Thank you for the read! Depending on the kind of feedback I get I may continue this or I may not. Comments and Critiques are welcomed alike! Thanks again! I don't own District 9 or any of its characters...but dosen't hurt to dream.
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I feel a sense of self-worth wash over me as I solemnly watch the ship in the distance come to life. Despite my extensive injuries, for the first time in days I feel well. I feel lighthearted, hopeful, determined. Listening to the hum of my ill doings rush off into the horizon—I feel I've done well.
Unexpectedly, the patter of feet swims into my surroundings—a steady approach. I hear the quick cock of a gun. The pitter stops just behind me. I know he's here for personal reasons. I slowly flop onto my back to face my tormentor. I've never realized just how tall this man is. I lie gawking at the merciless figure looming over my person. Our eyes meet. I swear I can see my death.
" No wonder everyone wants a piece of you. Half-breed!" he spits the last word, as he looks me over. I lie there on my back, spent, listening to his scornful mocking. I have no fight left in me, and pathetically I feel I've done all I can. I have no regrets leaving now. I silently look up at him, patiently waiting for some sort of monologue, something degrading. Mirroring my demeanor, he raises his gun level to my head, taking one more disdainful look at the monstrosity on the ground before him. It hurts; I understand that I am not worth his time, not even for a mock-goodbye. I never have been.
In my sympathetic musings I've failed to notice the gathering crowd lingering about in the late afternoon shadows. All too quickly, they step forth from beneath their cloaks in unison, surrounding us both. I feel the irony of the situation compound. Without warning the circle of prawns lunge at my former ally, sweepingly tearing him limb from limb. Frozen, I watch the scene unfold. I am mortified; in all of my years working as a field agent I have never before witnessed prawns devouring human flesh. Fearing a gruesome death I instinctually begin to crawl away.
They've finished and are taking notice of me. I can sense them. My vision corkscrews from the exaggerated stench of blood and I halt my desperate creep and turn to watch them surround me once more.
They regard me with disgust, like some ill-begotten animal, like something to be purged of. They see me as the decrepit twin that is to be fed to the pigs come morning. I bow my head away in shame—they have every right. I—this body, is a mockery of Mother Nature! I am sickened to even lay eyes on myself.
The air feels charged around me…I see a child cowering behind a much larger prawn. Both look at me with unease. Christopher? Are you watching this? Resuming my slow retreat I drag myself—open sores and all, across the dirt. I make about three yard before my joints lock and I lie still, disheveled. I grievance, a sob creeps up on me--no one's offered to help me yet! They all stand at arms reach just watching. I am like a virus—none want to touch me, but each is intrigued. I try again for a bit more distance; I know I'm overstressing my tattered body. I gain a few feet then the corners of my vision begin to grow dark.
Unconsciousness, I let it take me.