It Must Be Believed To Be Seen

The Candy Store

It was a chilly October afternoon in the bustling town center. The temperature had dropped significantly over night, leaving the roads icy and the shop-fronts frosty, their warm, welcome glow beckoning shoppers inside like moths to a flame.

A newspaper, tossed hastily into a garbage can by a pair of frozen hands, bore the headline 'Violet's Turned Violet – Wonka Must Pay', accompanied by a photo of a young girl stood with her mother, the glamorous pair staring angrily at the camera. What the black and white photo didn't show, however, was the daughter's current complexion – an unusual, albeit unique, shade of purple.

The pages of the newspaper fluttered in the breeze as a group of mothers hurried past, their screaming children eyeing up the Candy Store across the street.

A young woman could be seen in the storefront window, her apron tied neatly around her waist and her mousy brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her arms sore from stacking shelves all morning.

Em heaved the final box of Wonka bars onto the counter and began stacking them, a little more forcefully than necessary.

Bill looked over from the till, the rhythmic 'thwack' of chocolate on wood drawing his attention. He eyed Em apprehensively, his mouth turning down into a frown.

"Em, do you mind taking it easy with those Wonka bars?" he requested, cringing at a particularly loud smack. "It's better if they're all in one piece when we sell them."

Em glanced over her shoulder apologetically, her trance broken.

"Sorry Bill, I wasn't concentrating on what I was doing," she confessed, looking back to the box of chocolate bars. The Wonka logo glared up at her mockingly and she frowned. "I just don't get why we have to sell Wonka's stuff," she groaned, resuming her work, albeit more gently this time.

"You do realise you work in a sweet shop right?" joked Bill, coming to stack the shelves with her. "We've gotta sell the sweets for this whole operation to work."

Em looked at him dryly, rolling her eyes.

"There are other candies out there," she argued. "Wonka's not the only person who makes sweets."

Bill looked at her doubtfully, his eyebrow raised challengingly. She continued.

"Slugworth Chocolates?" she suggested uncertainly, Bill shaking his head as he smiled, Em admitting defeat.

"Slugworth's stuff tastes like cat litter and you and I both know it." He patted her on the back, returning to the till as the shop bell rang. Em heard Bill's customary greeting as she stared once again at the Wonka logo.

It had been two days since their trip to the factory. Two days of journalists and reporters turning up at their house, begging Em and Charlie to sit down and chat with them; "vultures, the lot of 'em!" hollered their Grandpa Joe from his bed, shaking an angry fist towards the front door. Two days of the phone ringing off the hook with newspapers offering good money for the Bucket sibling's first-hand account of the tour. Two hideous days of thinking non-stop about Willy Wonka, and now here she was, stacking his candy bars like he wasn't the most unpleasant man she had ever met (and she'd met Mr. Salt, so that was saying something).

The reporters seemed to have finally given up, however, their attention focused instead on the Beauregard family and the allegations they were throwing at Wonka and his chocolate factory. Mrs. Beauregard was refusing to return to Montana, USA until her daughter got 'the justice she deserved' – cue a bombardment of eyelash fluttering and pouting sadly at the camera.

Em grimaced and slammed a Wonka bar down, the chocolate bar snapping under her fingers with a woeful crunch.

She glanced sheepishly over her shoulder towards Bill and he looked at her skeptically.