1331: Everybody Likes Chocolate – Chapter Seventeen and EighteenPosted: February 15, 2016
Good morning, lovelies! Welcome back to ELC. Last time, we pumped out three chapters. We have seven left. We’re not in the home stretch, yet, but at least we’re getting a hell of a lot closer. Last time, we watched as Kitty left the hospital, went back to the factory, and was given a maroon jacket made by Oompa Loompas (who look nothing like actual Oompa Loompas, no matter which canon you base your story on).
I’m flying solo today. Apparently Lina’s coffee stand is picking up business like mad and Koori said something about needing to take Barty to the vet. I decided not to ask how she’s planning on taking a one-ton shark to the vet; she’ll figure it out on her own.
Chapter seventeen is called “Somewhat Depressed,” which is an apt description of how I’m sure you all feel after finding out that we’re still reading this piece of crap.
Have I ever fainted? Not that I can recall. But, like they say, there’s a first time for everything. For a few seconds, I was overcome with an overwhelming happiness. The next I knew, I was in bed, coming out of a deep sleep.
The author has never fainted before. Just as she’s never been to a hospital, been witness to a crime, or been orphaned and sent to an orphanage. There’s a lot of shit she’s never done, and it looks like she’s going to attempt to write about every one of them.
*wheels out the chalk board*
1.) Fainting is the layman’s term for syncope. Syncope occurs due to a variety of reasons (ranging from disease to blood pressure issues), is fairly common, and results in an incredibly brief period of loss of consciousness due to a loss of blood to the brain. This is why locking your legs can lead to fainting spells – you’ve cut off circulation.
2.) As I just mentioned, it happens briefly. You wake up within minutes of having lost consciousness.
3.) Syncope is not the same thing – not even close – to sleeping. If you fainted, you would not be waking up from a deep sleep. More likely, you’re narcoleptic and have fallen asleep.
3.1) To be clear, though, narcolepsy usually results in REM sleep, not deep sleep. Due to my own fuckered sleep patterns, I briefly thought I had a mild case of narcolepsy as I go directly into REM without the initial 90 minutes of deep slumber. That’s my only symptom, though, so I am thankfully not narcoleptic.
“It’s only a bedroom.”
I looked around at all the dressings the room was filled with. Anything I had ever wanted was in that room. My dreams were small, but plenty. How had he known I wanted all of these things? I needed to know.
Wow, look at all those things! So many things I can’t even begin to image how many things are in that room! How I would love to have all those things!
“Mr. Wonka, how did you know?” I started to cry. I seemed to do that a lot in his presence, mostly because I felt inferior to him.
Okay, that is not a healthy reason to cry in front of someone.
“I have my ways. When you choose a Miss Wonka, you need to know a bit about her.”
You make it sound like this is something you’ve done before. What happened to the last Miss Wonka?
This blurb brings up another question: How in the world did he discover anything about a runaway orphan when he only knows her first name? Did he call the local orphanage and ask if they’ve been missing someone for the last five years?
“But I never told you any of this, I didn’t even hint.” I frantically began to pat my jacket. “My box! I left it at the hospital! I have to go back and get it!”
You just now realized that you didn’t bring it with you? This box that’s been the most important thing you’ve ever owned? I call shenanigans on that! Besides, wasn’t Wonka holding onto it for you? All you said was that he pulled it out of his jacket. He never handed it to you.
“Maybe you should call first.” He picked up the phone and dialed it hastily. He waited minute, then began to speak. “Hello, has room 129 been cleaned out yet? Really. Was anything found? Oh, I see. Thank you. Bye.”
Wonka just so happens to have the hospital’s phone number memorized? And is calling them on a the conveniently placed telephone? That must be one of the things in the room she didn’t describe.
“What did they say?”
“Anything they find left behind in the rooms… gets thrown away. I’m really sorry.”
That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever read, and I’ve read the first sixteen chapters of this fic! The hospital would not have merely thrown away what is obviously a personal artifact of a patient. They would have set it aside in either the lost-and-found or they would have called the contact information of the last patient in that room and told that person that they left something behind and it needs to be picked up.
I swear, if this fic wasn’t 11 years old, I’d leave a very disparaging review telling the author to learn how the real world works and to stop pulling shit from their anal bag of holding. I sincerely hope that JD has learned better by now, though.
Even though I had received a lot from him, I felt empty. My life was stored in that box. The only things I had to show for my entire life.
For something that supposedly holds so much importance in your life, you sure do misplace it a lot and forget about its existence.
“I’m really sorry this happened. If there is anything I can do…”
Here’s a thought: walk the five fucking minutes to the hospital and ask to get it out of the trash. Novel idea, right?
“May I be left alone for a while? I need to sort some things out.”
“Sure. I’ll be back in an hour or so, if that’s ok. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to help.”
“I’m just going to go to bed, so if you wouldn’t mind…”
“Sure. Ill leave you alone. Goodnight.”
