So, welcome to Lucid Dream: Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, a world I did not think I would ever write a story about. Things are going to be a little different with this, but I'll let the dreamer explain things to you.

I came to awareness to a radio crackling and playing a song.

"Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew? Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two? The candy man, the candy man can."

I looked around to see where I was. I was standing in an apartment with 70s decor. There was a lot of bright and bold colored fabrics, busy floors, and dark wood. It was a bit overwhelming. The only things that were not neon funk was a tea set in the living room and an easel with a partially completed painting of said tea set. I looked down at my hands and found paint on them along with paint on the smock I wore.

I saw there was a brown leather purse on the kitchen table. I opened it up and found a matching brown wallet. Inside was a blank driver's license. So this was mine and I just needed to fill in the blanks of who I was. I went through the purse and found a small notepad, too. I flipped it open to the first page to see if there was anything in it.

SAME RULES AS ALWAYS. TRY NOT TO RUIN THIS VACATION.

I couldn't help but snort a little at that. What was supposed to be my last lucid dream vacation didn't turn out that way, but I suppose I have no one to blame but myself. And if I was where I thought I was, my chances of getting in any serious danger were almost nonexistent.

More words appeared on the page.

VISIT YOUR COUSIN AND AUNTIE BUCKET.

Sammy Davis singing and the surname Bucket, yeah, I was in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. And it was the Wonka version, not the Burton version, I was sure of it. However with the way my luck has been going, there was the possibility there would be elements of the Burton version, the stage play version, and Dahl's original work.

This also made me wonder how involved this dream was going to be and how much I would be able to use my ability to influence it. The world of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was very much like the waking world as in no superpowers, no monsters, no twists and bends in its reality - all bets were off once inside the factory - and it took over the span of several weeks, possibly months. Would that mean I would need to live it day to day, preforming the monotonous tasks of life to provide food and shelter? I normally didn't when it came to dreams that spanned over a long period of time. I would just live them out scene to scene with maybe some extra tasks to complete the goal given to me. Since my goal was simply to enjoy my vacation, I wasn't sure.

EVERYTHING IS ALREADY TAKEN CARE OF.

I guessed that meant nothing was different and I didn't need to worry about anything of that nature.

I went back to the blank driver's license.

"Okay, my name is Martha Bucket. I'm twenty-six and I'm a painter."

The license inked itself in with my name and age. It also filled in the rest of the information that I didn't state. According to my license, I had blonde hair and hazel eyes and I was 5'4. Looking down at myself I saw that I was also skinny, my hair falling over my shoulders. I took off the paint splattered smock to reveal the bold purple top tucked into to a pair of denim bell bottoms, my black chunky heeled shoes peeking out from the fabric.

I put everything back into the purse and found a compact mirror. I opened it up to get a better look at my face. I wasn't anything remarkable, which worked for me. Although when I looked closer at my eyes, they looked more green than hazel. The only makeup I had on was a clear lip gloss and for some reason it tasted like crème brûlée. Yummy.

I shouldered my purse and walked to the door. My notepad said to go visit my relatives and that's just what I was going to do.

"Let's get this dream started," I said, opening the door.

The Buckets lived on the edge of town and it turned out that my apartment wasn't very far from it. It was a short walk by my standards to get there.

The house was small. Actually, the term "house" didn't fit the structure. Calling it a cottage would be more accurate if it wasn't for the fact the dark wood was showing its age and the white wash was only on the least weathered side, yet calling it a shack seemed too harsh. No matter what term was used, the house needed work and it wasn't going to get it.

Coming from the other direction was a boy with blonde hair carrying a messenger bag. He had his head down as he walked.

"Charlie?" I called uncertainly.

The boy looked up at me. "Cousin Martha?"

So he did know me on sight. My notepad said everything was taken care of, so it made sense Charlie would recognize me. At least I didn't have to introduce myself as some long lost relative.

Charlie ran up and hugged me. "I didn't know you were here!"

I shrugged and smiled. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by."

Charlie grabbed my hand and led me up the steps to the house and yanked the door open. "Hey, everybody! Look who's here!"

Everyone turned to me as I stepped inside. The grandparents were all in the single bed they had been in for the last twenty years, wizened and gray and dressed in their night clothes under some old blankets.

