Thank you everyone who took the time to review the story already. I'm currently one chapter ahead right now, so there will be a chapter for next week, probably midweek. Now, on with the dream.

I stood in the Buckets' house with a present in my hands. My clothes had changed and I was wearing a floral printed caftan.

"Happy Birthday, Charlie! Happy Birthday!" we said to Charlie, the words coming from my mouth without thought.

"Here you are, Charlie," said Mrs. Bucket. She handed him a large package wrapped in paper.

"Thank you," said Charlie, taking the present. He unwrapped it to reveal a long red scarf. He put it around his neck. "It's terrific!"

"We each knitted a bit," Mrs. Bucket said. "Grandma Georgina, Grandma Josephine, and me."

"I did the end pieces with the little tassels," said Grandma Josephine.

"I think it would go well with this," I said. I handed him my present, knowing what it was although I had no memory of getting it.

Charlie thanked me and unwrapped the gift. It was a large gray winter coat.

"I wasn't sure about the size, so I got the next size larger," I said as he tried it on. "I was hoping you could get two winters out of it."

"Thank you, Martha," said Charlie.

"It's much appreciated, Martha," said Mrs. Bucket.

"And here's a little gift from Grandpa George and me." Grandpa Joe held out a small gift.

Charlie took it. "I think I know what this is," he said, unwrapping it. It was a Wonka candy bar. "It is! A Wonka."

"Open it, Charlie," Grandpa Joe told him. "Let's see that Golden Ticket."

"Wouldn't be fantastic?" Charlie said brightly.

"It's not fair to raise his hopes," Mrs. Bucket discouraged.

"Never mind," dismissed Grandpa Joe. "Go on, open it, Charlie. I want to see that gold."

"Stop it, Dad!" Mrs. Bucket scolded.

Charlie turned to Mrs. Bucket. "I've got the same chance as anybody else has, haven't I?"

"You've got more, Charlie, because you want it more," said Grandpa Joe. "Go on, open it!"

"Here is goes," said Charlie. He turned around and ripped open the wrapper. "I got it!"

Everyone leaned forward.

"Where?"

"Let's see!"

Charlie turned around. He had the candy in his hand, but no Golden Ticket. "Fooled you, didn't I?" he asked a little disheartened. "You thought I really had it."

"Never mind, Charlie," Grandpa Joe said quietly. "You'll find one."

"Here." Charlie broke off a piece of his candy. "Everybody have a bite."

"No, no, no."

"Certainly not."

Charlie offered it around and the family declined. He offered it to me. I reached out, but I didn't take the candy. I took his wrist and gently pushed it back.

"This is your gift," I said.

"But I want to share it," Charlie protested.

"Want? Or feel obligated?" I asked.

Charlie was confused.

"It's okay to be a little selfish now and then," I told him gently. "This is one of those times."

The room blurred and I now was looking down at dozens of women in uniform unwrapping Wonka Bars.

"I wanted to be the first to find a Golden Ticket, Daddy!" whined a girl.

I turned around and saw Veruca Salt sitting in her father's office chair.

"I know, angel," said Mr. Salt, a short plump man with thinning hair. "We're doing the best we can. I've got every girl on the bleeding staff hunting for you."

"All right! Where is it? Why haven't they found it?" Veruca snapped.

"Veruca, sweetheart, I'm not a magician! Give me time!" Mr. Salt told her loudly, his face turning red.

"I want it now!" she whined loudly, spinning in the chair. "What's the matter with those twerps down there?"

"For five days now the entire flipping factory's been on the job," Mr. Salt told her, hoping to appease her and see reason. "They haven't shelled a peanut in there since Monday. They've been shelling flaming chocolate bars from dawn to dusk."

"Make 'em work nights!" Veruca demanded.

Mr. Salt spun around and moved to the window overlooking the workers. I had to quickly get out of the way so I wasn't run over. He yanked open the window and shouted down to them. "Come along! Come along, you girls, put a jerk in it or you'll be out on your ears, every one of you! And listen to this: the first girl that finds a golden ticket gets a one pound bonus in their pay bucket! What do you think of that?"

The women cheered and began unwrapping more furiously.

Mr. Salt closed the window and turned around.

"They're not even trying," Veruca whined, looking like she was about to cry. "They don't want to find it. They're jealous of me."

