--EDIT-- Uhm.. eh.. -nervous giggle- The lady Riddled Puzzler stepped forward and told me that it was actually the lord Puzzler that beta'd mah story. So, uh... that's like the third time I've gotten them mixed up. -kicks herself and grovels at the same time- Agh! Literary prodigy! Forrrgiiivvee mmeee! -cries-
Wow. Look. A ficlet. o.O Oh. My. Word. Wicked Seraphina actually wrote something that isn't poetry? What is the world coming to!
I wrote it whilst chasing after a plot bunny. The fact that I've not been sleeping over Christmas Vacation, and that my diet has lately been consisting of nothing but chocolate has nothing to do with it, I'm sure. x.x()
Until then, I remain wickedly yours. Enjoy our featured presentation!
A Wicked Good Time
A horrified cry ripped from his throat as he flew down the sterile, slate gray corridor. His booted feet ached abominably, protesting the harsh impacts they suffered upon repetitively striking the thin, maroon carpet. But he could scarcely pay the pain any mind, for his thoughts were dwelling on the malevolent force that he knew followed. Indeed, he could hear the muffled footfalls whispering after him-- the demon moved with such speed that its feet barely kissed the floor before rising again. His own legs were much longer than those of the awful being stalking him, as was his stride...
How then, by God, was it gaining on him! He could practically feel the torrid breath flowing over the back of his neck! Desperate to escape the consuming heat, he turned a corner sharply, hoping beyond hope that the fiend would slip or stumble, giving him time to escape into the depths of his factory, his sanctuary, his fortress...
No longer, he thought despairingly. It had been infiltrated. It was impossible, but it had been done.
The creature that had accomplished it had simply and suddenly been present when he had turned from his observing of the chocolate river. There, just standing on the emerald swudge, crouched like a cat eyeing a saucer of cream, or like a vulture preparing to swoop down on a particularly enticing bit of meat. The appearance of the devil wasn't actually horrifying, but the waves of near-audible, gruesome throughts that gushed from it's mind, and the way in which it leered at him like a starving wolf gawks at a side of beef, had been enough to immediately send his brain crying out, Run!
This grim memory was broken when Lady Luck decided to smile on him for an instant, in the form of a feral shriek followed by a clattersome crash as his predator met none-to-kindly with a wall.
"Thank Godiva!" Willy breathed, rounding another corner and vanishing past one of the countless doors. A typical Loompa-ish office met him, and his porcelain face became all the more bloodless. He had forgotten what level of his beloved factory he had been on, so intent his thoughts had been on simply evading the terrible thing that chased him up and down the innumerable floors, never tiring in it's bloodlust.
Panic set in. He couldn't possibly hide amid the miniature furniture! He spun about, coat tails fluttering like the wings of a flamboyant butterfly. His new intention was to choose the Liquorish Lab just down the hall to stow himself in until...when? When would the monstrosity cease it's hungry hunt for him?
He laid a scarlet-adorned hand on the silvery doorknob but then--he heard it. A sniffing, like a great bloodhound. Soft, slow footsteps floated down the hall, drawing dangerously closer...
The irrational thought that his pursuer could smell him rose in his frazzled mind, and he turned once again to the room's furnishings, hope dwindling away along with his consciousness (which he had been fretting away by hyperventilating). A desk, file cabinets, a few chairs. Too tiny! A fish tank filled with lethargic Swedish Fish. Too see-through! A big, bushy potted tree sprouting enormous, glittering lemon drops. Too--
"Perfect!" The chocolatier managed to squeak quietly, and with a great, gazelle-like leap, he disappeared behind the sugar-dusted plant. There he tried to quiet his breathing, his lanky, brilliantly-clad self held rigid as a candy cane. This accomplished, he listened...
Snuffling. Stepping. Stepping. Snuff--...
...Just outside the door, the pattern of his hunter's noise was interrupted by deafening silence. Willy prayed in that moment to every deity he had learned of in his myriad travels, and even some that he made up on the spot. (1)
... Snuff. Stepping. Stepping. Snuffling...
It grew fainter. Willy waited until he heard it no longer, and let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, his exhausted body going entirely lax. A spindly, begloved hand fished in his frock coat for a moment before bringing forth a lavender handkerchief, with which he wiped away the sheen of perspiration that made his pearly skin shine.
He was completely off-guard when he heard the door thrown open. He was too slow to react when he heard dancing feet race across the office, bounding easily over the furniture. And he was far too petrified to scream when the leaves of the Lemon Drop Tree were parted by electric blue-nailed hands, allowing a fearsomely delighted visage to be thrust through the foliage.
Willy Wonka could only gape in wide-eyed, numbing terror.
Tempestual gray-blue eyes shone like hellfire in pools of artful kohl liner. Sinisterly set cheekbones and avian nose were framed by a wild mane of golden sunflower curls. Lips, painted black cherry and parted widely, flashed a deranged set of pearly whites in a wicked grin.
"Mmm," came a rumbling purr from deep within Seraphina's throat. The unnaturally bright eyes raked over his sprawled form appraisingly. The way her brows arched in blatant, salacious appreciation sent the confectioner's heart slamming against his ribcage. "Hey, good-lookin'."
He found his screams then.
...Take that as you will.
(1) To this day, Willy Wonka claims that Gumdropshka was an enormous, green, mound-like monster in Norwegian folklore. This proves that the man is not only full of charm and hot air, but also full of sht.