Chapter 6 Is Up!!!

Does anyone else use Read Aloud apps to listen to their writing after they finish it? I usually like to listen to it a few times before I post it.

GUYS, IT'S THE LAST CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE WHO READ THIS, LEFT KUDOS, COMMENTS, BOOKMARKS, ETC!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE THE GREAT LORAX REWRITE IS FINALLY COMPLETE!

Excerpt:

He spent his days staring at the tally marks he'd scratched into the walls. They sprawled unevenly, some deep gouges, others mere scratches. He counted them again and again, fingers tracing the jagged lines, as he mumbled under his breath. "One... two... three... four..." His voice faltered and he started over. "One… two… thr—no, wait." He could only pray his count remained slightly accurate as the years went by.

Once he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of green in the broken shard of metal that hung from the wall. He whipped his head around, only to see his own reflection glaring back at him. But it wasn’t him—it was that other him. The green, twisted version, eyes hollow and black like two bottomless pits. 

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Why won’t you just leave me alone?" The reflection only smiled, a slow, creeping grin before crawling slowly away.

At night, the walls breathed. That’s what it sounded like to Once-ler—a long, wheezing inhale, a brittle exhale. The wind rushed through the gaps with ghostly arms that reached for him. He woke up, shivering, convinced he heard humming-fish singing just outside. 

"Hush! Quiet, they’re back!" he whispered to himself. Pressing his ear to the walls, the cold metal bit into his skin. All he heard was the wind. He slumped back down, knees pulled to his chest. "They were here," he murmured, rocking back and forth. "I know they were here…"

Desperate for routine, every morning, Once-ler reached for the rope he’d rigged to a bucket. It wasn’t for food or water—those needs had faded—he pulled it up just to see if the world had sent him something, anything. Most days, it came up empty, swinging in the breeze like a useless pendulum. Once or twice, he found a few broken pieces of old advertisements. He kept them, not because they were useful, but because they were better than nothing.

The gloves fused to his hands were another enemy he could never beat. They itched and burned, the skin underneath painful and raw. He scratched at the seams until his fingers bled, trying to tear them off. However, the fabric wouldn’t budge. "Get it off, get it off!" he screamed. He tore at his flesh until exhaustion took him.

The days twisted and knotted together into an indecipherable net, ensnaring him. Once-ler sat in his corner, and all he could think was, "Willingly. I chose all of it willingly." 

He wondered if the Lerkim would be his tomb. Or if, by some cruel twist of fate, he’d live forever within its rusted walls, alone with the ghosts of choices that could never be unmade.

The only other thing left to do was the thing he did most of all: Contemplate the meaning of the stones. "Unless." Unless what? he wondered.

Unless he changed his ways?

Unless he somehow escaped?

Unless he said he was sorry?

Unless the humming-fish had been trying to warn him?

Unless the Truffula trees were still out there, watching?

Unless the wind has been whispering the answer all along?

Unless his reflection knew the truth and he didn’t?

Unless the rain spoke a language he couldn't hear?

Unless the Lorax never left and was invisible?

Unless everything that was happening was a dream?

"Unless," Once-ler whispered again, as his brain overheated with puzzlement. "Unless... I was never meant to understand."

(Read the rest on ao3).

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I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS DONE! For over I a decade I would see people complain about this movie and how it could be better. I would see posts about how people were going to rewrite it, but they never really did beyond summaries. Now I've finally finished this, so my life is complete. This is the longest fanfiction that I took the most seriously finishing. Thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. that I didn't know if it would get.

Me and my coauthor on this account are hoping to create more rewrites after this. Currently, we're almost done with the first draft of a rewrite of Disney's Wish. We're aiming to start releasing it around Christmas, depending on how things go.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READ THIS STORY! Please let me know if you have any feedback about how you liked this rewrite. We'll take it into account for how we handle rewrites in the future.

Over the Garden Wall Novelization Chpt 1

(A very rough draft of a novel I might finish later for Ao3, depending on people's interest. I was thinking about the day I also almost got hit by a train and the police thought we died).

Chapter One: Into the Frog Pond

When Wirt had told his younger brother that he was too busy to look for frogs, that didn't mean he'd wanted Greg to get run over by a train. 

He also hadn't meant that he'd wanted to get hit by the train himself. Who would have expected they'd both have to dive off the tracks just in time for the big black blur to rumble over them, and that they'd be plunged into the river's icy October waters to drown?

That was the kind of thing that happened whenever you had to babysit Greg. 

It all started on Halloween when Wirt had to take him trick or treating.