"Sweetheart, I can't push 'em no harder," said Mr. Salt. "Nineteen thousand bars an hour they're shelling. Seven hundred and sixty thousand they've done so far."

"You promised, Daddy! You promised I'd have it the very first day!" Veruca screamed angrily, throwing some paperwork up in the air and spinning in the chair.

Sitting on the small couch against the wall of the office was Mrs. Salt calmly doing her needlepoint. "You're going to be very unpopular around here, Henry, if you don't deliver soon."

Mr. Salt turned to her. "It breaks my heart, Henrietta. I hate to see her unhappy."

Veruca got out of the chair and advanced on her father. "I won't talk to you ever again. You're a rotten, mean father. You never give me anything I want. And I won't go to school 'til I have it." She pouted and sat beside her mother.

Mr. Salt knelt down in front of her. "Veruca, sweetheart, angel," he said at his wit's end. "Now, there are only four tickets left in the whole world, and the whole ruddy world's hunting for them. What can I do?"

"I got it!" a woman screamed from outside.

I turned to the window and saw a woman standing up from the table waving the Golden Ticket in the air.

"I got it, Mr. Salt! Here it is!"

I quickly got out of the way of Mr. Salt and Veruca as they opened the window.

"About time, too! I want it!" yelled Veruca. She ran out and down the steps.

Meanwhile the factory was in cheers and Slugworth was pulling the worker out to the steps. They met halfway on the steps.

"Give me that ticket!" Veruca demanded. She snatched it out of the worker's hand and held it up. "It's mine! I found a Golden Ticket!" She waved it in the air.

Slugworth came up to her and began whispering in her ear. He glanced back at the worker to make sure she stayed back.

"Thank God for that," said Mr. Salt, taking an antacid out of its roll.

"Aye," Mrs. Salt agreed, taking one as well. "Happiness is what counts with children. Happiness and harmony."

Mr. Salt winced and rolled his eyes.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the sign of our times," said a news reporter.

I was sitting in front of my easel with a new canvas awash with orange and hot pink paint and I was adding swirls of chocolate brown to it. Next to me was a Wonka wrapper I was using for inspiration. I listened to the report as I continued to add swirls of brown and slipping a little bit of gold into it.

"The symbol of the havoc, the mad craze that's sweeping the world today. Whatever corner of the globe we are in, whichever of the five continents we're on, the great search for Wonka Bars continues. We're now nearing the end of our forty-third day in the hunt for Golden Ticket, and everywhere we're beginning to see signs of anxiety. Every hour on the hour, new shipments are being sent to different points around the globe, but they're just not moving fast enough. And as time passes, the men who seek them become more and more desperate."

I blinked and the canvas changed. It was now a myriad of orange, hot pink, and brown swirls with peeks of gold hidden around. It looked finished to me and it just needed to finish drying. I got up and turned my attention to the television that was still on. There was a reporter standing in a car sales lot with a family. A crowd was standing amongst the cars trying to get a look at the little girl who was holding a Golden Ticket.

"And it can happen right here too, unbelievable as it sounds, right here in America," the reporter announced. "Where even in the smallest town, the happiest of dreams can come true. Because folks, here she is, Miss Violet Beauregarde, finder of Wonka's Golden Ticket Number Three, from Miles City, Montana. And with her, the proud parents: Mr. Beauregarde, a prominent local politician, a great civic leader, a philosopher -."

Mr. Beauregarde reached over and grabbed the reporter's microphone. "Hi, folks, Sam Beauregarde here, Square Deal Sam to you, with all of today's great giveaway bargains. The finest values you'll get anywhere in the entire country. Now this little number right here –."

"Come on, Dad, they don't want you!" Violet said loudly.

The reporter thanked Mr. Beauregarde and directed his microphone to Violet. "Violet, would you care to say a few words to the nation?"

"Sure, I do," she said. She turned to the camera and waved the Golden Ticket above her head. "Here it is, Golden Ticket Number Three, and it's all mine."

"Tell us how it happened, Violet."

"Well I'm a gum-chewer, normally, but when I heard about these ticket things of Wonka's I laid off the gum and switched to candy bars instead. Now, of course, I'm right back on gum. I chew it all day except at meal times when I stick it behind me ear."

"Violet," Mrs. Beauregarde said warningly.

