Chewy Surprise

On the new Death Star they breed Palpatines and make fun of Jedi. When you catch a glimpse of the main hangar your stomach and heart play leap-frog. Stormtroopers escort you, bound at the hands, to your waiting prison cell. They don't care about you. They don't see you as a threat, or a challenge. They just subdue you because you were there when it went down.

Luke, in all his crustiness, always continued to exude raw Jedi power, and old man Solo let his kids fly the Falcon this time. He was busy with ship repairs. He couldn't stand to let the fastest ship in the galaxy take that permanent scrap nap. It was his baby. His mistress. Sometimes even his wife was jealous.

You consider your first impression of the lovely princess. She jabbered and jabbed. She insulted you and everyone you knew, but you could see the sparkle in Han's eye, and Luke's incestuous gazes. You didn't judge them for that. After all, who were you to question the psyches of humans? Just another furred primitive in the civilized galaxy.

You had no love for politics, no concern for the plight of the struggling nations, until the empire came to your world, and they took you from your home, and trained you to fix their deadly machines, and just when you'd given up on the human race you met a man who changed your mind and softened your heart. You met Han Solo. The name reverberates; the moment of his demise torn free from time, and looped inside your mind. You're trapped between four metal walls with it.

More troopers come through the door, escort you once more down long narrow corridors. You've lost the will to fight them. The time is soon approaching when the thoughts will escape your mind, and then you can return home, one with the force, and see the sun rise one last time over the trees.

They shove you into the former emperor's throne room. An unusual surprise. What do they want with you, when they've already killed the Jedi?

Palpatine sits on his throne in front of the large round window. Beside him is himself, and he again on the other side. They take turns speaking, not so much to each other, as to themselves.

"Did it just get stinky in here?"

"Smells like someone needs a bath."

The Palpatines laugh at their own jokes.

You watch them quietly.

"What will you do now that your smuggler has died?"

"Who will bathe you?"

"Who will clothe you?"

Ignore their ignorant taunts. The stars offer solace. Home is on the way. Maybe one of those ancient clones will end it quick with lightsaber precision.

Staring out the window, you spot a ship flying toward you. It becomes the center of your focus. It becomes the Millennium Falcon. As it gets close you see yourself behind the console. You envision yourself flying the ship into the back of Palpatine's head. You envision yourself... drinking a beer?

"Is it even listening to us?"

"It's staring out the window."

"Perhaps you'd like a tour of the station's outer hull?"

"You can take a walk along the trenches that X-wings fly."

"You can ride out through the exhaust port."

"Look at me, you stupid wookiee!"

They wouldn't know it from your other expressions, but at that moment you smile. Then the ship drives through the window, gathers Palpatine's throne on its square brown grill and drives him into the long, cylindrical shaft in the floor.

"Not again!" he screams as he plummets.

The other two Palpatines are sucked out into space.

You grip a rail as the throne room loses pressure. You recognize the wookiee that jumps out of his bulky gray freighter. His dreaded locks of fur identify him quite plainly. With a grunt he discards his empty beer can in time to grab onto something.

The can spins in space and is crushed on the way out the broken window.

You growl your surprise to see him here, at this moment. He points, guffaws, and restates the cosmic coincidence that brought you together in your final moments of existence.

You sigh with relief that you can die with a smirk on your face. Who would've thought a drunk wookiee would accidentally save the galaxy?

Then the room turns inside out, and you let yourself go. Whatever happens next, you can forget your concerns. Out here in space there's nothing to worry for. There's nothing to breathe. There's nothing at all. Death is no longer a speculation. It's a fact. It's liberation.