldwide, there have been 12,084 reported deaths relating to the innocuous looking confection. The deaths have been found to range in causes, with 67% being suicides. Anyone who has ingested the chocolates has suffered a quick onset of insanity, followed by a range of other disturbing symptoms. The government has put out an official warning; do NOT ingest the chocolates. If possible, stay inside-"
Veruca switched the TV off. That was enough news for today. Even though there was no official announcement, she had suspected the factory had changed hands in the past few years. There was something different in the candy. After decades of booming business, there had been a very distinct decline in the past few years. She'd guessed Wonka had become senile, or contracted a serious illness. She wouldn't have guessed he had died. No one could have guessed that Charlie had kept his body in the factory without telling anyone.
The kettle whistled, she walked over to the kitchen, deep in thought. Veruca hadn't kept in contact with anyone from the factory, but the impression it left on her life was undeniable.
A smug smile settled over delicate, heart shaped lips. Her father had been right after all. Getting everything you ever wanted makes even the purest souls rotten.
She looked around her modest apartment that she had paid for herself. Her father had pushed her to work towards her own fortune, after taking Wonka's lesson to heart. She had made far from a fortune, but she was satisfied. What she had earned herself gave her a sense of fulfilment. Her soul wasn't pure in the slightest, but it wasn't rotten either. It was right in the middle, right where it needed to be to survive in this world. Charlie and Wonka were two extremes on the spectrum, so when they clashed, they clashed hard. Like a toaster in a bathtub, killing anything in the water with its terrifying electricity. Unfortunately, this bathtub happened to be the size of the very thing they held in their hands. The entire world.