Sir Ronald McDonald walked through the mascot graveyard.
As he staggers past different gravestones, it's obvious the smile on his face is only painted on. He hears a branch snap under someone's foot. The clown drags his gaze up to glace before him. In front of him stands all his fallen brethren. Hamburglar, Grimace, and Birdie.
"What happened?" The burglar asked, surprised to see their restaurant's golden child dropped down in their domain.
Ronald's gazed dropped back to the muddy ground, his expression of confusion and loss. They didn't need to hear his response. They already know, after all; they've all gone through this process of abandonment too. Still, his unspoken thoughts seemed to echo off the graves.
I've been replaced.
By a box with a face.
By a box with no name.
What a terrible way to go.
Yet, despite this, he doesn't hate the boxes. Those little red squares with eyes too wide and smiles too crooked. Those little devils that ripped his place on the golden double arch from him. Those terrifying samples of boxed meat. They are horrid; and someone with less heart than Ronald may absolutely despise them. But the clown couldn't bring himself to do it. If anything, he hopes those stupid little boxes get to spend a long life representing the food he created.
Grimace is the first to move. It shuffles forward and gently pats the clown's back. The others follow in suit, each offering their forms of support and empathy.
"We've all been tossed away by that place." Birdie says, giving him a hug. "It's okay, it'll get better."
Tears open fall from Ronald's face as he mumbles, "The worst part is…"
The skies themselves felt for the clown and wept upon the mascots. Ronald looks up to those pouring clouds, feeling alone, even in the crowd of friends. Ronald can't help but think of what he'll miss the most. He'll miss the food, sure. He'll miss the workers, understandably. But the thing he'll miss more than anything else; the thing his heart yearns for; is the children. Ronald doesn't think he'll be able to deal with the crushing miss and longing of those children's laughs and smiles.
"The worst part is," he repeated, trying to find his voice through sobs, "I'm sill lovin' it."