by Mr. Schprock
It was supposed to be a lot like Earth, but right off you noticed the little differences, like how breathing seemed more labored, as if in a high altitude. The trees looked like trees I guess, but not the trees I grew up with. The sky always changed colors, but never the right ones.
Collins spit out the candy bar he was chewing. "No wonder no one ever eats here!" he said. "It tastes like crap now!"
"Come on" I said, laughing, "let's go talk to him."
We had finally located Henderson in a tiny village several kilometers from the entry port. People lose their identities in this place of course, but their essences remain traceable. As we approached his domicile, Henderson came out to greet us. He had been waiting and boy did he look relaxed. No vacation in the world could have given him that look.
Henderson started right in. "It was Maroney all right," he said, something we knew but couldn't prove. "The evidence is in a locker at the bus station. The autopsy should have turned up the key."
"I swallowed it, you dope."
"Right," I said. Cute.
"So did it hurt?" Collins asked him.
"Ha! I said, 'don't miss!' The expression on Maroney's face!"
"When I die," Collins told me later, "remind me to steer clear of this spot," meaning Henderson's village.
"Collins, you just worry about what kind of deal you need to cut to get into heaven," I replied with a smirk.