Greg was a short, fat five-year-old, currently wearing an upside-down teapot on his head. "I'm an elephant," he said, spinning around. "The spout is the trunk!"

Never in a million years would Wirt have understood this, if his brother hadn't pointed it out. But he couldn't say much, since his own costume was just as bad. He held onto the tall red dunce cap meant to be a wizard hat that kept blowing off in the wind—it's a lesson we all must learn that Halloween costumes never cooperate as well as we hope.

The sound of crunching leaves grew louder underfoot as they approached the graveyard gate: a few rusted iron bars with spikes. Beyond it, the gravestones were pale shapes in the dark. Somewhere in the distance, a frog croaked, a low, drawn-out sound echoing off the stones.

"Come on!" said Greg, pushing the gate open. "Me and Dad saw a big one in the duck pond."

"Okay," Wirt said. "I just don't want to get my costume wet." He brushed off some mud and pulled his blue cape tighter as they crept inside.

Kerrrrok, kerrrrok, kerrrok

"I think it's the giant bullfrog," said Greg. "Me and Dad see him whenever we go fishing." 

Greg jumped over flat graves as if they were no more than hopscotch squares.

Wirt stood still, watching his breath mingle with the mist before following. "Careful, don't slip," he said. "After all… we all croak in the dark."

"Maybe you should just hop to it!" Greg scolded, waving him over.

Kerrrrrrrrrrrok, kerrrrrrrrrrrok, kerrrrrrrrrrrrok

"Shh! I think I hear the frog... over there!" Greg froze.

Wirt's eyes followed Greg's pointing finger to the edge of the graveyard. A rickety fence in the distance barely kept overgrown grass from spilling out of the railroad enclosure beyond.

They approached the thin chain-linked gate, the likes of which might be found in a backyard and easily jumped. The only thing that signified danger was the fact that on the other side there was a steep incline crowded with bramble and thorns—unkempt in faith they'd do what the half-hearted gate could not. 

And yet, if one looked hard enough, there were some clear paths up the slope writhing between the bushes—perfectly good for reaching the top should the desire burn deeply enough in their heart.

Greg was already putting one foot in front of the other, as Wirt slowly slung his own legs over.

Kerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrok, kerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrok, kerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrok

The frog's cries were desperate now, seeming to say "Catch me! Hurry! What's taking so long?"

The scratchy ascent would have been a hard enough wrestling match without a cape, but somehow Wirt made it through. Greg reached the top first with burrs stuck to his overalls, and was skipping back and forth over the rails.

"Hey, I've never got to walk on a train track before," he said, putting his hands on his hips and doing a twirl.

Wirt had never been on one either. Unfortunately it was getting really dark now, so it was hard to appreciate the fine details of craftsmanship. Under moonlight, the most that could be observed were the two steel rails stretching like sinews, the sleepers spaced with precision, and if he squinted, a few fish bolts coming loose.

A dark speck appeared in the distance.

When Wirt looked back on the incident years later, he could never remember the train making a sound until it was right in front of them.

"Trains are dangerous," adults always said. "Even if you think they're far away, they can appear in the blink of an eye. Even if you're not standing close to them, the pressure can suck you under. You'll instantly be killed."

Well, after that night, Wirt could safely say which of these things were and weren't true. The train took its time coming—too much time, if he was honest. He and Greg sat indian-style on the track watching it calmly for a minute, not fully convinced the shape really was a train because of how slow it was going.

There was no sound for a long time, and when the lights and rushing noise finally grew, there was plenty of time to dive away. No, it was only because Wirt's cape got caught on one of the fish bolts that he was jerked back into the wood chips.

Even then, nobody got sucked under. In fact, Wirt rolled the opposite way when he finally tore himself free.

And Greg… Well…

"GREG!"

CRRRRAAAAAASH-CLAAANG-TCHOOOM-SHRREEEEEEEECH-KLUNK-KLUNK-RUMBLE-RATTLE-CLACKA-CLACKA-CLACKA-VOOOOOM-KRASHHH-CHUGGA-CHUGGA-THRUMMMM-WOOOOOOOO-SPLAANG!

Coldness punched Wirt in the chest. 

A force pressed hard from every side, so his limbs were too heavy to move. He was yanked downward through blackness as his hands grasped empty water.

Wirt had fallen into the river after his brother. Now both of them were dying.

Greg. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not while he was babysitting. "GREEEEEEEEG!"

CLACKA-CLACKA-OOOOOOOOOOOO-OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Coldness. 

Blackness. 

Sinking. 

Fog enveloped everything.