"Martha!" they cried.

"Hello, everybody," I said.

"It's so good to see you," said Grandma Josephine.

"How have you been?" asked Mrs. Bucket. She stood by the stove and was fixing her dark hair back with a ribbon.

"Fine, Auntie." Calling her Auntie just seemed right to me. Her first name was never mention in any of the media. And Mrs. Bucket seemed to not mind me calling her that either.

"Still traveling and painting?" asked Grandpa Joe.

I nodded. "I'm working on a new painting now. I'll bring it by when I'm finished."

"Are you staying nearby?" asked Grandma Josephine.

"Yes. I'm actually staying in an apartment in town not far from here," I told them. "I figured since I'm in town that I should come and see you all."

"That's wonderful," said Grandma Georgina. "Charlie would love to hear about where you've been. Joe has been telling him the same stories over and over."

"He likes my stories!" Grandpa Joe said loudly. "Don't you, Charlie?"

"You bet, Grandpa," said Charlie.

Grandpa Joe looked at me. "But I think there's room for some new ones."

I giggled. "I think I have a few stories to tell him."

"Would you like to stay for supper?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

"I don't want to impose," I quickly told her. I knew money was tight and I didn't want them to think they had to feed an extra mouth.

"Nonsense!" said Grandpa Joe. "Stay awhile."

"If you insist," I conceded.

Charlie turned to the grandparents. "Grandpa, I heard that Willy Wonka is going to open his factory. It was on the radio. He's sending out five Golden Tickets and the people who find them get to go into the factory."

"Really?" asked Grandpa Joe.

Charlie nodded vigorously with a big smile on his face. "Really!"

"I thought I heard something on the radio, but I only caught the last bit," I said. "Maybe they'll repeat it on the evening news."

At supper, Charlie told me all about how he now had a paper route and was able to contribute money to the household. He was very proud of himself, but I couldn't help but think how sad it was that he had to do so. It was one thing if he wanted to pick up a job for extra pocket money for himself, but he had to get a job to help keep food on the table.

I made up a couple stories on the fly about the places I visited and selling my paintings. They seemed to enjoy the story about a potential buyer snubbing me only to be humiliated when another man bought it out from under him for nearly double, saying for someone who declares himself a man of such refined tastes he was blind to the beauty before him. It was the money from the sale I used to move here. I told them I wasn't sure how long I was going to stay, just that I wanted to stay long enough to complete the painting I was working on plus maybe another.

Afterwards, Charlie got ready for bed and I helped Mrs. Bucket do the dishes so we could all watch the news. Charlie came out and sat on the bed with the grandparents.

"And now, details on the sudden announcement that has captured the attention of the entire world," the newscaster said. "Hidden among countless billions of Wonka Bars are five gold tickets. And to the five people who find them will come the most fabulous prize one could wish for; a life time supply of chocolate. And if this were not enough, each winner before he receives his prize, will be personally escorted through the top secret chocolate factory."

"They're all crazy," said Grandma Josephine.

"Shh!" hushed Grandpa Joe. "The man's a genius! He'll sell a million bars!"

Charlie turned around. "Grandpa, do you think I'll have a chance of finding one?"

"One? I'm counting on you to find all five," said Grandpa Joe.

"One's enough for me," said Charlie.

I smiled and continued to listen to the news report.

"Already we have reports coming in from all over the world that the response is phenomenal," the newscaster went on. "Wonka Bars are beginning to disappear from candy store shelves at a rate to boggle the mind. Truly it is incredible the way that Wonkamania has descended upon the globe. While the world searches, we watch and wait, wondering where the pursuit will lead and how long the spirit of man will hold up under the strain."

A man lay on the couch of a psychiatrist's office. Sitting next to him was the psychiatrist with a notepad and taking notes of the session.

"I'm still having these dreams, doctor, and I still can't keep myself from believing them," said the man.

"I've told you, Mr. Hofstedder," said the psychiatrist. "To believe in one's dreams is a manifestation of insanity. And the sooner you accept this, the sooner you'll get well."

Then I must be certifiable.

The man on the couch turned his head to look at the psychiatrist. "But I dream the archangel appeared and whispered into my ear and told me where to find a golden Wonka ticket."

