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Chocolate Factory Explosion Maims Woman AND Causes Families to Cheer

Laster Chocolate Inc. headquarters was at the end of Chocolate Road, a long stretch of a pristine pavement lined with twisted cedar trees in the backcountry of Pennsylvania.

At the edge of the drive stood a place that felt like it had traveled from the past. A massive parking lot and small campus sat right next to each other. The small campus was dotted with buildings that looked like they had all been dragged from somewhere else. The main building was a huge red brick structure, with a glass door entrance that had the words Laster Chocolate Inc. printed on it.

The building itself was empty except for a small group sitting together in a conference room at the back.

Everyone had severe looks and were gathered around a sturdy silver conference table. Chilled air flowed down from the vents above.

“There is no way that is happening.” The CEO in a black suit, sitting at the end of the table, stood up and pounded his foot onto the silver surface. “do you think I got these $1,000 Gucci Ornament Standard High-Def Shoes by contributing to charitable causes?”

The Board of Directors looked around at each other, everyone thinking the same thing. Then they lied.

“That’s a good point, sir.” The man in a faded black suit spoke at the CEO’s side. On a tightrope, the man descended into his own fantasy. “I believe those shoes look great, and charitable contributions could be a bad idea.”

“Good, can we agree to stop having meetings where you all ambush me.”

The opposition around the table crumbled, and they slumped into their seats as a thunderous bang, carried from outside somewhere, shook the room. The group of suits gathered around to see out the window. In that next instant, all their phones went off.

“What do you mean the Chocolate Lab Exploded?”

“Chocolate Lava is spilling out into the streets?”

“All the visitors are taking free samples? Stop them!”

The CEO spoke over everybody, “Everyone, get off your phone. You’re at work!”

They put their phones back into their pockets.

“Okay, so who can help us manage when we appear in newspapers and create content for our website around all the positive media coverage we receive. Is there a group of people who publish media and press we can reach out to? Maybe a person with a Rolodex of contacts and outreach opportunities.”

The man in the faded black suit suggested, “why don’t we hire a PR agency?”

“Hm..” The boss thought for a second then replied, “that is a stupid idea.”

The man in the faded black suit agreed, “perhaps we can Google It.”

“Hold on, let me tell Pam to do that.” The CEO took out his phone, “Google….”

“What should she Google?” he asked out loud.

“Sir, perhaps I can show you my phone.”

“Stop it, just let me finish typing.” The CEO finished his message, “How to get press coverage.”

The room stood in silence until he barked one last command before exiting the room. “Don’t do anything. I will handle all of this.”

What followed from that meeting happened to be some of the best press coverage that Laster Chocolatetm had ever received. The CEO decided to handle the press coverage himself, and that was a great decision. Because the press shined a positive light on the company because of their lack of action.

While the media ate up the free chocolate and decided in their hysterical sugar high to crown the Laster Chocolate the best chocolate that ever existed, they also dropped the breaking news that Chocolate from the factory was now Free to all visitors.

All the articles across the entire world read glamorous statements like, “Free Chocolate Explosion Event at Laster Chocolate Company.”

“After a No Comment, Laster Chocolate Declares Chocolate Mountain Free for All Visitors.”

The CEO mistook the sudden burst of attention as a positive reflection of his acumen.

He spent the next month off and decided that his subordinates would handle the entire mess. Of course, their daily routines provided plenty of distraction and provided a solid excuse for why they ignored the gently dwindling pile of chocolate.

As each day passed, more and more chocolate was stolen freely and out in the open. And the press shouted the fact far and wide.

Until finally, when the CEO returned from his long extravagant vacation, the accountant had some rather unfortunate news for him.

“You’re broke.”

The CEO slunk back in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“Well, since the chocolate pouring out of our factory became free, we haven’t made a sale in over a month.”

“But we had thousands of visitors.” The CEO grabbed at his hair.

“Yeah, none of those were paying visitors.”

“Oh god,” the CEO looked here and there but found very little help after that. He was stripped; stripped of his cars, houses, expensive clothes, glowing skin, impressive presence, bravado, blood, lust, and his future, until nothing was left, but a man shoved between a crack in the sidewalk, breathing into the earth.

