paradisa | Six Truffula Trees

[The Lorax]

[After his conversation with Johanna, the Once-ler has been thinking. Not that he doesn’t think a lot, of course. The things that happened in Truffula Valley are on a pretty much constant replay in his mind. Mistakes he can never live down, never forget. Never make better.

People keep telling him he can make up for it here, even those who don’t know what he’s done. They say he can start anew here, but he’s certain they’re wrong. He can’t do anything here. No one CARES about trees here, and in Truffula Valley... His chance for action came and went back there, and he chose the wrong path.

He leaned the wrong way. He looks at the journal, then, leaving a filter to the one being who might be listening. Even if he isn't listening...it's something he's needed to say, something he may never get the chance to say to the furry little guardian. For all he knows, the Lorax is gone for good, might as well get it off his chest now, to this empty book with the chance that maybe he can hear, then let it fester forever]

What is it that you want me to even do here? And I know you had something to do with me being here. I just know it. Is it supposed to be some lesson? Am I supposed to listen to all these people talking about hope and trust and believing in yourself? That if I do all that, things will eventually get better? Because they won’t. People don't care here and Truffula Valley is gone. It’s ruined. I ripped out everything good and decent about it and left nothing behind. That sort of thing can’t be fixed. You know that, you saw that.

[He takes in a deep breath, his hand moving inside his pocket, closing around and pulling out a tiny brown seed. He turns it between his fingertips, watching the swirling pattern on it for a moment, how it bends around the shell of the seed, how it reaches to the tip. It’s a work of art in of itself, and yet nothing compared to what it came from. What it could become. If the world was a kinder place]

I don’t even know why you left me this thing. Nothing can grow in the valley any more, I dug around, I looked. The ground is too full of ash and goop, and the air and water is even worse. I can’t rebuild the forest there, it’s not going to happen. So what is it? Some sort of horrible, tortourous reminder? Because I think you covered that with the Unless Rock.

[His eyes drift to the room around him, the word ‘unless’ scattered everywhere. Forever multiplying, never leaving. A constant reminder of exactly what he’d done]

Which, by the way, is a really crappy thing to leave a person. What does it even mean? It’s just one, stupid word, sitting there. Taunting me with its...its...wordy-ness. Unless what, Moustache? Unless WHAT?

[/filter]

[Ow. That loud thud was the Once-ler’s fist connecting with his table. Note to self: don’t do that, it hurts. He rubs his hand, glaring down at the private thoughts transcribed on the page, before deciding to dictate into it again. This time, publicly]

If you thought you could start to try and make some good for all the things you’ve done wrong back home here, if you could...I don't know, try to make a difference in a good way, would you?

Even if it doesn’t make a single bit of difference back home, where it all really matters. Even if there's a very good chance when you do go home it'll be forgotten. All that work you did, everything you did to make yourself feel better was just gone.

Do you still think it's worth it to try?

[There's an awkward pause] Just wondering. Y'know?