~*~

The moment Wirt’s shoes hit the mud, he felt the ground give way beneath him. His arms shot out, grasping for anything to hold. 

The frog's croaking grew deafening, as if every amphibian in the pond had joined into a chant. 

"Wirt! It’s deeper than I thought!"

Wirt tried to speak, but his words were swallowed by water. Then the current stopped abruptly, and pushed him the other direction in a way that seemed conscious and purposeful for a river.

“Wirt, hold on!” 

Fingers brushed his arm as the frogs sang louder. Wirt clasped Greg's hand as his younger brother pulled him up. Wirt coughed and blinked the water from his eyes.

They were in a brown pond. The algae had torn into a jagged circle where they'd surfaced. Though it was still dark, the chill had died, being replaced with warmer air, as if it were late summer instead of mid fall.

Wirt shook himself off, and the water slid from his clothes easily, more like slime than liquid.

"A…are you okay…?" He stared at Greg, who was smiling and dancing knee-deep in the mud.

"Yeah! That was fun! I got my bullfrog, see?" He held the biggest, fattest frog Wirt had ever seen over his head, and stuffed it under his teapot.

Kerrok, it said sorrowfully, making Wirt's heart twinge a bit.

At first he wasn't sure why something about his brother looked off. Then he realized the implausibility of the teapot still being on his head after being swept downstream.

"Huh? Hey, did you realize—How do we still have our hats?" Wirt took his own from his head and held it out to examine. It hadn't been nearly so stable in the graveyard.

A sound cut through the air—a man's voice chanting:

O, we took a left when the map said right,

Now we're driftin' off where day is night.

The sign said "Destination," but I reckon it lied,

We're here in the void, where the stars've died.

There was a heavy crunch, like footsteps on brittle leaves. Wirt’s breath caught, and he turned to see a figure moving through the fog, a tall shape in a dark coat, carrying something long and heavy.

The compass points north, or was it west?

We might've failed, but we did our best.

We lost the plot when we took a fall,

Now it seems we're nowhere at all.

“Hello!” Greg called, waving. “Do you know the way back to the railroad we were trespassing on?”

"Shut up!" hissed Wirt, certain Greg was going to get them arrested.

The figure stopped. Wirt could see him more clearly now—a man, tall and broad, with a weathered face and eyes sunken deeply into their sockets. He carried an axe, the blade dark and stained. Most likely a Halloween costume, but wasn't it a little dangerous to be using a real axe if that was the case?

When the man raised a lantern to light his pale face, a chill returned to the air, but not due to the temperature. Wirt grabbed Greg’s shoulder and pulled him back.

The man’s bloodshot eyes settled on them, and his voice was a low rumble. “You two are lost.”

Wirt swallowed. “Yeah... We fell into the river, and now we’re... Well, we don’t know where we are. What city is this?"

The man just stared. Then he let out a dry laugh. “You two are more lost than you realize," he said. "Both are a bit young to be dead, I would think."

Wirt didn't know what to say to this, so he said nothing. He didn't know who this man was, but decided to wait for him to go away.

Greg, unfortunately, was too dumb to be shy. "Hey, are you gonna kill us with that axe? You look like a bad guy. Are you wearing a costume?"

"Greg!" Wirt kicked his ankle.

But the man didn't look offended. His expression was blank. Too blank. For a moment, it looked like he was broken.

"It's out of my hands to decide who lives and dies," he said finally. "Such are the whims of fate."

"Wirt, do you think that man has any candy for us?" Greg said loudly, as if the man wasn't standing right there. "Hey!" he turned and yelled. "TRICK OR TREAT!"

The man shook his head slowly. "There are no treats for you out here, boy. And I suggest you keep your voice down if you don't want to attract the beast." His eyes fell upon Wirt. "You should keep an eye on your brother. Goodnight to you." He turned to continue on his way. As he trudged off, Wirt saw a bundle of wood strapped to his back.

 AW-ROOH! AWWWW-ROOOOH!

Wirt and Greg both splashed backward at a howl that sounded all too near.

"It's the beast!" yelled Wirt. "We have to get out of here! Come on!"

He and Greg dashed out of the water. There was a slurping sound as Wirt's shoe was pulled off by quicksand. He didn't stop, keeping his pace the same as Greg's. Greg was at the age of being too heavy to carry, but slow enough that the best you could do was watch his back and pray he went fast enough.

"Quick! Over here!" said a voice.

Wirt and Greg turned through a grove to see a big broken-down house with a waterwheel looming before them. Hopefully inside would be safe. Safer, at least, then outside with a beast, at the bottom of a river, in the middle of a train track, or any of the other places they'd been that night.