"Cool it, Mother." Violet took the little piece of gum out of her mouth and held it up to the camera. "Now this piece of gum here is one that I've been chewing on for three months solid, and that's a world record! It's beaten the record held by my best friend, Miss Cornelia Prinzmetal, and was she mad!" She popped the gum back in her mouth and waved at the camera. "Hi, Cornelia, how are you, sweetie?"

Mr. Beauregarde took the microphone from the reporter again, but the camera remained on Violet. Slugworth came up behind her and whispered in her ear.

I turned off the television and saw my notepad laying out. I flipped through it and found a new message.

GO SHOW YOUR AUNT YOUR PAINTING TONIGHT.

I assumed that meant the painting I just completed.

It was dark out when the painting was dry enough to be transported. I found a case for carrying artwork tucked in a closet. I packed up the painting and left the apartment, my intent being to go to the Buckets' house. My dream had other ideas. My vision warped and I was standing outside of the launderer's. I opened the door and saw Mrs. Bucket standing over the vats and swirling her paddle around.

"Martha, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"I was going to go over to your house, but I thought I would check to see if you were here first. I wanted your opinion on this." I took out the painting and held it up.

"I don't know much about art," Mrs. Bucket said.

"That's fine," I said. "I was using a Wonka wrapper for inspiration. I was thinking that it would be desirable because of the Wonkamania."

Mrs. Bucket continued to look at the painting. "It certainly follows the current decorating styles."

I put the painting back in the case.

The door opened and Charlie walked in.

"Charlie, what are you doing here?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

"I thought if you were ready, I would walk you home," said Charlie. "Hi, Martha."

"Hi, Charlie," I replied.

"I wish I were, but it looks like I'm gonna be here late tonight," said Mrs. Bucket, adding some clothes to the vat.

"Oh, well, then I guess I'll be going." Charlie turned around and reached for the door.

"Well why don't you stay a minute?" said Mrs. Bucket. "Here, pull up a pile of clothes and sit down."

Charlie moved a bundle and sat down and helped stir one of the vats.

"Everything all right at school?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

"Yep," he replied.

"Good. Go on your newspaper route today?"

"Just finished."

"Good."

Charlie stopped stirring. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh?"

"They found the third ticket today."

"Did they?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied quietly. "Well, guess I'll be going." He stood up.

"Is that all?" Mrs. Bucket asked.

"Well I thought you'd like to know," said Charlie. "Most people are pretty interested. I know I'm interested. There are only two tickets left, you know. Just two. Pretty soon, just one."

"I wonder who the lucky ones will be," Mrs. Bucket commented.

"Well in case you're wondering if it'll be me, it won't be," Charlie said bitterly. "In case you're wondering you can count me out."

Mrs. Bucket walked over to him. "Charlie, there are a hundred billion people in this world, and only five of them will find Golden Tickets. Even if you had a sack full of money you probably wouldn't find one. And after this contest is over, you'll be no different from the billions of others who didn't find one."

"But I am different," insisted Charlie. "I want it more than any of them."

"Charlie, you'll get your chance," said Mrs. Bucket. "One day things will change."

"When? When will they change?" Charlie asked.

"Probably when you least expect it," said Mrs. Bucket. She kissed his cheek. "See you later."

"Come on, Charlie," I said. "I'll walk with you."

We walked out of the launderer's, Mrs. Bucket following us out.

Charlie and I walked quietly for several minutes, Charlie with his head down.

"Hey." I gave him a nudge with my elbow. "It's okay."

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied glumly.

"You know, there's still two Golden Tickets out there yet, like you said. You might have a lucky day and find one of them," I said, trying to make him feel better.

"I'd have to be very lucky," Charlie said.

"Remember the story I told you about the painting I sold?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I was very lucky the man who ended up buying it came along," I told him. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have sold it to anybody else. If I can get that lucky, you can, too."

Charlie looked up at me and gave a weak smile.

"There it is! I was waiting to see that smile. Not much of one, but it's there." I reached over and ruffled his hair. "Cheer up, Charlie. Be glad you're you."

Charlie giggled a little and fixed his hair.

And there's chapter 2. I'll have chapter three up next week and hopefully I'll have some another chapter to another story ready to go as well. I haven't decided if it's going to be The Biggest Dreamer or Trials of the Dragon Trainers yet, but I'm leaning towards The Biggest Dreamer. So there's a possibility that you'll have a chapter for this story and The Biggest Dreamer next week.