The black asphalt is slick with ice, the cargo bay and railroad space-tracks, unloading hollow vacuums, no oxygen tanks, the frozen and hibernating amputated arms and legs, a brisk travel pod to the medical sick-bay where I live, the howling Eli's outside banging their food bowls to the beat of their own drum, the sun in winter looks like a pale goblin's eyeball in a bloody plate.
The idiots end up in electrified cages, there is no escape, you're collared, branded, given feeder food like a bird, it's some kind of grain that is barely edible, you're marinated, purified water is in abundance and then you are eventually cooked and eaten, sometimes turned into a liquid food paste people take with them during exploratory missions to terraform new planets. Commoners eat to live, the wealthy enjoy steak just like they have for centuries before the Earth became radioactive. They house the dullards next to the sick and dying for a reason, we hear your cries and barbaric shouts all night long, it drowns out our own wailing and agony before we end up as dinner for some rich family, I have artificial and defective organs, delicious delicacies they cannot eat. The lab created people don't taste good in case you are wondering, we're bitter like harsh chemicals, meanwhile you're red as meat. I watch you every day from my sick-room window.
I know your secret, Eli. You can find meanness in the least and most meek of creatures if you beat them or torture them enough, I'm sorry that someone did that to you.