"tROLLfICdiddlyumptious" - a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory fanfic: Chapter 1
Augustus Gloop is what he eats. That is what he's been told his whole life. He ventures through the endless halls of confections, and emerges with his mother's praise of what a wonderful son he is. His father replies with a gruff nod and a quick chop-thwack!-through a bird's neck. He knows it sounds stupid, but with how his mother smiles at him, something that he had never seen before, he feels unusual warmth in his head and smiles back.
His eyes are logy and the warmth he feels now is not as satisfying. It never occurs to him that being as gluttonous as he is would be so punishable. He doesn't feel cold like he did in his babyhood or his early nothing-glow years spent in the coldest corner of his kitchen. He talked to people about it before, but they never responded; they simply hung around. It was a candy bar that saved him, discarded by a bratty customer. His parents had forgotten to feed Augustus his breakfast (they still do), so Augustus had gone for broke.
Euphoria was the best way to describe it, the relaxing taste settling into the roof of his mouth. He had pleaded for another from them, but the kid spat at him and laughed, causing the mother to drag him out with great embarrassment. Mrs. Gloop rushed in and giggled at how her son's face was smeared with chocolate. Even Mr. Gloop resigned to a few chuckles. Whenever Augustus's parents forgot to feed him, he was able to find a stool to help him reach for the shelves. The ceramic jars were no longer riddled with dust; there was a constant affluence of pastries inside. He would constantly drink from the tap, as there were little glasses to be found in their minute household. His bones rested easy in morbid pillows of girth, and it was rare to see him smile without a single smudge on his face. He looked in the mirror everyday and thumbed at the corners of his mouth, until his parents requested him to come out. No hostility, no regret-the gentleness of his parents' voices tugged those corners into a smile.
When Augustus wakes up, there is nothing opiate in his mouth. Instead, it is bitter and acrid. Vision settles and he sees that he is still immersed in chocolate. He licks his lips and gags, surprised at the unrecognizable taste. His eyes dance at the looming gadgetry before him. Stirring-stretching-stomping-scorching! Out come immaculate squares of strawberry-flavored, chocolate-coated fudge, adorned with thin borders of icing. They are scooped up onto flowery plates, and the Oompa-Loompas wrap them in cellophane. Augustus wonders if they ever taste-test anything first, and tries to reach out a curious hand.
Something holds him back. He is out of breath and aching severely. He dips his gaze down, and sees a manacle encircling his chest. His arms and legs are chained, too, and he discovers that he is connected to a metal chair. He is about to call for help, but pneumatic doors behind him open. Augustus tries to turn his head, but cannot see anything beyond a sick, twisting shadow.
"I wouldn't ask for them, if I were you," a low voice says. The Oompa-Loompas are carrying on with their day, exchanging snide remarks and solemn workroom humor. They are obstructed by a large window, and something taps against it.
Augustus sees the man stand before him. All Willy Wonka accessories are present: his tall hat tilts, his coat billows, and he is holding his cane. He taps against the window again. "Soundproof," Wonka affirms. He looks down, preparing to walk away, but spins on his heels. The cane strikes the window, but not a single crack creeps onto the glass. "Indestructible, as well. I guess there's more to this factory than a chocolate waterfall."
"Mr. Wonka!" Augustus cheers. "Mr. Wonka, I am so glad to see you!"
Wonka flexes his hand, fiddling with the cane. He looks at Augustus and smiles icily. "I see you're in a mess, little boy."
Augustus nods, remorseless. "Your chocolate river is fantastic! Are you sure I can't take a gallon home?"
"I will see to it when I finish disinfecting the river," Wonka mutters under his breath.
"But something is wrong with it. I don't taste so good now."
Wonka sniggers, looking at the boy. The dumb helplessness of the situation is too good to be true. His eyes narrow. Colors twine and flash before Wonka's vision, clouding the little boy in a temporary resonance. He advances closer to him.
Augustus is about to say something, but Wonka waggles his finger. "I've requested some Grooming-Loompas to take care of this, ahem, mess we'll say. Consider it a token of my gratitude."
"Oh, no, Mr. Wonka," Augustus shakes his head. "I owe you my gratitude."
Something glazes in Wonka's eyes, but he blinks and teeters on his feet. He mumbles inaudibly. Augustus tilts his head like a timid cat, but Wonka sighs and resumes.
"Don't worry about me-I have an extreme headache. Do you? You must after the experience you've had!"
"No." Augustus replies. "I don't feel anything."
"Really?" Wonka leans closer, reaching out and pinching Augustus neck. No response, rather than a light laugh from the boy. Wonka pulls back and veers around the boy. "Hmm. This is odd."
