The room was eerily quiet, the idea of hearing anything was apparently fearful. The Onceler was to blame why it was so quiet in the room. The young man hated listening to words, ever since he snapped, they were usually spiteful and crude. It seemed unreasonable that he would go along in blissful silence. At first, he tried listening to music as a substitute while he made the thneed designs on paper, but it soon caused his paranoia to come out.

It was like the singers were after him, singing about destroying "the man" or getting someone back for doing something bad to them. The music made him guilty, and he switched to his CDs, any of them, hoping there was a selection not ready to "attack". No hope, it seemed he enjoyed music similar to the broadcasting stations when he collected the discs. In despair, he had tossed them out of the window, not able to hear the crunch of them under the wheels of the hulking destroying machines. Perhaps his voice would suffice?

No one really came in the room anymore, afraid he would throw a fit. It wasn't childish either; he would grab the closest thing and use it to pelt a worker he found out of place. 'They're all after you,' the voice grinned in his mind. Grumbling an agreement, the dark-haired male dropped his pen and tried to see through his tiring vision. Glancing out the window, he noticed the sun coming up. He had overworked himself again?

He got up and stumbled over to the door, ready to open it. As he about did so, he peered into the full-length mirror near him. His old self waved happily. Slapping his cheek to get rid of the odd and unwelcome vision, wincing instantly as the sound seemed to vibrate throughout the room. Maybe sounds were bad for him too…

The opposite grinned at seeing this, "Are you okay?" Not sounding the least bit worried.

Letting got of the doorknob, the green attired man shuffled over, and felt offended. Biting his lower lip, he faked a smile and nod. The truth was starting to probably form on his cheek at the moment as a red mark. He couldn't tell since it didn't show up on the double.

The past Onceler tilted his head slightly in curiosity, "You look tired," noticing he really wasn't getting a response of this yet; he smirked, and held out his hand. Giggling, as the other boy turned paler as he felt a foreign limb touching his cheek, "Hey, this wasn't my fault."

"What wasn't?" grumbled the present raven-haired entrepreneur. He did want to talk with himself, but this…

"This," commented his mirrored self nonchalantly, poking the bruising cheek, "destruction of the trees," earning an irked expression, "myself."

"The business is doing nicely," confused at the last context and how to word that, Onceler then decided to focus on the idea behind it, "I didn't corrupt myself, I'm doing just fine."

Getting a shake of the head as a response, the lanky boy in the reflection sighed, "Poor, poor, deluded soul," though the crazy grin didn't help the other's case, "You are gladly killing off a flourishing woodland for your own selfish gain, so you can't possibly be sane through the entirety."

Offended by this assumption, the sharply dressed man came as close to the mirror as possible, "Now listen here, you-"

"Why should I?" The voice was smooth as silk as it drew closer to his ear, "I'm not even real."

It was like the truth shattered all around him, "N-no, you have to be real." Shaking his head, he backed up under the gaze he had in return, "I am not crazy, I'm a successful business man with a family that finally loves me!"

The next thing was the final blow, "…For your money?"

Onceler fell to his knees, forcing his hands into fists. Staring down at them, he figured they were white as snow under the thicker glove fabric. He moved them up to his head, having them go flat so he could rest his face in his palms. About to tell the reflection he was right, he realized it was gone. Vanishing wasn't a word maybe it just went away… "Yeah, sure, I'll see you later…"

He wasn't tired now, but something was dragging him down. Maybe it was his subconscious giving up and finally allowing his mind to collapse upon itself. He then thought of how the reflection self told him he was imagining the entirety of the conversation. That wasn't right though, that would mean he was crazy! He surely couldn't be crazy, not when he was happy.

Getting up slowly, he stared at himself this time. The bags under his eyes were a deepening purple, and made his usual handsome features grow duller. The pale contrast to how he once looked was apparent as well; causing him to jump to the assumption he wasn't getting out enough. Not like he really cared or the outside was bright and sunny anymore. For all he knew was his work and the silence.

The Onceler now especially hated words and sounds, since they told a story of how insane and unraveled he was becoming. Maybe he was never innocent to this, and always had this mindset. If he weren't so eager to please, he'd have never done this in the first place…