I’m doomed

 

I’m doomed

The big goon eyes me like I got two green heads

Just like he does.

Since he’s been pounding rocks here on Territ Seven’s third moon as part of a life sentence for god knows what, anything, even a human like me looks good to him.

They say the way to survive in any jail is to pick a fight with the toughest prisoner right off.

But I’m scared once the goon gets his four arms and four legs around me, I’m doomed.

So I just keep my distance, hoping that with an only six month stretch, I might just get out of this alive.

The guards, who are neither goons nor human, lay odds I won’t, and decide to hedge their bets by bunking me in with the goon where it’s easier to get its mitts on me.

So as I said before, I’m doomed.