"There's something funny about the river," Augustus says. "I've tasted many chocolate flavors before, such as caramel and coconut and walnut and peanut brittle and sprinkle-icing and even mint! This tastes nothing like chocolate. For a moment, I thought it was burnt bread!"
Wonka laughs, throwing his head back. His cane makes a scuttling sound against the floor, like mice's feet. "Now how on Earth would I work burnt bread into my hectic candy repertoire?"
"Didn't you once try to make that into a lollipop flavor? The Central Station Candy Commotions in 1985?"
"Correct and incorrect! It was April Fool's Day, and what a funny joke it was! You should've seen the look on Professor Cruz's face. He believed himself to be a professional taste-tester, but here we are!"
There's a faint click. Augustus perks as something seems to float over his back. There is little feeling rather than a slight tickle. It repeats itself several times, and whiffs out like a candle on the windowsill. He is unsure how to feel, especially when Wonka circles around to face him again. There is a jovial glitter in his dark blue eyes, something that was too expensive to show for the cluttered tourists.
Augustus is afraid to look down, but he does. A long, needlelike blade protrudes from the cane, and it is streaked with red. Wonka's eyes scan Augustus' stomach, which overflows against its shackles. A small smile grows with a flickering glare, and it is more savage than anything that drops onto the floor.
"Have you ever sung on the job?" Wonka asks feverishly, holding the cane high. It shakes, drops down, and crosses Augustus's stomach. The boy's eyes widen, but remain focused on Wonka. "I mean, have you ever enjoyed yourself too much and you can't help but sing a little tune that's stuck in your head?"
Augustus garbles in response, unsure if he should say anything. This feeling that leaks out of him isn't pain; but there is a queasy rhythm in his heartbeat now, so perhaps it is no-pain. Yes, the no-pain is eating at him-
Wonka assures the mental consensus by bringing the cane across Augustus's face. Augustus writhes against the restrains, face desperate for a dreamlike epiphany to wash over him and wake him up. Wonka shakes his head, as if thoroughly reading the boy's thoughts like a new recipe.
"I have many things stuck in my head right now," Wonka swings the cane again, watching Augustus's wounds pucker from every movement. "You probably wouldn't want to hear them. It's not as droll as you'd expect."
Augustus feels inebriated by no-pain, now, for Wonka's cane is twirling and skating swiftly over his stomach. Wonka is still talking, but the words swim around his ears at a muzzy pace. He speaks so ardently, although Wonka's stoic eyes compensate for that. Augustus believes that he hears songs pour out of the man's mouth, but the genuine lilt in Wonka's voice frightens him. Does he truly enjoy this? Who would enjoy doing this to a child?
Who would enjoy doing this to a child?
Something inhuman rips through the air, thinly distinguished as a scream. Augustus can't believe that it is his own, but he also can't believe the images that flash through his mind. The blue bulb flutters in the chill that puffs around a little boy's head. This little boy is rubbing bruises on his arm and his eyes are swollen from crying. There is yelling beyond a large door, many knives clanking together in a frantic rush while Mrs. Gloop holds her face in her hands. Birds and pigs greet him with upturned faces. The boy asks if they are smiling at him-no reply. He asks if they are laughing at him. The question ghosts around his cheeks, and he simply talks, more accepting of listeners than furious chatterboxes.
"Augustus?"
Augustus shakes his head, ridding himself of the images. He tries to speak, but the reverb of his scream hits his ears and the feeling of a sore throat follows shortly thereafter. Augustus nods, gasping and bemused.
Wonka crouches in front of him, tapping the boy's cheek with a gloved hand. His face furrows in concern. "Augustus, are you okay? You were out for a long time."
"Yes?"
"Your mother is waiting for you in the Puppet Hospital and Burn Treatment Center," Wonka waves his hand. A monitor peeks from the ceiling and Mrs. Gloop is sitting in a chair much too small for her portliness. Augustus's jaw hangs dry like a landed fish. Mother. The word nests in the pit of his throat.
Wonka shrugs. "I'm not used to having human patients. All they do is align dislocated limbs, repair any fractured body part, and of course polish every hair spotless. Human anatomy though…" Wonka breaks off, searching for a new conversation. "I hope curiosity hasn't killed the cat yet."
"I'm sorry." Augustus no longer speaks with unsympathetic zeal. He is unsure why he should be sorry, but with the man's authenticity, he fears to feel anything else.
"It's OK. There was a time the Oompa-Loompas spent their days lounging in the river. The toffee-drills were left unattended; the snozzberry rakes were left to rust. Now, where ever would the toffee drops or snozzberry wine be? I can't go a day without either of them, or the after-dark-darkness will swallow me whole!"
