[ WP ] A man is banished to the wilderness for 20 years . Write his diary entries for his first and last days of exile .

**Day One in Paradise** 
 
 **March 14th 2649** 
 
 They wanted me dead. I can still feel the warmth of their gazes on the back of my neck; the animosity of the public—these so-called civilized people just begging to have my head on a pike. “ Animal ”. That ’ s the word the reporter said, her words rolling off of her tongue and sounding sweet as honey. 
 She ’ s not wrong. 
 
 I sit in my cabin staring through the window counting the stars as we near the warp to Nibiru II. I can ’ t help but take frequent pauses as I write this entry; thoughts of the Hunt thrill me, turning what is supposed to be my punishment into quite possibly the best vacation I ’ ve ever taken. Sure, the office gave us their free weeks on Neptune with its waterslides and gambling, but for me? A murderer? A hunter? These things just wouldn ’ t do. I hunted my first time on one of those trips: a gorgeous blonde not a day older than 19. 
 
 They say the beasts on N2 are beautiful but they only send us convicts to meet them. “ Large ” and “ hungry ”, they say; they think turning dangerous game hunts into a team building exercise will rehabilitate us. And maybe they ’ re right. Dr. Sven seems to think so, either that or we get eaten and the problem fixes itself. And we have to coexist for twenty nice. Long. Years. No guards, just us with a slew of arrows, a few crossbows and death waiting around every corner. 
 
 The stars here twist and bend into the warp location. I can relate. 
 
 I killed because I wanted to know myself, and that is what the world could never understand. The texts we read in school from the time before we went into the clouds told of countless wars and how warfare made men; how the act of physical labor and hunting for one ’ s food made a person into a man. But a war in this era? I ’ d think it was a fabrication for the theater if I hadn ’ t experienced my own war first-hand. People like me used to run countries. We used to dictate political structures and we amassed untold wealth. Now? Me and people like me? Empty inside. Void of compassion. Thank conscience I stumbled upon the Marquis de Sade ’ s works before the data purge. The last remaining Libertine suffocated by the outdated nonsense of utopians. 
 
 It ’ s gotten warm now. How I loathe going into a warp well. Hot, nauseating and suffocating under restraints: just like back home. I can see the trees even as we hover above N2. I wonder what organic oxygen is like. 
 
 **Last Day. ** 
 
 Hello council! You ’ ll be glad to know that I ’ ve made it, and I ’ m sure you ’ re ready to get us back on that ship and back into producing for the colony. You may come and find us at your leisure. 
 
 
 Just follow the trail of blood. 
 
 I hope to see you soon! 

