Short, I know, but please do enjoy.
Everything in italics is the Lorax's voice, or in turn, the Once-ler's conscience.
I don't own any of the characters or trees mentioned in this story.
Once-ler stood in his office, peering out his window to glance over the vast, blank, dark land of which he owned all.
"So how are things?" The Lorax mused.
All was quiet other than the humming and whirring of super-axes and echoing cracks as the Truffula trees creaked and groaned as they majestically fell to the ground. All of those trees had created his business. Each one had attributed in high magnitude to each Thneed that was made. His mother was so very proud of him; her son, her brilliant son was so successful in his endeavor that he ultimately owned Thneedville.
"Happy yet?" The Lorax scoffed, "You fill that hole deep down inside of you? Or do you still need more?" He marched and paced on his short, stubby legs.
Who could ask for more? A huge business, larger than man had ever seen, shadowing the land and all those inferior, belonged to him and him only. Those Brown Bar-ba-loots that had once fawned over him in interest, scarfing down marshmallows and frolicking under the sun, either had migrated north, or lay dead as pathetic looking carcasses littering the bare ground; no more food was available for them. Once-ler felt a pang of remorse, similar to that of when he first saw a Swammy-Swam die, when on the side of a hill he took notice to Lou, the biggest Bar-ba-loot, in a thin heap on the cold Earth.
"Do I make you uncomfortable? Remind you of the promises you
made? The man you used to be?" The Lorax was verbally stabbing him now, each word that came out of his mustache-hidden mouth made unwanted thoughts run through his head. Thoughts that said, "Perhaps if you had done a bit more..."
No. Pitying a filthy beast would do him no good in any aspect. Forgetting the trees, Brown Bar-Ba-Loots, Swammy Swans, and Humming Fish would be his best bet in the long run, especially for the company.
Once-ler sighed. A change in subject was needed.
He debated the weather, glancing at the purple-gray sky. Rain hadn't visited in over a month, but wasn't that the way the weather worked anyway? In unpredictable patterns? Perhaps it was just a drought. He tilted his head towards the outdoors, and tried to listen meticulously. During the summer, crickets usually chirped in an endlessly annoying fashion. He listened harder, closing his eyes. No sound could be heard.
He squinted, looking across the valley with satisfaction. Nothing could stop him; soon, he would be the most powerful individual in the world. Not one tiny variable could deter him.
Crack!
Once-ler focused his vision on the center of his vision spectrum. In the field below him, a super-axe had done the deed of cutting down the final existing Truffula Tree. With only a soft thud, the plant hit the ground, bouncing a bit in reverberation as its soft tufts shook with the force.
"Well, that's it. The very last one," The Lorax turned from the sight, unable to truly bare the fact, "That may stop you."