Wrong Turn

The sailor’s huddled against the bow of the ship as a sliver of land appeared on the horizon.

Their captain standing behind them wanted a better look so he pushed them out of the way. James Major a scruffy man of average height wore a white and blue captain’s hat and a purple pin on his shoulder that demonstrated he was the Royal Navy elite.  

“That’s it boys!” he exclaimed. “TREASURE AWAITS!”

Commissioned by the Royal Navy of England James was on a mission to meet with a foreign tribe for an exchange of goods.

The tall palm trees and the beach came into view, as their giant vessel rolled forward over the waves. About a mile offshore they dropped anchor and began filling their rowboats with supplies. Then they lowered them into the water and began paddling towards the shore.

“Sir,” James’s 1st lieutenant interjected between grunts. “This looks different than the way the Royal Navy described. I believe they said there would be snowing.”

“Nonsense, can’t you see those old losers at the Navy got it wrong.”

“Yes sir,” he responded.

“LAND HOE,” he cried out as their rowboat touched down onto the rock and sand.

The pebbles sparkling under their feet the sailor’s covered their eyes and inspected the area around. Despite the captain’s optimism it seemed like something was wrong.

Or maybe it was the crew’s hopelessness. Only half of the crew had survived the journey. The voyage to the island had started out with high hopes. Now that the men had finally come across their destination though, their morale was all but empty.

Looking on the faces of his battered and beaten crewmates, James Major smiled though.

“Sir, are you sure this is the right place?” his 2nd lieutenant urged.

“Why are all of you so scared..” He replied, “there is no reason to be afraid. These are the exact coordinates that the Royal Navy gave me.”

James pulled a crumpled napkin from his pocket and displayed the nearly illegible writing that appeared to say 54.5 degrees South and 45.6 degrees West.

“But sir, it was only supposed to be a few days journey. We are almost three months into it.”

“I was told that a group would see us coming and meet us on the beach.”

As if on cue a group of men walked out from behind the trees and stood in front of the sailors, clutching sharp spears and hatches in their hands. A few with red war paint across their cheeks and wearing patchwork pieces of hide began to shriek. The sailor’s felt a chill pass down their spine.

“Hello my good men,” James called out to the group approaching them.

They pulled out more weapons and shouted in their native language.

“Good, that is wonderful, the company prepared me for this.” He replied, “Dangar Uktor Crock.”

As if the men suddenly understood, they smiled and put away their weapons. They grabbed his hands, and as his fellow navy men began to yell, James explained, “they said they would be rough. Nothing to be concerned about boys.”

“I was told to do the negotiations on my own…Just wait..with…the ship…boys.” He shouted as the natives carried him off.

The group of men carried him up the hill into a small circle of tiki huts. The entire village was made of a little less than two dozen people. The men dragged James into the middle of a group of women working around a fire pit. Standing there, the red embers began to feel warm under his feet.

“Dangar Uktok Crock?” He repeated as the group of people gathered around each other to discuss something.

“I believe that there should be a representative who speaks English.”

That is when a young woman emerged from the shadows.

She inspected him everywhere, pulling aside his cheeks to check his gums. Then ripping his clothes off and splashing some slimy red mud over his bare flesh.  

“Haha,” he announced, “this does seem quite forward.”

Some others brought out a large black cauldron.

“Oh, how wonderful you’ve prepared a bath for me. This is all making sense I heard you were extremely gracious hosts.”

The men pushed James into the boiling water.

“Oh, how hot this is,” he said as the entire group chanted. Dark words filled the air, and the energy began to shift.

“So, I hope eventually we will be able to discuss where the treasure is that you’ve discovered? Is there anyone amongst you who speaks English I was told there would be.”

That’s when the heat began to crank up.

“My goodness, this is quite hot would you mind turning it down?”

A man with feathers covering his body and wearing an elaborate head piece constructed of bones rounded the corner. His deep voice began to pierce the groups chanting.

The shaman’s black lips curled and flicked as their chanting grew louder.  He crossed behind James and held out his hands. One of the young boys walked up and placed a bucket full of a bubbling liquid in his palms. James screamed as a searing sulfurous liquid dripped down his body. “Awwwww, I see this must be one of those new age skin treatments I’ve been hearing about.” He huffed, “I’ve heard they are all the rage. I guess it’s true what they say beauty is pain.”

