The full brown drops roll off your clothing that hangs limp and heavy on your shoulders and hips. You look back behind you into the tunnels through which his thundering voice had boomed at you to return. The silence was heavy and immense. The chocolate river that had once seemed so inviting leers at you as you become panicky and distressed, you spin in a full circle, and breath catches in your throat. The skinny hallway seems to close in on you as the thought of finding your way back emerges and stares at you, unavoidable. If you jumped back in the current might return you to the main room. No, the thought of the burning, gurgling, churning chocolate that threatens to drown you at every twist and turn is so hideous that you know you could never bear to enter it again.
The door. It draws in your attention like a moth to a flame. The delicate curve of the top intrigues you and the bright red paint looks as if it was made of cherries. Glowing, the doorknob screams at you to twist it, to swing open the door and look inside. The door feels like a barricade, holding you away from something special, important. Slightly nervous about what could be inside, you merely peek your head around the corner of the door to catch a glimpse of the wonderous, gob-smacking, fantastical events it holds within.
The room seems to be a workshop for oompa loompas. Except, they weren’t working. They were happily chipping away at large big blocks of milk, white and dark chocolate. As you glance around the room, wonderstruck, you see what could only be described as the most amazing set of events to be seen by a human eye. The oompa loompas are carving the most beautiful and intricate toys and games out of chocolate. The childish grins on the oompa loompas faces at they chip away at the massive brown towers of goodness fill you with the delight you felt as a child devouring your very first Wonka Bar.
The bitter smell of cocoa wafts through the air and into your nostrils as you run your fingers over the smooth and beautiful wrapped gift boxes stacked all up the sides of the room. Laughter booms out of you as you see one oompa loompa lying under a chocolate toy truck being chipped away at and eating the delicate shavings of chocolate drifting down. In one corner of the room you see all the oompa loompas carving santas and wrapping them in foil in preparation for winter. The rhythmic tap, tap, tapping of chisels and hammer slowly breaking off chunks of the chocolate and the irregular dull thuds of chocolate hitting the hard, marble floor fills you with the irresistible desire to run over to the nearest one, and munch on it until you are so full you might pass out. You let yourself find the nearest santa and allow yourself just one bite of the alluring brown substance that lies underneath the wrapping you hold in your hand. You run your fingers over the rough foil that covers the chocolate and slowly start to pull it away to reveal the smooth, creamy, light brown curves. As your teeth sink into the soft luxury you can taste the sweet bitterness of the rich delicacy. It sits on your tongue and melts in your mouth and for once you are truly, undeniably satisfied. You don’t notice the heavy door slam shut behind you and the thought of getting home slowly drifts away.