"Were they…punished?"
"Punished?" Wonka rolls his eyes indignantly. "Why would I punish them? A candy-coated inquisition would send me straight to the media's gallows."
Wonka pulls out something from his collar. It is a silver toy flute that twiddles in between his fingers. A sharp tune dithers from the instrument. Augustus flinches, and ignores Wonka's dubious expression. Wonka, knowing what he would ask, he lectures him. "Whenever there is an emergency, I play a specific tune and an equally specific arrangement of Oompa-Loompas will arrive. The one I played will bring the Nurse-Loompas here. Do you think I can be able to request a larger stretcher for you?"
"You-they can't hear you. You said the room is soundproof."
"Now, when did I say that?" Wonka taps the flute into his coat pocket. "You have an active imagination, don't you little boy?"
"But you said-and then the cane-smacked the window! It didn't break the glass."
"Do you really want me to prove it?" Wonka sighs, cane hitching in his grip. He twirls it several times, adjusting it to a certain angle, and charges at the window with the end of his cane. Glass shatters, skittering around like marbles. Wonka jumps, letting out a yelp when some shards peek through his gloves. An acute pang wells up and thickens, but Wonka does not pluck them out. Instead, he tents his fingers over his hands, popping a few knuckles. "This is the last time I prove my honesty to a young lad. From now on, just take my words to the bank and keep them safe, yes?"
Augustus does not reply.
The pneumatic doors open again, and a collection of Nurse-Loompas clad in bright, buttoned uniforms diffuse. One of them glances at the window, and then at the tall man. "You need to control these episodes, Wonka. You're upsetting the boy."
"I was giving him an ethics lesson."
"Sure." A simple stretcher is set on the floor. Something peculiar about it is the dark stains, which piques another slew of questions in Augustus's head. Didn't he say he never had any human patients?
"You know what," Wonka claps his hands together, smiling with newfound radiance, "we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Our guests are a little shaken up now, but I think the storm is calming down. How about we start over with some treats?"
The Nurse-Loompas cheer, tiny faces ecstatic. Wonka saunters over to a cluster of machinery. In the midst of it, a red button flares. Punching it with his cane, Wonka taps his foot and hums an elevator melody. In a few minutes, several robotic claws present Augustus and the fellow workers fresh courses of fudge. The Nurse-Loompas snap their fingers and lurch over the plates, but Wonka holds a hand up.
"Not until our guest decides how it is." Wonka carefully picks up a square and looms over Augustus. "Now, you're not going to begin the fasting without a single taste?"
Augustus snatches it without help from his hands, biting on Wonka's fingers. Wonka recoils, wiping his fingers on his coat. Augustus grins with relief. It is the most delicious piece of fudge he's had in last few days. "This is amazing, Mr. Wonka! You need to try it!"
"Silly little boy, I am a chocolatier, not a Hungry-Hungry Hippo. I sell these to the general public, and since I am not general, that would appear rather uncouth of me to be eating my own products."
At this point, Augustus can hardly hear a thing. He gulps it down, feeling the commonness return and comfort him.
"Alright!" Wonka sounds the Loompa audience. "Dig in!"
The Nurse-Loompas take their time, savoring the flavor and exchanging a mouthful of jokes amongst messier mouthfuls. Augustus's mouth creases, contemplating the name of this fudge's new flavor. This is nothing like strawberry. In fact, this isn't like anything he's had before.
"In case you haven't noticed," Wonka spiels, "I've incorporated a new flavor into our famous strawberry-flavored, chocolate-coated fudge. It took a lot of tinkering and overflowing trash bins, but I think I've gotten to the resolution. However, the creative process is worth it. Remember that, for it is a well-known rule of thumb."
An ululating cackle comes from one of the Nurse-Loompas. He cups his mouth and wipes away the crumbs that dribble down his chin.
"Hey, now, let's show some professionalism about this. I'm trying to instill some esprit de corpse-oh, I mean corps. Pardon me."
Acidic laughter fountains up. Augustus glances all around, but begins to feel lightheaded. He feels empty, for some reason, like something has been cut from him. He turns to Wonka. "May I please have another square?"
Wonka dismisses the hysterical Nurse-Loompas and politely presents Augustus with another piece of fudge. Augustus complies, but with less slobbering greed. He chews tentatively, watching Wonka hush the workers with a kind smile.
"See? You're making one of our lucky children uncomfortable. I'm unsure if such dark humor bubbles up in a child's mind, so my apology is prepared when necessary. Who knows? I may be pulling his leg and he'll have to walk it off somehow."
