Rising Dawn (Willy Wonka X OC)

A Miserable Life

     Today was an especially taxing day. I was simply told to get the snow off the lawn so the man's wife wouldn't be so cold when she went outside. Now, I haven't heard of anyone this stupid in a long time, but work is work and he promised me five pounds for my efforts. I thought I'd be done in a couple hours, just take a shovel to the grass and be done. As my luck would have it, my employer tells me that The Mrs. wants no trace of snow on the grass when I'm done. So, long story short, a couple hours turned into the whole day and now my body aches like hell. I'm cold and wet and hungry and frustrated.

     I enter the tilting, desolate shack us Buckets call home with hardly a grunt of acknowledgement. I am greeted with a warm chorus of "Hello"s and "Good evening"s. I ache too much to do much else but drag myself to where Mum is standing, making dinner, and hand her the five pound note before taking over stirring the pot. It hurts to do even that, reminding me of the inadequacy of my toils today.

     I take pride in my taut, toned body, I'm stronger than most boys my age. I think that's part of why they never come asking after me and why I've never been on a date. I'm 24 and I've never even kissed a guy. I asked Mum once if I was pretty like those girls we see on TV, the movie stars. She said when I was born angels peered out of Heaven jealously at me and all the Earth moved with pride at knowing it contained the most beautiful creature to ever draw breath. She named me 'Dawn' after the only thing in grace and majesty to precede me. I promptly laughed my wicked cackle at her genuine misconception and dismissed all thoughts of my appearance.

     "Dawn! You're home!" a small voice shouts from upstairs. I see the rosy, cheerful face that may be the one light in my life peer over the incomplete ceiling. Charlie bounds down the rickety stairs and practically throws himself into my arms.

     "Hey, little dude," I respond, using all my will power not to wince at his unintentional roughness. They don't need to know how awful the day truly was, they have enough worries as it is.

     "Did you bring home something good to eat? I don't want watery cabbage soup and hard biscuits again, it's not enough." His earnest face begs for me to say yes. Yes, I've brought him more. Yes, I can get more. Yes, his belly will be full tonight. I slowly shake my head and watch his face fall with disappointment. In me.

     "You can have my soup and biscuit though. Addie had me over after work and we ate at her house, so I'm not hungry," I lie. There is no Addie, but it's easier for them to believe I'm full so they can be as well. I will my stomache to remain silent so as not to give away my ongoing lie. Mum smiles, believing in my charitable friend. Charlie's face breaks into a grin and he takes my biscuit from Mum to break it up for those that will eat tonight.

     I sit quietly beside Charlie until everyone's had their fill. Then I meet Mum's gaze and say, "Can we talk? Outside?"

     She nods as Charlie asks Grandpa Joe to tell him a story and we slip out, leaving Grandpa Joe beginning a tale of his glory days working for Mr. Willy Wonka. I smirk, thinking The man, the myth, the legend. The one I'm not entirely sure exists.

     "What's wrong?" Mum asks as soon as we're out of earshot. Her face is crinkled with worry, her only facial expression as of late.
   
     "Nothing, I just...you noticed I only made five today?"

     "I made six, so it's not that bad." Her eyes speak volumes and they say the opposite of her mouth. She wrings her calloused hands together, and her large eyes dart around.

     "Not that bad? The first thing Charlie asked me today was if I had food. That boy needs more to eat so we need more money."

     "So, what? Are you saying we start working Sundays?"

     "No, I'm saying I start doing a different type of work, one that pays better. Well, it's more of a service." I pause, fiddling with the worn aviator goggles that used to belong to my father. Mum looks suspiciously at me. "I mean the kind of service men request privately...and...the kind girls get all fancy dressed up...then stripped down..."

     I wait with head hung until I see Mum's eyes flare in realization. She grabs my arm and pulls me further from the house while staring intently at the door to make sure no one else heard me. "Dawn, are you crazy?! What in Heaven's name-"

     "You said it yourself, I look nice enough. If I do that, I can decide my prices, and they'd have to meet them. I'd have the power, and I'd get the money. Enough money to feed Charlie and you guys." I gaze determinedly into her eyes. She glares just as intensely back and begins waggling her finger.

     "Now, I know we're poor, but we can't help that. We can't help how people already look at us, but we can help what they say about us. And I won't have anybody saying my daughter's a-" Her voice rises to a fierce belt, so I cut her off.

     "Alright, Mum. Alright." I take off my fingerless gloves and turn toward the house.

     "No more talking about that, yeah?" I turn my head to the side, not entirely seeing her, and nod grimly before going inside and joining Charlie upstairs. He's already asleep so I just curl up on the floor with my jacket spread over me and let my mind fade and my body relax.

The next morning

     It's Sunday, the one day of the week I get to sleep in. Today isn't like other Sundays though, I could tell that from the first shriek of surprise and glee from the street. It's closely followed with other shouts and calls about miracles and luck, followed by a very audible mad dash down the road. I sit up, bleary eyed. The freezing winter morning air hits me hard as I shake cobwebs out of my brain. There's a light dusting of snow over the whole top floor and I sigh as I glare at the ragged hole in the ceiling.

     Seeing Charlie already gone, probably part of the excitement on the street, I shake out my worn, oversized leather jacket and put it on before lacing up my work boots. I wash my face quickly and rip a brush through my dark, tangled curls. I decend the stairs on light feet, not making a sound, just as Charlie bursts in.

     "I've just seen the notices! Everybody wake up! Listen here, Mr. Willy Wonka is having a contest. Five kids who find golden tickets, hidden in Wonka Bars, will get to meet Mr. Willy Wonka and see his factory." Charlie's face glows with excitement as he looks to each member of the family.

     Grandpa George frowns and mumbles, "Now don't git yer hopes up."

     "Why not? I know I won't be able to buy many bars, but my luck's as good as anyone else's." That boy is sensible, I have the feeling he'll make something of himself one day. Something big.

     "You're right. And your birthday's in a week, so we don't have to wait long to find out just how lucky you are." He smiles at me and I see the hope glimmer in his eyes. There's something so creatively magical about him, but I can't put it into words properly. I almost manage a smile when I think of how "creatively magical" perfectly describes Mr. Wonka. Well, the stories of him anyways. I'm still not sure. . .

Yes, I did mean to stop in the middle of a sentence. I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out what she's not sure about. 😁
If you made it this far, congrats! And thank you! I know my story is kind of bleak, it's for emphasis, but things get a lot more interesting. Trust me!
Please vote and comment! I might take requests.
xoxo, Tilly