Better Off Forgotten
"I think you should go into town today," his other self said, first thing in the morning, two years after their exile. When the Once-ler gave him an incredulous look in return, his companion just shrugged and smiled. "You need things. Normal people need to eat and fix their clothes and stuff, after all. Just go!"
So he did, and the news would spread like wildfire. Later, in their homes and on their phones, Thneedville's people would murmur and whisper amongst themselves that yes, a familiar face in a green suit had walked right in around noon. He looked terrible, some said. Tired, like he'd trekked for ten miles just to get there. Those gloves of his were dirty and his hat… must have been lost somewhere, since he wasn't wearing it.
No sunglasses, either, though the dark rims around his eyes had much of the same effect.
At first it was just a rumor, but later witness reports would confirm that Ms. Roswell, who'd had to send her asthmatic granddaughter away when the smog got really bad, was the first to mumble something in his general direction. Something about not having learned a damned thing, showing your face back here.
The next little snippet of information was considered fact straightaway, that after at least a half-hour of looking lost and embarrassed, he'd actually stopped single mother Ms. Dillborn to ask her where the grocery store was. The woman herself, her small daughter in tow, kept right on walking past.
Stories like those kept at least one neighborhood talking for a whole week. Mr. Kingsley had shouldered past him without an apology. Wilma, only three years old, had smiled at him, only to be pulled away by her father before he could even notice. Mr. O'Hare, in the planning stage of his promise to bring back clean air, had outright giggled. The grocery store owner had glared at him, the corners of her mouth twisting down behind her thneed scarf. Mostly, it was the people who'd lost their jobs because of him doing the most interacting, but no one could say that for certain.
People documented where he went, typing out short text messages on their phones as they saw him. The grocery store, the fabric store, the general market. A couple of days later, everyone in the general area had seen a picture of him right under an old advertisement for the company he'd destroyed. The image was rather blurred (he'd been walking kind of fast at that particular moment), but boy, did it get around.
He went back at around four, the local policeman was sure. Just stepped into the haze at the edge of town with a few plastic bags in his hands.
And that was when it happened. Most said a kid threw a rock at him. Some said it was a teen, who's first job had been at the thneed factory. Someone did something, though people shook their heads when asked what it was and who did it. The truth would stay a mystery forever.
But nobody doubted what happened next. The man only faltered for about a second, glancing back at the staring bystanders with something wild in his eyes, and then kept on walking.
At the end of the night, in the not quite solitude of his little bedroom, the Once-ler laughed himself to sleep while his counterpart kissed his tears away.
"I'm sorry," his younger self murmured, running long, un-gloved fingers through his hair. "I know we deser- Just… I'm sorry."
The Once-ler waved him off, still laughing. He'd never quite forget the feeling of tomato pulp running down his face, but getting spat on was something completely new.
He didn't go back into town for a long, long time.