What kind of thing makes you keep reading a fanfiction? Do you care more about style or substance?

Chapter 3 of The Great Wish Movie Rewrite is up on AO3. Read here: Link

The rewrite explores Magnifico as the protagonist with Asha and Amaya as villains, and Star Boy comes into the story later.

In this chapter, Magnifico holds an interview and meets Asha for the first time.

Blurb: It was noon the following day, and Amaya had promised to return within the hour with the most promising candidate she’d been able to find. Magnifico waited in his Wish Chamber, a hidden chamber inside his observatory that stored every wish he’d been given, but never yet granted. 

He reached out so one of the wishes alighted on his finger. The wisp flickered, leaving a trail like sparks of hope in its wake. The king admired the aspiration, and the sense of longing it radiated made his heart ache, like a tune somebody used to know, then forgot, and heard once again in the distance. He let the wish, light as dandelion fluff, ascend into the swirling cloud of others above him, where they danced in a radiant sky-revel, with stardust pirouettes and leaps.

Magnifico knew from poetry that wishes weren’t always what people should want, but rather, what they did want. They were mysterious flower buds that would unfold and unfold, and might never stop unfolding, until the world was overrun with the complications of them, unless someone did something to stop their consequences. 

His people needed to trust his wisdom, for he’d spent the last eighteen years studying the complexities of fate, and now recognised when the time was not right for a wish to unfold. The most challenging aspect of being a sorcerer was dealing with the unanswered wishes, because his subjects could fervently ask for something, believing it to be good and necessary, yet it was not always what was truly best for them. But why their wishes remained unanswered was a mystery to them. 

“I opened Pandora’s box by learning sorcery to grant wishes, but now I have a key, and can lock it up again when I need to,” the king told himself, though he was never at peace despite the fact. “But soon,” he leaned against a windowsill, “I will have someone to assist me, should anything go wrong. . .” 

Amaya had told him the candidate's name, and assured him that this time, she had complete confidence in her abilities. What had she said the candidate’s name was again? 

Gently, Magnifico traced the brass filigree of an old armillary sphere, its interlocking rings representing the orbits of celestial bodies. He studied its familiar patterns, remembering his own days as an apprentice, guided by his mentor's steady hand, and he listened to the faint, melodic hum of the wishes’ hopeful song. It filled him with peace.

A jarring shriek pierced through their tune. Magnifico spun so fast his sphere toppled off its perch on the table. 

“Someone is in my tower.”

Despite the horrific noise, the king made his expression calm, though a sinking sense of dread filled him as he feared for each delicate piece of equipment in his observatory. “I suppose this is the best candidate Amaya could find,” he thought sarcastically. “I should never have allowed our meeting to take place here. What was Amaya thinking? Well, I’ve got to give them a chance. . .”

But as Magnifico emerged from his Wish Chamber, the picture was worse than the one his imagination had leant him. A young woman had stumbled in with the grace of a toddler, and attempted to make contact with his book of forbidden magic, evident from enchanted wasps encircling her, which he’d conjured as a safety precaution, to materialise if anyone but him touched the glass case protecting the manuscript. 

The girl swatted her arms like a wild monkey, continuing to shriek as the enchanted wasps buzzed in a menacing symphony around her, and Magnifico felt a wave of pity, because she thought they could sting when they were only meant to confuse and to scare. He’d almost raised his voice to yell, but the girl was turning pink, clearly embarrassed, and Amaya had thought her worthy of coming here. There could still be virtue underneath, in spite of this careless accident. He mustered patience.

“No, no,” he laughed, making his presence known as he reentered his observatory. “Asha, is it? That book is forbidden.” Though he hurried forward, he maintained a calm composure. “Now hold still. I’ve got it.” As he raised his hands to summon the swarm, he tried to make light of her mistake. “You can’t have known, but I put, ahem, a spell on the glass guarding this book. It is actually very, very dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Then why would you have it?” Asha, still waving her arms, sounded as if she was going to cry. “I only wanted to touch the etchings around the glass because they were pretty.” 

She was so worked up she slipped, and almost kicked King Magnifico in the face just as he’d gathered all the wasps into his hands. Before they could force their way from his grasp, he called up all the magic he could, and shot them back at the case, which they melted into, becoming nothing but ornate carvings once again.

Magnifico sighed as he shut the case, then he rubbed his hands off on his robes. “A king must be prepared for everything. I hope there will never be a time this book needs to be used. Are you all right?”

“No,” said Asha, in what sounded like a whine.

