Author's Note: Thank you for coming to read my story. Before you begin, I'd like to ensure that I introduce you to the original intent of this story: it is an emotional journal from someone very lonely and very anxious, encased very loosely in the beloved story, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. For the first few chapters, it is strictly stream-of-conscience - an outlet for obsession, curiosity, and despair. As the story progresses, plot does begin to germinate in its soil; until, by the time you've reached the more current chapters, the story will have evolved into a self-sustaining story rich with its own purpose. However, by this point, you will note that it has almost nothing to do with the original book/film at all (albeit retaining familiar motifs).
With adjusted expectation, I encourage you to read the story. While non-sequitur, I've poured my heart into it.
Thanks again, and enjoy.
CHAPTER ONE - The Birds
When Charlie was retrieved from light and electricity and spilled out from his mother as an indistinguishable red blob, he very swiftly aged to the broody, fiery age of 18. To the delight of both his parents and his bed-ridden grandparents and grandsiblings, he had developed into an astonishingly handsome young man, and his eyes were sharp and bright as neon frisbees tossed below a combed canopy of a chocolate brown sky. His skin, pale as milk and taught as latex, draped and heated his bones with the burn of good health from his sensible upbringing.
His demeanor was one of aggressive humility, a fortress of relentless kindness. Deep inside, however, he often found himself quite frightened, as frightened as every child who had survived this past autumn had been, when the annual "UOIK Carnival" had come and gone; a pulse of unspeakable torment and confusion that had burned through their hearts and minds for three days. While he did not regret anything he might've said or done, he could not bear to think of such things - let alone convey them to a reader in a way that, at this point in the story, that they could understand.
But he never let the fear that had burrowed into his heart stir him - in fact, he hid it so well, that his mother and father had begun to think that perhaps they'd never frighten him again. His face and lips were unwavering as he'd sweep the dust and dirt from the kitchen floor out the front door. His parents had grown concerned, just to think that their shouts of meaningless exclamation around corners and from behind doors might never make him jump in his jeans ever again.
"ALERT!" Cried the metal ravens and robins, countless birds perched along every inch of the trees' branches outside. "THE GATES WILL OPEN SHORTLY."
Charlie scrambled down the shaky ladder that separated his room from his incubating twin baby sister's room across from it. He pulled on his coat and put on his hat. When he opened the front door, the winter air poured into the house like a tsunami of frigid arctic water that bit at the skin of everyone inside.
"Charlie, wait!" Called Charlie's mother as Charlie stepped outside. She threw her wet dishcloth into the cabbage bowl and crossed the kitchen to meet him.
Charlie nervously avoided her gaze, but his stature was firm.
"I know, Mom."
His mother had only just opened her mouth to speak another word before Charlie leapt from the patio stairs and darted through the front gate.
"Please, Charlie!"
His heart pounded behind his ribs as he ran. This was the day he'd been waiting for - and, despite his mother's expression of anxiety, he had prepared her for this. His parents had been supportive, at first, and they'd promised to remain supportive. But their affirmation had melted into concern as his fascinations evolved into obsessions, immediately following the carnival.
He was going to participate in this year's Deep-Delve into Billy Bonka's Cream Factory.
"What is that?" Would chirp the crows and chickadees, their voices naught more than indistinguishable blips and blops. "What exactly is a Deep-Delve into Billy Bonka's Cream Factory?"
"Well!" The clouds would hum in reply, "the Deep-Delve into Billy's Cream Factory is an annual opportunity for five aspiring youths to be introduced to machines and creams that keep this nation growing. Every child deserves to know what powers the cream that runs in pipes below their feet!"
The crows would interrupt. "Only five!" They reminded, "Five, please, from the countless selection of teens."
The sky would rumble, "That fluid and those young minds are what build the promise of our future, Bentley James."
"Indeed, you are correct, Jeremy Kingsley."
And then sometimes the advert would end with them approaching one another slowly, and sometimes it wouldn't. Not knowing each time was what made it worth watching every time it aired through the windows outside.
Retrieving the golden ticket from the small pouch he had found it in, Charlie marched evermore swiftly towards the towering metal gates that groaned open far in the distance, the factory's sumptuously sweet aromas beckoning the passing pubescents into its courtyard. Charlie did not need convincing. Today was the day he'd been dreaming of. His boots squeaked through the dry snow as he, and four other curious boys and girls, entered first across the painted pink line across the white cobblestone nearest the factory entrance. The factory gates slammed shut at once, claiming the lives of people who'd been watching intently.
The ringing sirens of birds, rattling the sky from atop the trees' branches and from the edges of the chain-link fences, suddenly fell silent.
Thanks so much for diving into this story with me! I hope you enjoy the bizarre and curious experiences that await the curious teens. I'll probably return to this chapter, and I already have a few times, to re-construct it in the places where my understanding of this story's direction has increased.
Please leave a review and tell me what you think! As the self is an illusion and both I and you, the reader, are the same, I'd appreciate your feedback on this story and where you're hoping it goes. Your comments give me serotonin.