Space Games

Chapter 2: Welcome to Shanks R Us

After a lengthy time of travel (insert Dumbledore voice here) inside of a prison shuttle, I am stationed in the welcoming area of Galactica.

"Stand in front of the U-Scan." the Potterian's dull voice drills into my head.

"I can't." I answer.

The alien's green eyes lazily drift over to me.

I run my hands down the putrid yellow jumpsuit.

"This color doesn't flatter my curves."

"Ma'am, no one looks good in it. That's why it's a prison jumpsuit." he says flatly.

"Can I have a different color?"

"Stand in front of the U-Scan."

"Let me fix my hair first,"

"FUCKING SHIT THAT IS A BRIGHT ASS LIGHT!" I yell as the bright flash of the U-Scan assaults my eyes.

"Please proceed to the briefing area, Miss Kitty."

I hold my eyes dramatically as I make my way to the sliding glass door with the word BRIEFING projected onto it. The door swishes open and I stumble into a cold, unforgiving room. A bored-looking woman with brown hair pulled into a tight bun sits at a metal desk inside. Her plain brown eyes drift lazily up to me as I enter with my mustard uniform. Her nails drift to the tablet before and she waits disinterestedly as I make my way to her.

"Babe, don't tell me you wear that bun to work everyday," I say.

"Name?" she inquires. Her voice is soft and robotic.

"Buns are never in. Don't believe those fashion trends set by popular girls. Buns are a terrible look," I continue.

"Name?" she says again.

I purse my lips and give her bun the stink eye.

"Kitty Night."

She types something into the tablet and then taps it once. Immediately, the doors to my right open and a man with silver hair and two other men who look like their arms are stuffed with melons enter.

The woman looks up at the man.

"Mr. Schaffer," she acknowledges.

"Prisoner?" he answers.

"Prisoner 45769, legal name is Kitty Night. Age 21. Distinguishing marks: dream catcher tattoo on rib-cage and words 'Kiss it' on left buttock. Previous charges include breaking and entering, theft, trespassing, and indecent exposure."

The silver haired man turns to me.

"You Terrans seem to cause a lot of trouble," he comments.

I flutter my eyelashes at him and give him a shark smile.

"Bring her in, boys." he says as he turns disinterestedly away from me.

X

DEAR DIARY: PRISON SUCKS. SPACE PRISON SUCKS MORE. THE FOOD IS SHIT (SERIOUSLY, DON'T TRY IT), THE PEOPLE ARE WEIRD AS FUCK (LIKEWISE).

"Are you writing on the table with milk?" Bunny asks.

Bunny has four eyes and fluffy horns. A Bullarian. Bunny is also my only friend. The other prisoners twinkle their spacey eyes at me and flash tentacles and spines. Too gaudy for me, bro.

"Yessir," I respond, continuing my diary on the hard plastic table. Space loves plastic, man.

"Nice diary." he snorts.

It's been 90 days since I first stumbled into that damn uniform (which is stained with blood and vomit now- food and fights).

How's space prison, you ask?

Dandy. I get a cell to myself, a nice shiny toilet, some people to stare at through my Invincible Glass Divider (holds against even the toughest Ragian- huge and explosive-not to mention, hairy). Every day is a day full of eating, playing chess with an alien, snorkeling in Dorothy's slime, and sleeping. Nothing exciting. The fun comes every other day, when the guards line us up and hit us with the highest voltage of electricity that can be administered without causing death. They play Baby One More Time while they do it. There is also the regular flogging for petty crime within the walls. Pretty dark shit, yo.

"Prisoner 45679?"

Bun-woman is standing before me. The others scuffle back in a crowd of snorts and squeals.

"That's me, sugarbuns."

"You're being released."

Bunny huffs. I stand and sweep my short hair over my shoulder.

"What?"

Normally, I'd be chomping at the bit to get the hell out of prison. But you don't get released from space prison unless you're dead or found innocent. Harsh shit out here.

"Come with me."

I turn to Bunny and blow kisses.

"Take my love with you, babies," I croon behind me as I follow the woman's bun through the crowd of mustard uniforms. She is surprisingly brave as she wades through them. There might be something more to this woman than her plain bun and suit.