Fiction

You can call me Buddy. Last name’s not important, ‘least not for this story anyway.

Boom. The explosion rocked the entire ship, and it knocked me off of my cot and over my shit hole.

“What is your name?” It was the middle of the night.

Dinner time. The guards slid a plate of slop under our cell doors.

His eyes were emotionless, perhaps just confused or lost.

New roommates. A few guards escorted them into the cell across from mine.

This wasn’t how I planned it.

I wanted him dead, and I had him in my grip by the neck.

It’s been fifty-seven years since I last went trick-or-treating.

The first leaf had fallen and Spencer found himself pouncing on it like prey.