Magnifico was going to overlook this, but then Asha ploughed on in a show-offish sort of ramble, “I mean yes. And I understand if you think I’m, like, totally weird and you want me to leave right now and never show my face again.”

“That would certainly be for the best,” thought Magnifico, but Amaya’s words made him curious whether Asha actually had some mysterious talent not obvious at first sight. “Let’s not over react,” he said instead. “You’re here; you’ve certainly got my attention.” He turned, and wriggled his fingers so a quill leapt into the air, ready to take notes on a bit of parchment he’d laid out on a desk. 

“So go ahead; tell me why you think you should be my apprentice.” He waited with hope in his heart.

“Well,” said Asha, in the tone of someone telling a joke to their friends, “I care too much.” Then she paused, as if waiting for a laugh.

“Ookay,” said Magnifico, as hope packed its bags and took a one way trip from his heart. He waited for her to say something else, anything to imply she had some selfless intention, but she just continued staring, as if waiting for a reaction.

“That’s interesting,” said Magnifico finally.

“It’s my weakness,” she burst out, and looked so pleased with herself Magnifico thought she was going to laugh at her own incompetence.

“I see.”

“Figured I might as well get through all the bad stuff right up front,” she ruined her own joke by blabbering on too long. She was clearly used to being surrounded by a group of friends who laughed at everything she said, and was trying quite hard to be quirky.

“Fair enough.” Magnifico already couldn’t wait to send her away. This was not the way someone with common sense acted before the king. It reminded him far too much of eighteen years earlier, when no one had shown him any respect. But he would get through the rest of the interview for Amaya’s sake. He breathed out. “And your strengths? Do you have any?” 

“Glad you asked, I have many.” Asha brushed her box braids behind her ear, then pulled a vellum book from her pocket. “I’m a hard worker, and I help well, and I’m young and malleable, and I like to draw.” 

Magnifico grasped for something in all these cliches. “You like to draw?” he latched onto the most useful of these irrelevant skills. “And how long have you had this ability?”

At this, the first glimpse of sincerity appeared in Asha’s eyes, and she opened her book to detailed life gestures she’d sketched of goats and lambs. “A long time.” She flipped through more pages of life-like scribbles. “It’s something my father taught me,” she told the king with a proud smile.

When Asha said this, a distant, half forgotten memory stirred inside Magnifico, and he peered closer at the young woman's annoying face.

“I think I remember your father.”

“You do?”

“He was a philosopher, was he not? Had great magic running through his blood. Always warning people about the consequences of getting whatever your heart desires.”

Asha’s eyes glazed over at the last part, but she eagerly started talking about herself again. “Oh yeah. We used to climb that tree by the high ridge in the Hamlet, where I’m from, to look at the stars, and he said they were there to guide us.”

“Your father said a lot more than soft soap like that. He was a very wise man. Did you learn much about his philosophies?”

“Not really. After he got struck by lightning, he wasn’t able to take me out at night as much anymore. I used to want to make a wish that he would get better. But the electric shock left him with lots of burns, and his heart finally stopped one day.”

“I’m sorry. How old were you when he passed away?”

“I was twelve years old.”

Magnifico finally glimpsed something recognisable in Asha, so he attempted to dig a bit deeper.

“It’s not fair, is it?” he asked, taking a gamble as he searched her face for that sincerity again. “When I was young, I too suffered great loss.” He wasn't sure Asha would pay attention as the subject changed to something other than herself, but he went on, determined to finish, because whether she listened at this moment would decide everything. 

“Years ago, my entire family was killed by selfish, greedy thieves, and our lands were reduced to ashes,” he told her. “The devastation was beyond imagining. The streets, once bustling with life, were strewn with the bodies of those I once loved. Though the village I’d roamed was silent, I could still hear sobbing of ghosts, of my mother and my father, my brothers and sisters, and my friends. Not a day passes without the haunting thought: if only I had known sorcery then. . .” The king shuddered as the faces of his lost kin grew clear in his memories. He looked hard into Asha’s eyes. "It is for this reason, Asha, that the very foundation of this kingdom is built upon the belief that no one should ever experience the agony of watching their dreams crumble before their eyes. I vowed to create a haven where everyone would be safe, where the horrors of my past would never befall another.”

Magnifico paused to see whether she was listening.

Asha had finally stopped rocking back and forth, and looked contemplative. When the king stopped talking, she blinked. “You’re right,” she managed. “No one should live their life feeling the pain of that loss everyday.”

The king nodded. “Yes. Exactly. And that is why I do what I do.”

