Disclaimer: I don't own Charlie & The Chocolate Factory or any of it's characters, even though I wish every night that I could own Mike…
Author's note: Something random I made up in one of my free periods. Based on a review I got for 'Mike Teavee' from The Weaving Wheel who said I should consider writing in first person. So, here you go…
The alarm clock goes off. So I hit it. Hard. I then make a mental note to buy a new alarm clock before rolling over to catch a few more minutes of sleep.
Dreamless, thankfully.
I can't stand dreams; it makes me seem like I have an imagination.
Then Mom comes in and shakes me by the shoulder.
Risky.
I have two options: ignore her or bite her.
I opt for the former.
I groan a little and shuffle around in my bed, but I don't actually get up until she's out of the room. Then I turn on my bedside lamp – of which the base has somehow become covered in Burger King wrappers and small plastic bags…don't ask…- and I blink into the blinding light.
I can smell breakfast.
Waffles.
Gross.
Meh, I'll grab a sandwich on the way to school.
I check my time on my alarm clock, but it appears to be stuck. So I hunt for my watch.
Nope, not there…not there either…dammit, where is my watch?
Oh well. Just slip something on (the skull shirt looks pretty clean, and Mom definitely washed these jeans over the weekend) and get out.
I've got science first, so I can't be late.
Not that I'll actually learn anything. But it's a great lesson, nevertheless.
Anyway, grab my bag and my jacket, and run.
I get into the dining room to find I have two minutes to get out the house. In those two minutes I can either brush my teeth, grab something decent to eat, or style my hair. I decide to forget the food and attempt the other two simultaneously.
Not an easy task.
Sure enough, I end up with toothpaste in my hair and gel in my mouth.
Not nice.
I brush out the toothpaste and gargle to get rid of the awful taste.
I yell goodbye to my parents as I grab my Gameboy Advance and run out of the door. I smile to myself as I see the bus just coming round the corner towards my house.
I always make it.
No matter what Mom might say about me oversleeping (is it really my fault that it takes until 4 in the morning to complete Death Vaders V?).
So I hop on the bus, fight my way through the hyped up little kids at the front to take up my usual seat at the back.
The bus pulls out and I make my usual way to school. We pass the usual street, we stop at the usual stops, we turn at the usual turnings. It's all very dull.
So dull that I fall asleep.
If it wasn't for some freak tripping over and falling into my lap – the retard – then I wouldn't have got off at school.
When I get off the bus I glance up at the clock and see that it's five past nine…I'm late for science.
(I maintain that I still would have managed to catch the schoolbus, even if it hadn't been late.)
So anyway, I run.
Well, not so much 'run' as 'pick up my pace to a brisk walk'.
And guess who's last into science…
"Michael! Where have you been?" Ms. Endres screeches at me.
"Late bus," I say, trying not to use words with too many syllables in 'em.
"There are plenty of people in this room, Michael Teavee," she whine, placing an annoying emphasis on the first bit of my surname, "who arrived on the same bus. But they are all here. Do you care to explain?"
Ho-boy…
I want to yell 'NO!' at her so much.
Probably not the best idea, though.
So I just shrug, mumble something that she takes as an apology, and sit down next to Richie.
Ah, Richie.
King of the Idiots.
Seriously. He's barely mastered one add one and they've put him in the advanced science group.
Loser!
I do the science lesson. It's very uneventful, other than I outscore the entire class in a surprise test…again.
Unfortunately, this euphoria is somewhat dampened by extra homework – Ms. Endres cleverly disguises it as 'extra credit' work – which will mean less television time.
Sigh…
So, next lesson is history. That's pretty uneventful too. So's double English. Then music (urk!) and finally math.
Not much to be said about this day so far. In fact, the most interesting thins that's happened to me is the whole toothpaste-in-my-hair thing.
At lunchtime I mainly hang about in the computer suite. Internet games are baned, but I've brought my own from home today. (I don't remember putting them in my bag – in fact I didn't find them until English.)
Normally at lunchtime, there's just a few kids huddled around one computer in the far corner leaving me the hell alone – I made that clear to them on their first day.
But today there's some girl in here doing some research for her geography project. At least, she calls it extra research. From my experience with Dad's geography groups, 'extra research' generally means 'trying to find out what a globe is'.
She keeps looking at me!
I swear!
Concentrate on your game Mike…
There's a zombie! Die, die die!
OK, that was SO a glance!
I'll try and talk to her. What's the worst that could happen?
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," she says back.
"I'm Mike Teavee."
"I know."
OK, that hint of disdain was totally uncalled for!
"I'm Patricia Nolan."
"Cool."
Loooooooooong pause. The little kids in the corner – dammit, lost a life! – seem to be taking an interest.
"Are you doing work too?" she asks.
"Uh-huh," I lie.
Why did I say that? Why would she care if I'm playing computer games?
She leans over and looks at my screen, and before I have a chance to shut down the power, she sees me blast some dude to smithereens.
"What subject?" is all she says.
My thumb is still hovered over the 'off' button, even though I know it'd be futile to turn it off now.
"Computer studies," I lie again.
This kinda knowing smile spreads across her face and she goes back to her map of South America.
"Geography?" I ask, trying to change the subject, and realiding too late that she's already told me.
"Yeah."
"Right."
Another long pause.
"Have you heard about the Wonka competition?" she says.
I'm baffled.
Doesn't happen often…
"The what?"
"The Wonka competition."
Well, I didn't mishear her…
"Willy Wonka's opening up his chocolate factory for five chil-"
And it's right here that I switch off completely. Mike Teavee and chocolate do not mix.
I go back to blowing up mob guys on the computer until the bell signals next lesson.
"Nice meeting you," Patricia says gathering up her things.
She doesn't sound like she means it.
Then again, I don't sound like I mean it when I say , "You too."
Mainly because I don't.
I get through the rest of the day okay, then start my walk home.
After the detention.
Which was so totally unjustified. I did not punch that kid; I was punching in general, and he happened to get in my way. It was his own fault for being so stupid as to get in the way of a flailing fist.
So anyway, I write lines for about three millennia, then walk home.
It starts to rain. All over my GBA.
Great…
I but a portion of French fries on my way, thought, so at least I'm spared from Mom's casserole.
I think it was casserole.
Something kinda brown and lumpy with vegetables.
I'm forced to eat a couple of bites, of course, but then I complain of a stomach ache (with isn't 100 percent untrue) and the plate is taken away (although the smell isn't).
A few hours of gaming later, and I get to work on my 'extra credit' work.
Easy.
Easy.
Easy.
More games.
And it's not until 2 in the morning that I realise I was supposed to write an essay for history.
Oh well.
Stalin can go hang. I'm busy blowing up buildings and crashing cars.
Two and a half hours later, my room smells like feet and strawberry ice-cream, and my eyes are starting to get tired. I save my game, write something about the Russian Revolution, then climb into bed.
Then climb back out again.
I search my room for any sign of pyjamas.
I find 'em, change into 'em, and crawl back into bed.
I blank my mind of all thoughts ot make sure I won't dream.
Doesn't work though.
Cuz I do think.
I think about a quote I once read: "You can't make a dream come true by just wishing for it; you have to get up and make it happen."
There are three (main) things wrong with that:
1. I don't dream.
2. I don't wish.
3. I never do anything.
That's the way I choose to live my life.
And I love it!
Sweet dreams!...or preferably not.
A/n: Please R&R, even though it's not a serious fic! I love reviews! I'm a review junkie! Even if it's a bad review, it all helps. I just ask that you're constructive, that's all.
Ciao!