It isn’t fun being dragged behind a car.
Just in case you ever wondered, or planned on doing it. Don’t! Half of the time you try to dodge stones, sharp rocks; the other half you try not to swallow too much dirt and fumes.
No, I didn’t do it voluntary. I’m not that crazy, despite the gossip – I swear. So, how did I get myself tied up and dragged behind a car, you ask?
Numb nuts and bad luck. I guess.
Mostly it’s venting.
This time I’m the odd one out, not fast enough hiding in the mines. Since the murders started, everybody is tense and paranoid. All strangers are on some sort of black list of hatred. Everyone gets a going-over. Just for good measures.
Fishing for information, some call it that. Even the police, I bet. So desperate! Five dead, and no clues, no motives, no suspects… The news plastered with photos of the corpses. That is something to tear one’s hair out…
You know, the lunar mines aren’t peaceful.
I know the adds, yes I’ve seen them. I’ve heard the politicians too.
The mines aren’t quiet places, more like the opposite. But they are the only choice, if you want to escape the colony. They’re for scum and prisoners. They are hell, for most species…
But they are home too. Well, not exactly, just a place to stay – for anyone who’s different.
Different from them.
Different from standardizes humans and human clones.
These mines are home for a lot of aliens, mutants and hybrids. I’m no exception. But I may be the only one here having a clue, who the murderer is. Which makes me… dunno. Bait? Possible future victim?
But these morons won’t notice. Lucky me. Bad lucky me…
“Hey! What should we do with this lil’ scum, Franky? Runt, on your feet!” I get lifted and pulled onto my feet. “Sticky. I feel so dirty now. Hehehe” The rope falls too a little circular heep round my feet.
“Don´t waste too much water on him. He just needs to talk, not to swim.” The guy talking must be Franky. He steps closer and sucks on his electric cig.
“So, runt. You’re the culprit, aren’tcha?” He grins. I don’t like that grin.
“No-” It is futile to talk to them. They want blood. It’ll hurt.
“Sure you are. Who else would be? If you confess, we’ll be gentle. I promise.” Franky leans closer, glares at me. It’s a lot of hate burning its way out.
My only chance, being stubborn. “No. I’m not. Did nothing wrong”
They answer. Punching and kicking. Their answers rain down on me.