Asha’s voice was serious when she replied, “And that’s why I want to work for you.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, or his own good heart deceiving him, but at that moment, Magnifico was overwhelmed, and his heart melted a little. “Come with me,” he said, and led Asha toward the tower’s back wall, where he raised an arm so the stones shifted and slid apart, and his Wish Chamber revealed itself.

“Wow,” said Asha as blue light poured over her, and the domed chamber shone upon her in all its heavenly glory.

“You’re one of the few I’ve ever invited in here.” Magnifico led her inside with sweeping strides. “But if I am to trust you, I need you to understand just how important the wishes of Rosas are.” He glanced at his guest, and was pleased to see her expression was properly impressed, her eyes wide, and her mouth shut. “You can feel them, can’t you?” 

“I can,” she whispered. “They’re, uh, everything.”

“That’s exactly it. These wishes are everything.” Magnifico paused to let her take in the brilliance of them.

“I didn’t expect them to feel so alive.” Asha reached out toward the tangible essence of someone’s deepest aspiration: a woman cradling a violin in her arms inside the orb. She shivered as the woman created the beautiful music of someone who’d put in countless hours of practice, each pluck of a string evoking a yearning that transcended the material world around them. 

Magnifico laughed a deep laugh at Asha’s first impression. “They fill you with so much longing, don’t they? But that one would do no good to grant. Ambition untempered by effort stifles the growth of character. Denying someone the trials and triumphs of their journey robs them of the refinement of their soul. To grow in virtue is to become something more beautiful than even the most vibrant vibrations of violin strings.”

Finish reading: Link

Excerpt 2:

Something tall and green swayed under the beating sun. If one looked closely, they might have thought it was a preying mantis or circus performer. Some might have even said it looked like a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole stuffed in greasy green alligator skin.

The truth was that it was an old man who was a particular shade of green standing over a sprout. The only other color he wore was in the form of an extremely fluffy pink scarf. It was a good thing he didn't need food anymore, and when he slept, just sat down on the tree stump behind him. Each morning, he would stand up before the sun, so that when it rose, its light would be filtered through him.

The old man could be observed following this routine for exactly eight months, a young boy bringing him supplies every so often. 

There were moments when the old man feared they were losing the battle. A week of cloudy skies meant no sunlight at all, and the young sprout drooped as if in despair. "Patience," the boy would say, reminding Once-ler of the very lesson he was still learning. "Patience, and we’ll get there."

When a sudden frost threatened to kill the sapling, Once-ler and the boy worked through the night, covering it with their own bodies and whatever scraps they could find. "We’re so close now," the boy whispered, teeth chattering. "It can’t all be for nothing."

The routine of watering the seed with butterfly milk every four hours, even through the night, began to wear on Once-ler’s frail body. His old bones creaked and his muscles burned. But he didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop. Each drop of milk was like a promise—a promise to the Lorax, to himself, and to the valley he’d betrayed.

Things continued this way until the sprout grew into a sapling of three feet. Then the job was complete. Although it wouldn't be a full grown Truffula for at least a hundred years, it was at least likely to survive till then. And if it didn't… Well, a hundred other sprouts had a fighting chance.

Crackling lights filled the sky, akin to a firework show or the northern lights. If one squinted they could see an orange speck growing bigger and bigger in their midst.

Once-ler turned his eyes up, and smiled.

Their presence was subtle at first—a rustle in the underbrush, a distant hum, the flutter of wings in the fading light. Then an array of creatures emerged from the fog, their steps dissolving the smog as they went. 

Birds of vibrant plumage like orange peacocks soared overhead, leaving blue streaks in the gray. Sunlight poured through their trails, anointing the earth in gold where snails crawled on their bellies and toads walked on their hind legs. A butterfly with spots like a cow alighted Once-ler's shoulder, and the old man smiled.

Where ancient trees had once stood tall, the barren landscape was suddenly filled again with life. Colorful rabbits and squirrels scurried through the underbrush, while elk roamed the open field. A reddish bear the size of a child's toy wrapped its arm around Once-ler's leg and purred as the humming-fish sang in a soothing choir.

It would take a long time, longer than Once-ler would live, until the valley was fully back to the way it had once been. But it would be someday. The boy who looked like Once-ler would be able to appreciate it soon enough. He had never asked what his name was…

A throat cleared itself behind him. Once-ler turned around to look at the Lorax whose feet hung over the UNLESS stones where he was seated.

"Thank you for restoring the light. Where once was dark, now all is bright. While time rolled on, seeds were sown. A whisper of hope is being grown. Thank you, my friend, for starting anew. Truth be told, I missed you too."