The psychiatrist looked up from his notepad and sat up straighter. "And what exactly did he say?"

"Well, what different does that make? This was a dream, a fantasy! I mean, you said just now -."

"Shut up, Hofstedder, and tell me where the ticket is!"

I woke up on the couch in my living room. I looked around and found it was late in the day and the evening news would soon be coming on. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

"I hate dreams within dreams," I muttered. At least this one was pleasant compared to others I had in the past.

I looked over at the incomplete painting and saw it was more complete. It seemed the only thing that needed painted yet was the teacup that sat in the foreground.

I got up and turned on the evening news.

The Evening Report with news anchor Stanley Kael was on.

"We begin with five Golden Tickets like five lucky bolts of lightning ready to strike without notice on any point on the map. No one knew where, no one knew when the first one would hit. But as you all know last night we got our answer."

He stood up and walked over to a world map.

"While we in America slept, the first Golden Ticket was found in the small town of Duselheim, Germany." He picked up a red marker with 1 on it and tacked it onto the map. "We've waited several hours for the follow up story and we're finally ready with a live report."

The camera switched and a report stood in a busy restaurant, a deer head mounted in the background making him look like he had antlers.

"Proud ve are for attention of the entire vorld focuses today right here in Duselheim, a community suddenly thrust into prominence by the unexpected discovery of first Vonka Golden Ticket. The lucky finder is the son of our most prominent hog butcher. The boy's name: Augustus Gloop!"

The reporter walked over to a table where a family was having their meal.

"Augustus Gloop, the pride of Duselheim, the fame of Vestern Germany, an example for the whole vorld. Augustus, how does it make you feel to be the first Golden Ticket finder."

"Hungry," the large boy answered with his mouth full.

"Any other feelings?"

"Feel sorry for Wonka. It's going to cost him a fortune in fudge," he replied.

The reporter turned to Mr. Gloop. "Mr. Gloop, would you mind say-?"

Mr. Gloop turned and bit off the top of the microphone.

The reporter quickly got another microphone and directed it to Mrs. Gloop. "Mrs. Gloop, would you care to say a few vords to the television audience?"

Mrs. Gloop put her utensils down and quickly fixed her hair.

"I just knew Augustus would find a Golden Ticket," she said with a smile. "Eating is his hobby, you know. We encourage him. He wouldn't do it unless he needed the nourishment, would he? Anyway, it's all vitamins."

I choked on my spit at her words and started laughing. "Vitamins, okay."

It didn't escape my attention that a man brought a plate to the table and crouched down to whisper in Augustus's ear. He was an older man and had his hair greased back and wore wire framed glasses.

"Hello, 'Slugworth'," I muttered, a sly smile crossing my face.

I changed the channel, trying to find something mindless while I worked on my painting. I found a program just signing off and decided I'd listen to whatever came on next. I pulled on my smock and sat down in front of the canvas and started getting my paints together.

The next program came on, announcing itself by a fanfare that sounded familiar to me.

"Hello, I'm the Nostalgia Critic Guy, I remember it so you don't have to!"

I leaned over to look at the television to see the Critic himself on the screen: jacket, tie, hat, the works.

I started laughing. "Why are you on?" I wondered out loud.

It was the episode where he compared the two Wonka movies. I listened with half an ear, painting the teacup in the foreground to complete it. It didn't take me long and Critic was still talking, but it was at the end of the episode.

"I mean, how did he know in the other version that coincidentally five children, not five adults, would find the tickets?" Critic was saying about the Wonka version.

"That's why he had Slugworth," I said, knowing he couldn't hear me. "It wouldn't surprise me if Slugworth had the five Golden Ticket bars and planted them. How else would he know where to be when the tickets were found? It could be argued that he learned through the news, but what about Charlie? Slugworth intercepted him within minutes."

The Critic signed off with a Looney Tunes gag and I cleaned everything up. The next scene would be Charlie's birthday if I remembered correctly and I needed to get him a present in the morning.

So what did you think? I know the scenes are choppy and sudden, but when you dream, does everything smoothly transition? If you haven't seen Nostalgia Critic's Wonka vs. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I would recommend it. It's about fifteen minutes long and compares characters, visuals, and music. I'll be back next week with the next chapter.