A/N: So... I don't upload much, but I loved The Lorax and The Once-ler so much, I couldn't resist. (I probably should have.) I just used a random word generator and rolled with whatever word it gave me, leading to a few 'odd' prompts, but, whatever.
I'm sorry. I wish this was better.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Lorax.
***May is the Once-ler's mom. I couldn't really think of much of a name for her, so...
01. Label
Sixteen and pregnant. There's only one word for that and it's not necessarily screwed, though isn't there some irony to that? May looks down at her belly, the rounded flesh she only wishes was fat—then maybe she could work and claw her way out of this, but what is she supposed to do? She feels a stirring in her heart, not of love. No. Not love.
"Come on, May!" her mother calls to her. Her family is down stairs, her bags are packed. They're sending me away.
No one wants a slut for a daughter.
She storms down below.
02. Vintage
Aunt Grizelda is… Well. If there were words for her, then May wouldn't know them. Her and Uncle Ubb's house is small, not cramped, but close, though the atmosphere within makes it feel like a planet-wide gap hangs between each room. It's completely insurmountable and May lets it be, locked away within her room like Rapunzel of old—just that her Prince Charming's not so charming, and certaintly not coming.
She lets records screech and carroon her to sleep, a dreadful melody nobody likes but she entertains the thought that maybe the thing inside her is squirming at the sound.
03. Logging
The trunks of trees go trolling by, like corpses stacked in piles a mile high. The Lorax sits and stares; it's just another reminder: he's not getting anywhere. He's tried. He's huffed and he's puffed and he's cried, but some men just won't listen.
Some forget their promises.
And maybe he shouldn't be surprised, but he had expected better of this one. He sits on a tree trunk stump, his furry feet swinging. He's tired today; he's oh so tired. The forest is dying. His very soul is withering, drying up and he knows: he can't weather this storm forever.
04. Interface
It's just not fair, but it is a fact: a Lorax is short, small, and just not packed. The Lorax grunts and puts up a fight as yet another one of the Once-ler's meatheads manhandle him out the door. He barely stood a chance. Even as the forest was dying, the Once-ler's sercurity was increasing. As the money piles grew, more jobs opened up and the Lorax began to doubt he'd ever get so close again.
Whatever happened to his friend?
It hadn't been long, but he'd have sworn that kid had a chance.
What could he do? None listen.
05. Kick
The yarn is yanked from his hands faster than he can blink, and the Once-ler stares dumbly—and a hand comes to smack the side of his head, a solid thump, like a tree branch just slapped him.
"Heh, Oncie, whatcha knitting?" Brett laughs. He holds the cotton monstrocity in his palms, an early prototype of what the Once-ler will one day call a 'thneed'. The Once-ler shouts—Brett's mostly dumb, not mean—but a little bray sounds and Melvin is there, offering a solid kick to the stall door. Down Brett tumbles and the Once-ler smiles.
He whispers, "Thanks."
06. Extinction
It's a moment too late, six years of destruction and the lives of millions—the Once-ler looks, truly looks and sees the chaos he's wrought. A land of smog, schlop, and stumps, of starving barbaloots and sick swomme swans, and of humming fish that can't hum.
He pauses, really looks, and sees the last truffula tree as it is dragged to the factory, processed, and the smoke from the factory finally ceases. He looks at the pink thneed in his hands, so fluffy, soft, worthless, and looks to the creatures he once made friends with.
Has he just killed them?
07. Bend
The Lorax wants to save a forest. He looks and sees a million trees, a thousand barboots, a thousand wonderous fish that hum and sing, a thousand swomme swans that fill the sky with songs. He sees soft tufts blowing in the breeze.
The Once-ler wants his fame. He wants a mother that never looks at him with disgust. He sees, a 'never-ending' supply to bring him both. He sees soft tufts blowing in the breeze.
The Once-ler cuts. The Lorax preaches. Neither ever sees a way that teaches both to get what they want: a forest to last forever.
08. Red
It's not blood on his hands. Never. How could it be? Trees don't bleed. They don't scream with voices that carry and accuse.
It's not his fault the Lorax can't keep his forest running. Shouldn't that bossy little creature know how to feed a barbaloot, or whatever that 'magic' of his is supposed to do? It's not the Once-ler's job to make sure those lazy little forest creatures look for food. He's sure there's a truffula grove somewhere out there.
Yet he still can't look at his hands. He dresses in green, and wonders, fleetingly, where the grass has gone.
09. Family
What does the Lorax know?
The Once-ler lays in bed some nights, exhausted from running a company that sells to everywhere. It seems problems never end, and his family is rarely there to care. The Once-ler doesn't mind. They sing his name now, no ridicule attached. He'll endure a thousand nights of sleeplessness if it would only feel genuine.
The Lorax can't understand that. What family does he have?
As he lays in bed some nights, the Once-ler tells himself things are better. Better than ever. He just wishes that wasn't so depressing to think.
So he refuses to think.
10. Troop
The Lorax never stops his fighting. He can't rally forest creatures—they shiver and run at the might of the Once-ler's terrible choppers—but he can marshall his own resolve. He speaks for trees. He can speak for barbaloots, and for birds and fish that can't (any longer) speak on their own.
It's that family the Once-ler laughably calls his own. They've found their golden goose and will guard the Once-ler like a treasure, lock it up and blind it. The Lorax knows. The woman-thing and the Once-ler's mother, they won't be there once this business fails.
Because it will.
Should this even be added upon?