GUYS, IT'S THE LAST CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE WHO READ THIS, LEFT KUDOS, COMMENTS, BOOKMARKS, ETC!!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE THE GREAT LORAX REWRITE IS FINALLY COMPLETE!

Excerpt:

He spent his days staring at the tally marks he'd scratched into the walls. They sprawled unevenly, some deep gouges, others mere scratches. He counted them again and again, fingers tracing the jagged lines, as he mumbled under his breath. "One... two... three... four..." His voice faltered and he started over. "One… two… thr—no, wait." He could only pray his count remained slightly accurate as the years went by.

Once he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of green in the broken shard of metal that hung from the wall. He whipped his head around, only to see his own reflection glaring back at him. But it wasn’t him—it was that other him. The green, twisted version, eyes hollow and black like two bottomless pits. 

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Why won’t you just leave me alone?" The reflection only smiled, a slow, creeping grin before crawling slowly away.

At night, the walls breathed. That’s what it sounded like to Once-ler—a long, wheezing inhale, a brittle exhale. The wind rushed through the gaps with ghostly arms that reached for him. He woke up, shivering, convinced he heard humming-fish singing just outside. 

"Hush! Quiet, they’re back!" he whispered to himself. Pressing his ear to the walls, the cold metal bit into his skin. All he heard was the wind. He slumped back down, knees pulled to his chest. "They were here," he murmured, rocking back and forth. "I know they were here…"

Desperate for routine, every morning, Once-ler reached for the rope he’d rigged to a bucket. It wasn’t for food or water—those needs had faded—he pulled it up just to see if the world had sent him something, anything. Most days, it came up empty, swinging in the breeze like a useless pendulum. Once or twice, he found a few broken pieces of old advertisements. He kept them, not because they were useful, but because they were better than nothing.

The gloves fused to his hands were another enemy he could never beat. They itched and burned, the skin underneath painful and raw. He scratched at the seams until his fingers bled, trying to tear them off. However, the fabric wouldn’t budge. "Get it off, get it off!" he screamed. He tore at his flesh until exhaustion took him.

The days twisted and knotted together into an indecipherable net, ensnaring him. Once-ler sat in his corner, and all he could think was, "Willingly. I chose all of it willingly." 

He wondered if the Lerkim would be his tomb. Or if, by some cruel twist of fate, he’d live forever within its rusted walls, alone with the ghosts of choices that could never be unmade.

The only other thing left to do was the thing he did most of all: Contemplate the meaning of the stones. "Unless." Unless what? he wondered.

Unless he changed his ways?

Unless he somehow escaped?

Unless he said he was sorry?

Unless the humming-fish had been trying to warn him?

Unless the Truffula trees were still out there, watching?

Unless the wind has been whispering the answer all along?

Unless his reflection knew the truth and he didn’t?

Unless the rain spoke a language he couldn't hear?

Unless the Lorax never left and was invisible?

Unless everything that was happening was a dream?

"Unless," Once-ler whispered again, as his brain overheated with puzzlement. "Unless... I was never meant to understand."

(Read the rest on ao3).

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I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS DONE! For over I a decade I would see people complain about this movie and how it could be better. I would see posts about how people were going to rewrite it, but they never really did beyond summaries. Now I've finally finished this, so my life is complete. This is the longest fanfiction that I took the most seriously finishing. Thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. that I didn't know if it would get.

Me and my coauthor on this account are hoping to create more rewrites after this. Currently, we're almost done with the first draft of a rewrite of Disney's Wish. We're aiming to start releasing it around Christmas, depending on how things go.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READ THIS STORY! Please let me know if you have any feedback about how you liked this rewrite. We'll take it into account for how we handle rewrites in the future.

Cursed Child Rewrite

Hey, I was thinking that for our next rewrite, maybe we could do the Cursed Child... I remember being really disappointed when it came out, and the plot about the time turner and Cedric making no sense! And also wishing it was a regular novel instead of a play, and that it didn't turn all the characters into characters that didn't act like themselves...

Would this be something anyone would be interested in??

Chapter 8 is up!

EXCERPT:

He'd finally become such a joke to the townsfolk, it seemed they'd entirely forgotten he was human.

Instead of just tomatoes, the grocer volunteered wheelbarrows of spoiled produce that some teenagers mixed with glass and rocks. A particularly well aimed stone knocked out a tooth as he was belting out his favorite jingle:

"The Thneed is good, the Thneed is grea—YOW!"

Once-ler usually didn't stop for anything, but the taste of blood made him drop his guitar on his foot. This hurt even worse, so he sprang up and down. The guitar bounced onto the concrete while the crowd laughed and cheered.

