Michael Boettcher
Bio
Stories (3/0)
Rogue
Rogue 1 Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. No one can hear you fart either, and that seems like a good trade-off to me. Those government weenies could've made this sausage casing they call a ship more comfortable, no doubt. But better tight than big enough for a co-pilot. They quickly recognized that I don't play well with others.
By Michael Boettcher 2 years ago in Fiction
In Short Supply
John Templeton was enjoying the smell of his brewing coffee. That aroma, as well as that of baking cookies reminded him of his grandmother’s house. He had spent portions of his childhood living with his grandmother. She would finish half a pot of Folgers before John had even woken. Unlike the delicious cookies she baked for him on occasion, coffee wasn’t completely pleasurable. The taste nauseated him. For John it was one of life’s great mysteries. How could anything that smelled that delicious taste so bad. Every few years the smell would so intoxicate him that he would have to give it another try. He was always disappointed.
By Michael Boettcher 2 years ago in Fiction
Long and Graceful
Trey looked out the windshield at a deserted boat ramp. Why had his mother had driven here instead of to swim class? Trey wouldn’t have minded skipping class, Violet was the one who loved to swim, but something was wrong. In the mirror, Trey could see his mother staring blankly out at the water. Violet looked as apprehensive as he felt. Their mother had been strange ever since they left the house, crying and muttering to herself the whole drive.
By Michael Boettcher 2 years ago in Fiction
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