Write a piece (500-700 words) as though it is an extra chapter/chocolate room in ‘Charlie and the Factory.’ No dialogue, only describing the chocolate room in question. You may use words like ‘Willy Wonka’ and ‘Oompa Loompa.’

 

The pink boat slowly drew into a calmer section of the rich, chocolatey river. We all stepped off the boat in anticipation of the next miracle room. Here we go, I thought to myself, something crazy is going to happen! Eagerly, I raced ahead to the next door which was so small that I swore only a garden gnome could squeeze through. The Oompa Loompa rowers then proceeded to cover us in a shimmering dust. It was so ticklish and made my skin pop and crackle! All of a sudden, everything around me in the room began to grow, the door, the boat, and- hang on a moment! We were shrinking! As though nothing had happened, Mr Wonka drew out his enormous key chain, and pushed open the door.

It was truly an astonishing space: Oompa Loompas of all shapes and sizes filled the room in all kinds of activities. Even though we were now as tall as the creatures who rowed the boat, some of the Oompa Loompas were running around at our knees. Women wearing aprons pushed tiny vacuums emitting high pitched squeals while minding the children’s toys and empty chocolate milk bottles. An organic fragrance hung in the air: like raw cocoa with a hint of cream. I could almost taste the scent as it made a fleeting visit across my taste buds.

The rich purples and browns of the room told you that this was not any ordinary nursery. This was accentuated further by the exotic trees growing up into the ceiling. As I looked closer, I could spot the tiniest hammocks strung up in a garland arrangement around the trees. Strangely, some of them seemed to be sniffling and snoring. Routinely, each nanny would bend the tree’s trunks, reach into the green, leafy arrangement, and pull out the most minute child that I’d ever seen. She was passed a bottle of chocolate milk which she gave to the infant, and away went the hammocks back into the trees once more.

As I walked across the room, the fluffy purple carpet tickled my feet and the warm air brushed against my ears. A woman wearing a stern expression and marching with a stride in her step then proceeded to lead us into a new section of the room. Crudely scribbled portraits of Mr Wonka and chocolate bars adorned the walls here. In the centre, a cohort of the little creatures waited next to a funky piano like thing. With gears, pedals, and flashing lights, it gave off that aura unique to the whole factory. One of the children tickled the blinking buttons percussively and a tropical rhythmm chimed from the machine. A few seconds in, the whole Oompa choir burst into the the sweetest song ever in chocolate history. The talented wee performers sang parables of snozzwangers, hornswogglers, and wicked vangdoodles from their dangerous homeland.  The melody was sweet as white chocolate itself, with dark, earthy harmonies from the older boys, and high notes from the girls like strawberries and cream. The song reached a crescendo and the children brought me in to dance with them. So this was where the workers had learnt their tunes and tallywags!

After it finished we were handed cups of hot, steaming chocolate; it tasted as though it was fresh from the fast flowing waterfall just outside. Slurping the substance down as quick as I could, it raced down my throat and into my stomach. There it boiled and bubbled away like ice flakes on a pan. As each of the tots were awarded chocolate milk bottles while being taken away to a day time nap, we were sprinkled with a fine, silvery sand. Feeling in my arms and legs was intensified and my head suddenly got very heavy. A burning sensation penetrated my forehead like a coarse migraine. Then all of a sudden my hands were the size of a whale’s fins! Mr Wonka fumbled with his keychain. We kept on growing, first my hair, then my eyes, and finally my torso started to catch up. Things all around us began shrinking. We started shouting at Mr Wonka to get the door open faster. He found the key, shoved it in the lock and we burst outside to the dull exterior of the brown river once more.

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About Ollie

Just a 14 year old kid with hopes and dreams (and wackiness!).

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Writing