A/N: Trying something a little new with this story...I'm writing it in play format.
See, the story started off as a comic, and I wrote out a script with the intent of drawing it out later. Sadly, the comic didn't work out, and I still wanted to share the story, but I didn't feel like re-writing it in prose form. So now it's written out like a play, not that I expect anyone to perform it. XD I'm not quite sure how this will work out, but I hope you like it anyway. Here is "Complaints."
Scene 1: Thursday, 1:29 PM
(The scene opens in the Once-ler's gigantic office, where the Once-ler is sitting quietly at his desk. It is rather quiet in the empty room, with the only sounds coming from the rhythmic gears of the factory and the chopping of Truffula Trees outside. Suddenly, the silence is broken when the Once-ler sits back in his chair and yawns)
Once-ler: (murmuring to himself): Aw, man...I'm exhausted. Time for a break. (He stands up and stretches his back, then his arms, while a frown forms on his face. He continues to mutter) Ugh, this really sucks. I wish I could go back to the old days, when I could just jump and dance around whenever I wanted...not sit around and work all day. (sighs) Oh well...I guess this is for the best…
(He begins wandering around his office as he talks, just to stretch his legs. Spacily, he walks past a lively-looking window looking out over a field of Truffula Trees. After he passes, the Lorax suddenly lifts up the colorful curtain, revealing that the outside is not bright or sunny at all. The furry guardian climbs his way in, closes the curtain, and sits calmly at the windowsill.)
Lorax: How's it going, beanpole?
Once-ler: (turns around in surprise, then grins at his old friend) Mustache! Hey, buddy, where have you been? I haven't seen you in a while, how are things going?
Lorax: (sarcastically): Oh, it's been great! Except, you know, the bar-ba-loots are starving to death because you're destroying their one source of food, but other than that, it's A-ok!
Once-ler: (frowns) Ha ha ha...you just came here to put me on another guilt trip, didn't you?
Lorax: Yes.
Once-ler:(sighs loudly and resumes pacing around his office) Look, mustache, I'm sorry about the bar-ba-loots. But I already told you, if I'm going to keep my business running, I'll have to chop down a few trees once in a while. If you'd just get that, we wouldn't disagree so much.
(The Lorax hops off the windowsill and follows him, while the Once-ler continues his tirade.)
Once-ler: But no. You have to go and be all over-dramatic about everything, and make a couple of chopped trees sound like the end of the world!
Lorax: A couple of trees?! Beanpole, have you been living under a rock?! You're hacking down at least four trees with every whack! That's gotta be like two...three hundred trees a day!
(While the Lorax is talking, the Once-ler is trying to look indifferent about the situation. Then, as if he has just remembered something, he walks over to his coat hanger and grabs his green coat, along with his gloves and hat. He starts to put them on, speaking as he dresses)
Once-ler: (annoyed) Apparently you missed the part about being over-dramatic? What's wrong with what I'm doing anyway? I'm just trying to make a living here. If you've got something against that, it's not my problem.
Lorax: (sighs sadly to himself and hops onto the Once-ler's desk) ...Listen, kid. I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with being successful...but the way you're doing things, you're just screwing everything up for everyone! Including yourself!
(The Once-ler pauses and lets out a short, barking laugh. He turns to the Lorax, gesturing around at his big, fancy office.)
Once-ler: Wha-what? Mustache, look around you? Just how am I screwing things up for myself?
Lorax: What are you going to do when there aren't any trees left, huh?
Once-ler: Please. That forest is enormous. There's no way I'll be able to chop down all the trees.
Lorax: Well, at the rate you're going, what else do you expect will happ-?!
Once-ler: (interrupting) Mustache. Trust me. I'm not going to run out of trees. (He finally finishes getting dresses and shoos the Lorax off his desk) Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend, and I don't want to be late.
Lorax: But-
Once-ler: Go on, shoo! (pushes him toward the door and gently tosses him outside) Go on, go play with your bar-ba-loot friends or something.
Lorax: I can't. The bar-ba-loots have no energy to play because they're starving. I told you that already.
Once-ler: (shrugs) Well, I'll send them a basket of fruit or something. Bye.
(He closes the door, leaving the Lorax standing there sadly, with an empty, dying forest behind him.)