A/N: Well, here it is. If you haven't, you might want to read through some of the earlier chapters. Things have been changed. Namely, chapters 1-5 and 10. It'll make more sense.
I want to thank all of you who have stuck with this story for all this time. For all intents and purposes, this was my first fanfiction…my first real fanfiction. It will be hard to leave it, and you may still find me mucking around with the chapters and such. But, for now, this is how it stands. Again, thanks so much for your advice, comments, and support.
Disclaimer: I do not own Trix. I am not hereby making any profit of any kind.
Chapter 20: "Up to My Ears in Bitter Tears"
Or "Perhaps the Last One"
The next few years progressed. Randolph made his living working on Trix commercials. He headed to the studio on every morning except Sundays, filmed some new footage, and left. He got a week off every month. He had money again for food and for living. He moved out of his shabby apartment and into a condo. He soon had everything he needed, and more.
During these years, Randolph spiraled into a more obsessive, unhealthy life. He refused to go to Dr. Shatner, who had changed his name to Dr. Hypnosis for obvious reasons, and ate as much fruit as he could get his hands on. Even the counter clerks at the grocery store from which he had once been banned could be bribed.
But never, ever could he once get Trix. Part of his agreement with the company clearly prohibited him from ever purchasing the cereal, so to make the commercials "more realistic." No amount of money would waiver this deal, for any offense of this contract could void his employment. And Randolph liked being employed.
So he ate. And ate. He became reclusive, not opening the door for his personal assistant, for his brother Roger, and not even for his ex-wife Betty.
He would, however, open it for Lola. This scene took place on a Thursday during one of his weeks off sixteen years after he was hired.
"Randolph?" she called, knocking on the door. "It's me, Lola."
Randolph's ears perked up. They were long ears. Long enough to tie in a knot, to tie in a bow, and to throw them over his shoulders like a continental soldier. "Lola!" He put down his bag of frozen strawberries and hurried to let her in.
Randolph was in a state. He hadn't shaved all week, and his fur had become a dull gray. His pink nose looked irritated. What scared Lola most, though, were his eyes.
"They were wild," she said many years later. "Like a madman's."
Lola entered Randolph's condo with some hesitation. Yes, she had agreed to this visit only at the request of her employer. But to risk life and limb by coming into and maybe—just a little—flirting with this psychopath? Even Lola had doubts. But Bugs was clear: Lola was the only one he responded to. It was her job to determine his condition, and if it was okay to proceed.
Lola looked at the mess of fruit everywhere, then again at Randolph's eyes. Yes, the plan would continue.
No one to this day knows what was said in that private meeting. Randolph was in no state to relate it, and Lola cannot be found to this day. But something about that day changed both of them. And not for the better.
That next week when he came back to work, looking a little scruffy but in much better condition than the previous Thursday. "Today," Raj Eroshi said, "we're doing something a little different."
The commercial started off like any other commercial. Randolph saw the kids with the cereal. He put together an elaborate scheme to get it, involving a dog, some smog, and a little assonance. But this time, when he reached ever-longingly for the Trix, something happened. In the split-second that the kids were supposed to pop up and seize the cereal back, they were nowhere to be found. So Randolph, uninhibited, grabbed the Trix. Silence fell over the studio. Then Randolph looked up. "I guess Trix isn't just for kids."
Then, he ate the cereal. Every last bite.
To say that Randolph was elated would be an understatement. One would have to use such euphemisms to describe it as "over the moon," "in seventh heaven," or "on cloud nine" to describe his utterly euphoric state. Randolph had a wide smile on his face, one that disappeared after a few days. In retrospect, it might have been better for Randolph not to have eaten it at all. The whole "can't miss what you never had" thing. Randolph had built this moment up so much over the long sixteen years that, when it finally came, it was like a "loss of the creature." Randolph had turned around to see the light, but it had blinded him.
(Somewhere far away, the author's English teacher was feeling a great sense of purpose. But, that story is for another day.)
Randolph slipped into a deeper, more serious depression than the last time. He became fanatical about Trix. He bought all the merchandise, ate only fruit, and even attempted to make the stuff—an effort which was fruitless.
(And then, the author's English teacher groaned in misery. This is the last interruption, I promise.)
Four years later, Randolph got the Trix again. Since then, the producers have vowed never to let it happen again. "Truthfully, we're a little afraid of what he might do," Eroshi said in a statement to the press. One reporter followed up: "What about if he doesn't get the Trix? What will happen then?" Eroshi had no answer.
Years passed. Randolph no longer had any concept of time. He was cursed. He had forgotten his own name. His mutterings became incoherent. His life was bent upon Trix. All of this, of course, is hidden from the public. Any new information is discovered at great personal cost to the one searching for it. Try to research his life, his beginnings, and you will find that it has all become a charade. A façade. What remains behind the curtain is only darkness.
The following is the last transcript of all the interviews conducted by this researcher. All those who gave any information have now slipped from existence, or simply disappeared. I have held on to these and constructed them as best I can, with the promise that they would be released only after it would not incriminate anyone. Now that all those involved cannot be found, I circulate them now. If any justice, any truth, any freedom can be found, it might be here.
It took me years to track him down. The man whose sole purpose in life was to ruin another's. I do not have to say his name. You already know him.
begin
Do you wish to remain anonymous?
Yes.
Why?
The things I have done—the things I still do. Besides…after you release it, it will no longer matter.
What happened to the speech impediment?
I can suppress it, for a little while, so as not to arouse suspicion to my identity.
I guess the question really is this—why?
I don't have to ask you what that means. I know. I have been asking that question of myself for sixty years. What was it about Randolph—about the Trix Rabbit—that made it so hard for me…He didn't do anything to me. I mean, one little embarrassing moment isn't enough to ask for a lifetime of misery. Besides, I treated him badly before that. I know people will say I didn't get enough love at home, enough love in my childhood. And, it's not that. I grew up in a wonderful home. Maybe…I guess it was after that. I mean, no one was a big fan of—of me. It's this constant image I had, that was put upon me. There wasn't anything I could do to break it. But that sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? I mean, if that were the case, I would have tortured Bugs instead. But I couldn't have done that—it wouldn't have turned out the same. No, it wouldn't have.
Did you take out your frustrations with Bugs on Randolph?
No. Maybe. I guess so. Logically, yeah, that would have been it. But it isn't logical. This whole thing…I don't know.
I'm done. I have nothing more to say.
Are you sure?
Of course, I'm sure. What's done is done. I can't change it by saying anymore.
Then why did you agree to this interview?
I…I don't know.
end
Randolph Rabbit, known more popularly as the Trix Rabbit, died in 2000. He had worked in Trix for over forty years. Nowadays, the rabbit you see on television is dead. No one quite knows the cause of death. Heart attack? Suicide? Insanity? It is another question we add to the mystery: the mystery of the Trix Rabbit.
The end is what you make it.