The holidays were always problematic here in the Plutonic Zone. Folks expected a feast, but you couldn’t feed them mutant turkey. Stan the Retired Lieutenant had passed around a written notice forbidding the use of the two-headed birds as people food. So annoying.
She woke early and began to creep through the old garden, collecting colorful pebbles for her soup. Some of them had little bugs clinging to them, which would add protein. After a while, her wrist began to ache from the bitter cold, and she wished she had worn the gloves she’d taken from that dead spaceman.
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