Then the man strapped him to a tall log and propped him over the firepit. The chanting continued as they all held hands around him. The shaman lighting the pile of wood on fire.

“I’m not sure I was told anything about this.” He says to them.

Finally, he began to sob, but not for the reasons you think. In fact, he didn’t feel much of anything. He cried because he would need to admit to his crew that he was lost.

After everyone had fallen asleep, he rose up from the ashes and walked back to the beach. As he began to pile their supplies back into the rowboat and while ignoring questions from his crewmates, he explained in a testy tone that seemed like a whisper, “I think we made a wrong turn.”

Ms. Frazzle and the Magic School Bus

Ms. Frazzle was not completely concerned with the class’s reaction, which seemed to aggravate the students even more.

“Listen if you don’t join us on this emergency field trip, then you will fail the semester.”

Even for fourth graders, failing a single class in the prestigious Prep Terryville Academy could be devastating for their reputation. Naturally, they kept their mouths shut and listened as Ms. Frazzle continued.

“I think this is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you kids. We’re going to learn so much about Science.” She rubbed her puffy eyes as she pulled open the drawer behind her desk. She put her hands inside and flicked a small silver switch.

The hum of heavy machinery filled the room as the wall behind Ms. Frazzle lowered itself. Revealing a tiny staircase that descended into darkness.

The classroom of a handful of kids drew in close to each other.

“Are we going down there?” one of them asked.

“Of course, it’s the only way into the secret portal to the other side.”

“What’s on the other side?” another one of the girls inquired.

Ms. Frazzle shuffled towards the entrance, her black sundress with yellow flower print blowing past her as a loud ominous moan escaped the staircase.

“Okay kids, let’s go on a special adventure.” She yelled as she hurried down the steps.

 As the children fell in line behind her one of the young boys in the back whispered, “don’t we need to get a waiver signed to go on school field trips?”

Ms. Frazzle led the children past stacks of dusty boxes, to a tiny hole shining light through the wall. Standing on some boxes, she pulled the gateway open and explained. “This gateway will teleport us out of the school. Now go children.”

One by one they hopped onto the lawn outside Prep Terryville Academy.

When Ms. Frazzle had squeezed herself through the gateway she started leading the kids across the street.

“Here it is,” she announced as the group of children stepped up next to a wide yellow van. The kids piled into the back, all of them sitting on the shag carpeting, unrestrained by seat belts. “Alright, that looks like everyone,” she continued as she looked back, and then started up the car.

The freeway was crowded with jack-holes and so Ms. Frazzle was speeding along dodging in and out of traffic.

“Now, there are four states of matter, plasma, gas, solid, and liquid. Can anyone guess which state of matter is the fastest?”

Samantha the smallest girl in class raised her hand.

“Yes Samantha.”

Pulling her short hair behind her ears, she answered with a question, “gas?”

“Yes. -”

One of the boys up front interjected, “is lava plasma?”

“No, actually,” Ms. Frazzle giggled. “Although lava is extremely hot, plasma is even hotter than that. A good example of plasma would be lightning.”

The kids seemed interested.

“Now can anyone guess what could possible change the state of matter?” Ms. Frazzle asked as they swerved across the highway to barely catch the exit.

Everyone remained silent. “It’s temperature. That’s right you can make anything into a gas, if you apply the right amount of temperature.”

She suddenly slammed on the brakes, the group of kids fell forward smashing against the front of the van.

“I’m so glad to have you kids here today.” Ms. Frazzle explained, “me and my partner have been wanting do some experiments.”

“Oh like what kind of experiments,” Samantha asked.

“You know the fun kind.”

The kids in the back went from silence to holding their breathe. Then Ms. Frazzle answered the phone, “Hello This is Ms. Frazzle.”  As she started talking her voice sped up, and she started using words the children didn’t understand. Ms. Frazzle continued speaking with the person and she seemed irritated, but Samantha was the only kid to lean forward and listen intently to the conversation.  

“Anyone alive back there?” she asked, suddenly hanging up the phone.

Not for long, they all thought to themselves.

When they pulled up and stopped on the side of the street, the kids tried looking through the windows to understand where they were while Ms. Frazzle traipsed around the front of the van and swung the door open.

