5 August 2012
Everybody needs a thneed, it's the only sound that rings out here anymore....
The humming fish choked on industrial waste, the swami swans left, before they did too.
The barbaloots left, to find pastures anew, where they can play in the sun beneath Truffula trees....
The Truffula trees, the forest of trees, only a memory, a shade of this blackened wasteland.
Because the Truffula trees are gone, and with them the people, leaving rubble, waste and ghost towns behind.
And towering above it all, above this scorched valley, stands an impressive black building, the thneed factory.
Some say he still lives here you know, the inventor of the thneed, the man who strangled the life out of this valley, when he came here on his donkey drawn Cart.
His name is the onceler, and how he was loved, clad head to toe in green, his smile wooed even the strongest of us all.
As I approach the door, of this black factory, I hear a clatter to the right of my side....
The Wasteland That Was (the Sequel To The Forest Of The Truffula Trees) • Opuss № I