It was a dark and stormy night when our ship crashed. The rain drops glistened in the fires like a lit cigarette. Only a handful of us survived, but we made camp the best we could. Sherry handled the tents, old Joe the wood. Six others scavenged supplies. Me? I just sat there, wondering what ol’ Lady Luck will do to me next.
Soon after that, the killings started. One by one, our companions disappeared, like my ex-wives after a night of hard drinking. Aliens did it, I’d wager. Too grisly for a man, even less so for a dame.
I barely escaped that moon; but ever since then I’ve wondered what it was all for, the guilt weighing on my soul like an empty pocket with a bar tab.
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