She reached in and grabbed Samantha, “okay let’s go.”

Samantha grabbed at the side of the van, screaming for her life. Ms. Frazzle reeled back and dropped her, Samantha falling like a bag of bricks to the floor.

“What are you so scared of?”

No one seemed like they were able to respond to her. Behind they could see a dilapidated structure, and some faces, moving blinds aside to see what was happening.

“Wow, well it seems I’m going to just have to leave you here.”

She slammed the door, and left the children huddled together in the dark van.

“Does she want to turn us into a gas?” one of the young boys asked.

“I hope not,” Samantha answered.

“We can’t do anything about it though,” he responded, “we’re trapped.”

“I’m going to make a break for it.”

“We wouldn’t even know where to run though.” Samantha pointed out.

When Ms. Frazzle returned she was alone. She got herself into the driver’s seat and started up the car. “That was really disappointing, I thought it would be cool for you guys to see their set up, but hey suit yourself.” She shrugged.

When they arrived back to the school, the kids were happy to leap out of the van. They ran around the school and snuck back into their room through the secret gateway. Ms. Frazzle had trouble keeping up with them. She counted them when they got back to the classroom to make sure everyone had made it back.

“I hope you had fun on that little trip she asked.

“So, can anyone tell me what they learned?” Samantha raised her hand, “An eighth should never be more than 50 dollars.”

“Exactly Samantha, alright, well the rest of the lesson plans for today, just to give you a taste for the exciting subject matter ahead…We’re going to be reviewing a brief history of drug warfare in this country. then moving onto safety first with officers, and wrapping up with a lesson about what your parents are going to do if they found out what we did…”

Butterfly Rush

Holding her head up, she twirled her frazzled blonde hair and looked out the window with lazy hazel eyes. Cynthia Robinson was bored of playing with the mountain of dolls piled around the room. Outside the yard was empty except for a stone path that led through a field of grass and ended right at the edge of the forest. Fluttering around the path, she noticed a glimmer of color, flashes of red, green, and orange dancing in the yard.

Her parent’s words echoed in the back of her mind, NO you can’t have him. She imagined their smug faces, with their heads turned up and sipping that ugly drink they like, they loved telling her no.

Marching outside she stormed towards the phenomenon, up close she saw the bright red wings of a butterfly. As he rolled over, up and down on the wind, he wiggled his two antennae together, vibrations erupted out of the ends. “What do you want?” the butterfly asked, wings beating gently as he glided up and down in the air, hovering in front of the little girl’s smile.

Up close the wings were painted, splashes of orange and purple mixed together. The little girl watched in wonder for a few moments, before running back into the house.

The poor butterfly thought at this point, she must know it’s my birthday, is she bringing me a present? His anxiety grew as he heard a banging and racket from inside. Shit he thought to himself, as the girl sprung through the door, holding a jar and running at full speed towards the butterfly. At this point he wasn’t sure, so he waited their patiently.

“What a nice decoration is that f—“he asked as smack, he hits the bottom of the glass jar. In an instant Cynthia imprisoned him by screwing the silver lid shut. An air of confidence and satisfaction carried her back to her room, the oxygen in the jar, beginning to drain away, the unconscious butterfly flopping around at the bottom.

Okay just relax, he says to himself when he wakes up, just relax and don’t use up too much oxygen. The walls of the jar were distorted colors, changing as Cynthia skipped from room to room till she had found it. Holding up the floss in her hand she examined it in the light then rushed to her bedroom. Suffocating and on the cusp of death, she opened the jar. “Excuse me” the butterfly tries communicating, “you know that this is kidnapping right.”

Cynthia stared at him, the piece of floss hidden behind her back. The butterfly and Cynthia faced off against each other. “I’m warning you, don’t make me use my special ability.”

He tried looking away but her wide hazel eyes were mesmerizing. In a flash, she had pinched his wings. His cry went unheard as she tied the floss around his abdomen, and then delicately set his limp body on the bed post. She is very pleased with herself as she looks down at the injured insect.  