Goodnight? It’s, what, 11:30 in the morning? While I agree that rest is what she needs after her injury, “goodnight” isn’t really the appropriate term, nor is saying she’s just going to go to bed a logical announcement. She would more likely have said she was going to rest or nap.
It seems that as this thing draws closer to the end, the chapters shorten considerably. Shall we do another since that was barely anything?
Chapter 18: Looking For Wonka
He disappears a lot.
As I sat there, I wondered. How could I have been so careless as to leave it there? Maybe they kept it! Maybe they didn’t throw it away because it was full of items. Another one of my mother’s songs entered my mind.
Oh god… no! NO! Not more music! Staaaaaaahp.
What is lost will soon be found.
Do not fret, your gifts abound.
Just you wait, and you will see.
For the things most precious are your memories.
I found myself singing louder.
Don’t be afraid, as the days go by.
Let your wings spread, jump, and fly.
Let the wind remove your sorrow, and head for the sky.
Because as long as you have memories, you never have to say goodbye
I really don’t think she would be remembering these songs as clearly as she does. She was four when her mother was killed. My four-year-old can’t even bloody remember that Gatorade is not called “Alligator.” No four-year-old is going to remember lyrics to a song that complex.
Suddenly, I felt the urge to talk to Mr. Wonka. I didn’t know what about, but I just wanted to talk to him. Where was he? I didn’t know, but I was going to find him. By myself.
He’s been gone for five minutes. You could probably track him down pretty easily.
I went out the door, and started down the hallway. I had to keep feeling the walls to make sure they were there, just in case. I heard humming. Not the gentile humming of Mr. Wonka, but a high-pitched one. An oompa loompa’s. He came around the corner. “Hello, Miss Wonka,” he bowed as he spoke, “how may I help you?”
You’re touching to walls just in case… what? In case they disappear? In case there’s a secret passage you’ll be able to feel as you walk by?
I became flustered at his bow. “Have you seen Mr. Wonka? I would like to speak with him.”
“Mr. Wonka is out. He told me not to say where he went. It’s strictly confidential. Terribly sorry Miss Wonka. I had better get back to work.”
He went to the hospital to get your box back. It isn’t that hard to figure out.
I kept walking, until I was outside his bedroom door. I went in, but it was empty. I returned to my room. My room? How had I gotten there by myself? I felt so alone. I had nothing to remind me of the good things that were. No one to talk to. I went over to my closet and opened the doors. Inside I found a complete wardrobe almost identical to his. He must take this Miss Wonka thing very seriously. I removed the full outfit and examined it. “I wonder if it fits…” I put it all on, down to the socks and jewelry. It was all so perfect and I loved it. Wait, I couldn’t love it! Even though it fit so well and looked so good, I didn’t deserve the title.
Jesus, that’s a lot of disjointed prose. Let’s break it apart a bit. *hefts the sledgehammer*
I kept walking, until I was outside his bedroom door. I went in, but it was empty.
You just walked into an adults bedroom without knocking? What if he was taking care of business? That could have been traumatizing for the both of you.
I returned to my room. My room? How had I gotten there by myself?
I’m guessing you backtracked. There’s no indication how much you’ve walked around or if the hallways were in any way confusing. Why is finding your way back to your room such a surprise?
I felt so alone. I had nothing to remind me of the good things that were.
Your parents were killed in front of you when you were four. You ran away from an orphanage when you were eight because of how horrible it was. You lived in a vacant lot until you were twelve. Then you’ve spent the last year sleeping in the streets. Being Wonka’s adopted pet IS the good thing that was/is/whatever! And guess what?! Walking around Wonka’s home/factory is a pretty good way to remind you of this good thing.
No one to talk to. I went over to my closet and opened the doors. Inside I found a complete wardrobe almost identical to his.
He must take this Miss Wonka thing very seriously.
He’s adopting you. I should think he’s pretty fucking serious.
I removed the full outfit and examined it. “I wonder if it fits…” I put it all on, down to the socks and jewelry.
Are the socks and jewelry attached to the outfit inside the closet? That’s a really bizarre way to store socks and jewelry.
It was all so perfect and I loved it. Wait, I couldn’t love it! Even though it fit so well and looked so good, I didn’t deserve the title.
No one wants to her you continually whine about how you’re not going to let someone do something nice for you because motherfucking blue!
Since I was tired, I got ready for bed. In my closet I also found a variety of nightgowns, in many different colors and styles. Once I chose the baby blue one, I was ready for bed. I lay down on my bed. “Oh, I have always wanted a bed with satin sheets!” I thought about the day I received the box of chocolates, and fell asleep.
So Wonka sleeps in a variety of colorful nightgowns? He is eccentric enough to do that, I guess.
With that narcolepscene, chapter eighteen draws to a close. I’m going to call that it for the week, though it’s terribly short. Enjoy the rest of your Monday and I’ll see you next week!