Disclaimer: The Author of this fanfiction is not using this story to gain money in any way, shape, or form, nor does the Author claim ownership of the fictitious characters created by Roald Dahl, used most recently in the 2005 Tim Burton film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Summary: A stupid little impulse story the Author simply had to give her mind time to write, for otherwise it would continue to plague her brain until she did. The Author has written a story about what would happen if a girl with her own frame of mind happened to 'gain access' to the amazing Chocolate Factory of Willy Wonka.
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A soft, slight sigh was the only noise I would allow myself to make, administering the fact that yes, I was awake. Fully awake, in fact, but not motivated enough to move from my current spot. My night had been filled with restlessness, my mind turning over and over the five children; Augustus Gloop, Veruca Salt, Violet Beauregarde, Mike Teavee, and of course, that last lucky child in Russia whose name I failed to catch.
They were all lucky. I wasn't. They were all going to see that amazing factory. I wasn't. They weren't full of self pity. I was. I rolled over on my side and stared at my clock. 9:00 AM. I sighed even more deeply. It was truly going to be a long day, the last day of January, and to-morrow on February first Willy Wonka's factory gates were going to open and admit those ten people.
I rolled over the other way and faced the wall. I laid there and stared at it for some time before finally, explosively, shoving the covers off my skinny frame and changing out of my nightclothes and into my regular clothes. I couldn't stand to lay in bed any longer. I had to get out, get out of this depressing house and somewhere that could possibly take my mind off of all that happened in… what, was it only a day? It seemed to me that I had aged a week, but barely more than twenty-four hours had gone by.
I slipped the coat over my arms and zipped it up. Ziiiiiiip. I giggled again, for absolutely no reason at all; and the giggle sounded so horrendous in my mind that I unintentionally clapped a hand over my mouth. The spot where my hand had struck stung for almost a minute before it went away, and when it did, I quickly hurried out my room, down the stairs, and blasted out the door before anybody could tell me to stop.
Once outside in the chilly January, soon to be February air, I jogged on the spot for a few seconds to warm up a bit, get my blood pumping, then set off at a brisk walk for the newsstand. If nothing else I could catch a glimpse of the headlines. Every once in a while the newsstand runner would give me a paper. How nice of him, yes?
As I approached the newsstand, I noticed, with some amusement, that Mr. Jenkins was being swamped by people in their efforts to get a newspaper. Managing to slide between people and in beside Mr. Jenkins, I grinned heartily and giggled that strange giggle again. Where did it come from, I had no idea, for I had never heard that giggle before in my life. "Hi Mr. Jenkins. Looks like you need a hand, eh?"
"Hi Alisha. Yeah, it sure –" he paused a second to hand a paper to a person over the heads of some others, "- is a busy time. Would you mind helping a bit?" He paused from everything for a moment to watch me, to many indignant cries.
"Sure." I picked up a stack of the newspapers, as big as I could fit them in my arms, and slipped out of the crowd again, to stand a slight distance away. It worked. It drew part of the crowd over to me, and Mr. Jenkins had time to hand people papers. I managed to hold the stack with one arm with people deposited money into my other arm's hand. After business slowed again, I found I only had one paper left.
Mr. Jenkins swept his brow over with his sleeve. "It's cold as blazes out and I'm sweating. Ain't that something?"
"Sure is." I deposited my handful of coins into Mr. Jenkins' hand and then held the last singular paper out to him. He looked at it, took it, then pushed it back to me.
"You have it. I know how much you enjoy to read the paper. By the way, you might be interested in the main headline," he said with a wink, and I grinned and nodded.
"Thanks!" I said as politely as possible, then walked down to the corner where I could get some peace without somebody hanging over my shoulder to try and read my paper at the same time as I was.
RUSSIAN TICKET FAKE, proclaimed the bold front headline, showing a picture of the kid who had made a false ticket. My heart leapt into my throat. That meant there was still one left! I was about to read deeper into the story when a child went zooming by me, whirling my coat and hair in the same direction he was going. A glint of gold in his hand caused my heart to almost die on me. Especially since I recognized the lucky kid who had found the last Golden Ticket.
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The last day of January proceeded without much heed by myself. I hardly noticed it, in fact, for my mind was reeling over the idea of Charlie Bucket finding the last Golden Ticket. The first day of February dawned crisp and clear, as did my plans for the day, which no one would suspect. At Seven o'clock in the morning I was up and ready for the day, three hours earlier than the gates were scheduled to open.
Of course, I would need to get there first, for my plans to be able to be set into motion; and thus I began searching my room for the thing I needed, for I only needed one object; my piece of rope, fifteen-feet long, wove from nylon, strong and thick, perfect for the job at hand. I slung it over my shoulder. It roughly rubbed up against my skin, for I was in no more than a tank-top. And I would only be able to go out in a tank-top. I wouldn't be able to shed my coat outside now, would I? It would raise questions. And I was sure to be discovered if I shed it inside.
I slipped nimbly and stealthily downstairs, my shoes making even the merest whisper of sound down the staircase. My parents were still in bed, snoring as they often did, and I thanked the Good Lord that I didn't have a sibling, for they would surely ruin my escape.