Once-ler didn't get a chance to see if the instrument had broken, because, in a fit of enthusiasm, the mean little girl with red hair ensured this was the case. She smashed it on the ground with the second worst noise Once-ler had ever heard.

A tomato landed in his stunned face, but he didn't even feel it. He just watched open-mouthed as fruits and vegetables pelted him and the girl stomped on the pieces, giggling with her parents who stood back and watched.

"Alright, sweetie, that's enough, we have to get to Grandma's house," the mother finally told her. She smiled and pulled out a big bag of chocolate-coated pretzels for her daughter as they walked away.

Once-ler's last shred of optimism finally evaporated. After his father had passed away, the guitar had been the only good memory he'd had from home.

"THAT'S IT!" he roared. "I've had enough!" He stormed from the gazebo with tears in his eyes.

Only the baker looked slightly sympathetic. She twisted a strand of curly brown hair around her finger as he strode past.

"Is this really the way to treat a stranger?!" he heard her yell at the grocer.

"Oh, come on, Norma, he's just a self-centered out-of-towner." The grocer sounded slightly abashed.

Once-ler turned to see Norma stomp her foot. "I know he is, and I know that piece of junk he's selling looks like a wadded up piece of bubblegum with hairs stuck in it, but you just gotta understand! Homeless mentally ill folks need to be shown charity..."

Her words just infuriated Once-ler more. "My family was right. I quit!" He ripped the Thneed from his neck, and accidentally whipped the baker in the face as he threw it away. It knocked off her glasses, which fell to the ground and shattered. Oops.

He walked away faster. Luckily his long legs took him back to the forest before anyone could call the police.

which movie you think was wasted the most

The Lorax(2012) or Wish(2023)

also explain why

Great question! We've actually been really into rewriting both of these at the same time and see a lot of parallels. These two movies both have extremely sympathetic villains and good guys who seem too mean/bratty. Both movies tend to split up the narratives with too many unnecessary characters at the expense of the interesting ones, and both have a lot of plot holes. Right now I'm having fun releasing the Lorax Rewrite, but I'm also very into working on the first draft of the Wish Rewrite. There's so much lore, character development, and moral themes to fill in with both of them. Each rewrite is a unique, interesting experience, and I get really into whatever I'm working on in the moment!

Chapter 8 is up!

EXCERPT:

He'd finally become such a joke to the townsfolk, it seemed they'd entirely forgotten he was human.

Instead of just tomatoes, the grocer volunteered wheelbarrows of spoiled produce that some teenagers mixed with glass and rocks. A particularly well aimed stone knocked out a tooth as he was belting out his favorite jingle:

"The Thneed is good, the Thneed is grea—YOW!"

Once-ler usually didn't stop for anything, but the taste of blood made him drop his guitar on his foot. This hurt even worse, so he sprang up and down. The guitar bounced onto the concrete while the crowd laughed and cheered.

Once-ler didn't get a chance to see if the instrument had broken, because, in a fit of enthusiasm, the mean little girl with red hair ensured this was the case. She smashed it on the ground with the second worst noise Once-ler had ever heard.

A tomato landed in his stunned face, but he didn't even feel it. He just watched open-mouthed as fruits and vegetables pelted him and the girl stomped on the pieces, giggling with her parents who stood back and watched.

"Alright, sweetie, that's enough, we have to get to Grandma's house," the mother finally told her. She smiled and pulled out a big bag of chocolate-coated pretzels for her daughter as they walked away.

Once-ler's last shred of optimism finally evaporated. After his father had passed away, the guitar had been the only good memory he'd had from home.

"THAT'S IT!" he roared. "I've had enough!" He stormed from the gazebo with tears in his eyes.

Only the baker looked slightly sympathetic. She twisted a strand of curly brown hair around her finger as he strode past.

"Is this really the way to treat a stranger?!" he heard her yell at the grocer.

"Oh, come on, Norma, he's just a self-centered out-of-towner." The grocer sounded slightly abashed.

Once-ler turned to see Norma stomp her foot. "I know he is, and I know that piece of junk he's selling looks like a wadded up piece of bubblegum with hairs stuck in it, but you just gotta understand! Homeless mentally ill folks need to be shown charity..."

Her words just infuriated Once-ler more. "My family was right. I quit!" He ripped the Thneed from his neck, and accidentally whipped the baker in the face as he threw it away. It knocked off her glasses, which fell to the ground and shattered. Oops.

He walked away faster. Luckily his long legs took him back to the forest before anyone could call the police.