Augustus feels that lightness again, but it is accentuated by a sluggish burning sensation. He savors the taste, trying to decipher it like a secret clubhouse code. No fruity nature, nothing seems to be processed or sugary-it somehow compliments the thick coat of chocolate-but the faltering foreboding is preparing to reach its crescendo.
Something strikes him with summertime transience, but he is able to fully understand. There is a yellowing blotch on his hand, held together by slovenly stitches. He tries staggering to his feet, but cannot, as he is still chained to the metal chair. A tic in his cheek causes a latent thread on his face to loosen already. There is pure blindness in one eye, as well as no comfort when it rolls with the other working one. In a single rest, all his proud breadth has been shed. He is so dilapidated, so plastic, and oh-so doll-like.
With one fearful glance, he sees Wonka toying with the cane in his hand, but finally finds it to be caked with dark, drying blood. The blade does not appear, but Augustus can already see it shying through like a rude child sticking out his tongue. Wonka cries happily, "Oh, we've established the bare bones, haven't we!"
Augustus cranes his head to the side, retching violently. He does not look at Wonka again, for it will only intensify everything. The laughter continues, but it is underwater and deeply considered. The looks in the throng of Loompas' eyes, no longer memorable and uppity enough to feel Oompa, is of unanimous acceptance. They seem to be viewing an instruction manual rather than a hurt child.
Another button is pressed, and Augustus goes slack when the restrains are unhooked. He falls to the floor, sputtering and coughing up several empty sobs. He heaves again, but feels dry in the aftermath, lying in his own sick. Wonka pats his head, drawing circles on the ground with his filthy cane.
"You know, I was actually wrong about you. I figured that Augustus-flavored, chocolate-coated Gloop would be a terrible taste. However, it seems I may have a new invention on my hands. In fact…"
Augustus did not see something delve through the floor, nor the bolted metal stretching apart. In his half-gaze and apologetic reminisce of no-pain, he does not expect the renewed submergence. He struggles to reach the surface, vision now obscured by thick droplets of chocolate. However, something pushes him down, and whenever Augustus manages to grope his way back to the surface, the face he sees is not the face of a chocolatier. It smiles unbecomingly, the glimmer in his eyes gyrating. This is a wraith that stares Augustus down. Knowing this, it dips Augustus back down, hand knotting into the boy's head easily.
The water does not appear to be chocolate anymore. This isn't a vat of river water, but a grimy bathtub that stands on claws. The water is too cold, too sudsy, and a string of German curses twist out of Mr. Gloop's once-bearded mouth. Faules Junge! Sohn der Dirne! Sie sind ohne Abzahlung; Ich wünsche Sie Tote! Augustus's shrinking self could never understand those words, but the pudgy fingers that turns his small head at pendulum-like angles are crystal clear.
The cyclic pain ends with a harsh yank, and the bathwater has thickened. Mr. Gloop is quiet and sedated, but Willy Wonka's face shows anticlimax. One of the Nurse-Loompas is gagging in the background, face contorting with abstract disgust.
"Tsk." Wonka says, visibly disappointed. "You're not as saccharine as I expected. Oh well, I've got some leftovers to savor."
Augustus drops to the floor, scrambling from the large vat. His half-gaze rouses with great pain, and something bounces onto the floor. Augustus thumbs at it, and finds it to be a wooden eyeball. The color is bright baby blue, but something about it is relatively darker.
Wonka considers probing through the deep wound, but disregards it as the Nurse-Loompas crowd around Augustus, stretcher in hand. "Take Mrs. Gloop's son to the Puppet Hospital. Whatever you do, don't feed him the Behr-gloss tonic. That's only reserved for the dolls in case they wake up thirsty."
Augustus does not hear Wonka. He cannot even feel the many Loompas flip him onto the stretcher face down. Everything molts into numb chiaroscuro nothingness. Mr. Gloop is tending to the birds again; Mrs. Gloop is wiping away her tears before the reporters arrive. Augustus tries to think of that, and not the freezer or the bathtub. He tries not to belittle himself, or even consider the word "little", but a triumphant voice that booms over his head tugs him into a languished slumber:
Congratulations, Augustus Gloop-you really ARE what you eat!
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This is a fanfiction that I am currently working on. Some of my friends convinced me to join the Dark Side Wonka community so I can post this here. All I can say it the community sounds awesome and I love that I'm not the only twisted-minded CatCF writer! :D
This obviously takes place in the 2005 Tim Burton movieverse, and hopefully this is a good entry. I will have the second chapter up soon, so I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of tROLLfICdiddlyumptious :)
O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you...THIS IS SHE!