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My teeth were gritted hard against the cold to keep them from chattering, as I tied my rope around a rock. It was a pretty big rock, but not so big that I couldn't pick it up enough to heave it fairly high over my head. And as I said, I was pretty tall myself, around 5' 5". I stared upwards at the spikes overtop the factory gates, wondering if I could heave the rock that high.
I decidedly decided that I would have to figure out. I lifted the rock with a low groan and heaved it over the top. It was further decided that I could heave the rock that high. I giggled, that strange, throaty giggle that I seemed to be using a lot lately. I shuddered, not just from the cold but from the insanity I was sure I was nearing.
I began to use the rope to scale the gates, still thankful that the press and everybody else from town would not be here until nine, which was another hour. I was halfway up the gate when I lost my footing and slid back down to the bottom, landing flat on my back in the snow with a tremendous thump.
"Owwww," I whimpered in a whisper, gently easing myself off the ground and tackling the fence again. I was still hurting, but I wasn't stupid; things like laying until you feel better will get you caught, not to mention possibly giving me a cold.
I managed to make it to the top and clung to the spikes at the top for all that I was worth. Finally I hauled myself up, with some effort, and was careful about climbing around. After all, I don't think the person who found me in another half-hour would think their day lucky to find a kid impaled through the bottom or middle on one of the Chocolate Factory's metal gate spikes.
I shuddered at that thought as I slid down the gate on the other side, picked up the rock and rope, and carried them off to a remote corner of the giant stone fence; there, no one would surely discover them until some days, months, or years later. There was a nook in the stone not too far from the gates and I snuggled tight into it, fairly warm for the time being.
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I knew it was almost time to get ready to enter when there were cheers and clicks and snaps and flashes from the canons and people around. The gates creaking open eerily confirmed my assumption and I poked my head out ever-so-slightly to watch them enter. I grinned widely when I saw Charlie and his grandfather, Joe, who looked fit as a whistle for how old he was.
Still gritting my teeth as hard as I possibly could to keep them from chattering, for I was sure that would give me away, I listened in wonderment to Willy Wonka's voice (and by now I was sure it was. I was just sure!) gave the commands for them to come forward.
"Welcome to my Facotry," Willy Wonka announced grandly, "Who am I? Well…"
I watched in awe and was dumbfounded as the what appeared to be doors opened wide and a bright red curtain with gold sash and embellishment bore the fanciful Wonka 'W' split to reveal a bunch of musical dolls that all started chuckling insanely and then singing about the owner of the Chocolate Factory.
♪Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, The Amazing Chocolatier
Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, Everybody give a cheer –HOO-RAY!-
He's modest clever and so smart, he barely can restrain it
With so much generosity, there is nowhere to contain it,
To contain it, to contain
To contain to contaaaaain ♪
I could barely suppress that awful giggle that bubbled into my throat like I was to be sick. But it bubbled out anyway, and soon I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing horrendously and alerting everyone to my presence. I almost didn't hold it back, especially when a man appeared suddenly at the end of the line of people giggling and clapping madly.
"Splendid! Wasn't that just wonderful? Splendid! I thought it was getting a bit dodgy there in the middle part, but then that finale… Wow!" The man leapt to the top of the staircase in front of the people, and for a fleeting second he looked in my direction. I thought sure that maybe he had seen me, but with those dark goggles, I would never know. He turned his attention back to the crowd.
The man's mouth worked around for a bit as if he was looking for something to say. Then: "Good morning, starshine! The Earth says, hello!" I snorted gaily and covered my mouth and bit my tongue to keep from laughing hard.
"Who're you?" said a little girl with short-cropped blond hair, who I remembered to be Violet. The woman next to her in the matching outfit must've been her mother.
"He's Willy Wonka!" Grandpa Joe said excitedly. Charlie uttered a soft, "Really", as if he didn't really believe it was Mr. Wonka. Neither could I.
"Then shouldn't you be up there?" said a little girl with a British accent. She had curly brown hair that most girls would kill for, and was pointing towards the throne that was currently engulfed in flames. I had to wonder if there was a brain in her head, and even from far away I heard a soft plopping noise as a melting doll's eye fell out.
Willy Wonka screwed his face up into the most serious manner I had ever seen, and said softly, "Well, I couldn't very well watch the show from up there now could I little girl?" Silence followed, and Willy Wonka turned and bustled in past his burning display. All the others followed, including me, although I almost didn't make it inside for lack of time. I slipped in just as the door shut softly with a snap behind me.
I had made it.
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A/N: Well, here we go. Alisha's successfully infiltrated the factory. Yay. Er, so now that the second chapter's up, I'll be most likely working on the fourth chapter of Whisper of Evil this evening, since it's the weekend. So stay tuned and be steadfast! I shall not disappoint you, dear reader. Goodbye, Au revior, Auf Wiedersehen, and GOOD RIDDANCE! (Just kidding. Hehe.)
Reviewers: As I've always said, I'm open to praise and flames. Just don't banish me to the Eternal Stove. Argh. But also as I've always said, flames just force me to build a barrier, build my character, and hone my writing skills. So there. –Wink.- And I can rhyme, too.