Ben Waggoner
Bio
When I was a kid, our television broke. My dad replaced it by reading good books aloud. He cultivated my appetite for stories of adventure and intrigue, of life and love. I now write stories I think he would enjoy, if he were here.
Stories (31/0)
One Fin Florida Day
Zach snarled and hopped across the warm, sugar-white sand to sit on a low post. He tossed his backpack toward one of the Adirondack chairs he had dragged out to what he considered his own private section of beach. Then he plucked gingerly at the sandspurs embedded in the ball of his foot before glaring back along his trail to locate their source. He would find the demon weed before dusk, and it would meet its well-deserved end in flames. Cabbage palms rustled in the breeze as he transported the prickly grass seeds, loosely cupped in his hand, and dumped them on the growing pile of fallen twigs and driftwood within the wide stone circle. He then grabbed the iron poker that lived next to the fire pit and retraced his steps to find the cursed plant.
By Ben Waggoner3 years ago in Fiction
Robot Amnesia
I froze with one foot planted ahead of the other along the narrow game trail. Few rays of sunlight broke through the deep green canopy to play across the undergrowth to either side of me. Except for a single woodpecker, the entire forest fell silent and seemed to listen with me. Had I heard a voice or simply imagined it? I waited, sampling the aroma of the pine needles I had just crushed.
By Ben Waggoner3 years ago in Futurism