The butterfly laid on the bed post panting and stretching out his wings. One wing remained bent slightly out of place. “Help,” the butterfly cried out in the empty room, “Help,” he cried out again, looking over at the girl, but she was acting like she didn’t care, digging around the back of her closet. Feeling around in the dark, she distinguishes the grainy covers of her Coloring Book collection. Behind those she presses her fingers against the smooth glass of her old terrarium. As she pulls it out junk goes spilling out everywhere.

Collecting some grass, dirt, and rocks from the backyard, she arranged it in the yard. It isn’t very long before she is satisfied with her homemade cage.

“This will be your new home,” she showed the young butterfly as he was crying for, “help.”

Setting the habitat on the counter, she was nearly ready to put the butterfly inside, when she thought about something else.

Grabbing the end of the butterfly’s floss leash she tugged. The unsuspecting butterfly fell on the bed as it struggled back into the air. He floated sporadically rising and falling and following along as she walked out into the living room.

Meanwhile outside in the forest, the Monarch butterfly, also his mother is sitting at the edge of the trees looking on at the house.

As Cynthia walks into the living room, her parents notice the way she is holding an invisible string in the air. They ask her, “What’s that?”

“It’s um..” she pauses before answering, “Greg.”

“Oh, is this one of your new friends?” upon closer inspection they noticed the butterfly appeared on it’s last legs. Her parents laughed and laughed, “you poor thing, you haven’t taken very great care of it. How could you ever expect us to trust you with a real animal?”

Cynthia, stormed out of the room, and out into the neighborhood, “all you need is a little walk, she told herself and some fresh air.”

Behind her house a war council had started. Lurking deep in the forest, a large cluster of butterflies had gathered and perched in the branches of a circle of trees. The monarch with deep blue and pink wings was pleading with them, wiggling her antennae together furiously.

“He is my only son, and heir to this family. He is not only that, but I love him with all of my heart. I won’t be able to go on if we aren’t able to save him.” She explains, “the humans think they can do whatever they want, so they cut down our homes and take us in as their pets. Can you even imagine the horror that girl is probably inflicting on him right now?”

The butterflies roared in agreement and it was dead silent. Then another member of the community came to the stage.

“We hear your grief and concern for Ronald Red Wing Beat. He is one of the best of us. He has always been an amazing support system for me. I will not allow this to continue.”

“I know the butterflies haven’t taken action against humans in thousands of years, but it’s time we start.”

The entire group of butterflies yelled out in agreement. “Let’s go,” the monarch cries as they move in a giant cloud of color across the backyard, shimmering yellow, reds, blues, and oranges, flying over the yard.

As they started towards the street Cynthia turned the corner, where she ran face first into the butterfly cloud.

Butterflies have terrible vision, so at first they weren’t sure it was her, but when they figured it out they screamed the butterfly battlecry.

“aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

Beautiful hazel and orange danced all around her, and she grew more and more fearful, swatting away at them.

“aaaaahhhhhhhh” she cried out.

As the clouds of butterflies swarmed her, she dropped the floss and Ronald Red Wing Beat was free. The monarch hovered around at the center of the butterfly storm and dived down to grab her son. Just in the nick of time, she was able to stop him from hitting the ground.

With her feelers, she latched onto the floss and untied it. The tight dent around his abdomen swelling, and his face turning blue, they laid down on the concrete.

“Easy Ronald Red Wing Beat, we are going to be safe now.” The swarms of butterflies closed in around them, the monarch looking into her young sons face.

“I won’t let her get away with this.” The monarch cried out as his broken wings began to convulse.

“I just wanted a friend,” the little girl cries out, snatching at the monarch.

In an instant, the kaleidoscope of butterflies became her shield.  The entire group, stopped in the air as a single vibration filled the air around them. Cynthia got a chill up and down her spine, their movements suddenly becoming coordinated. They moved as one in a circle around her.

She looked down at her hands covered in the dark blue insides of the butterflies she battled, “I’m sorry she said,” looking up, “I’m sorry,” but it was too late.

The butterflies had surrounded her releasing their knock out gas pheromone in a constant stream. Then one by one they fell to the ground. Sniffing the air as she fell asleep, she smelled blueberries.

The monarch was the only butterfly that flew off, leaving Cynthia and her butterfly army asleep on the sidewalk. The butterflies woke up before the girl to flutter away. They had won the day.