|copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields|
“Quick she’s gone. Get up there”, I urge him on.
“Great, you have opposable thumbs, yet I climb the trees,” he growls, “Why?”
“Because you are a midget Wookiee that was supposed to protect me,” I reply feeling a tantrum coming on. Dear Lord not another one, my vocal chords hurt intensely later on, I poop in my pants and that human shoves a pacifier in my mouth. Next time I choose the life forms.
Abandoned in this primitive planet we await the promised rescue craft.
I hear a distant shout, “Mom that crazy dog is up the tree again.”
Witten for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100