Michele Montague Witte
Bio
I am a native from Missouri who has lived and worked in the Middle East for four years. I will be publishing my first children's book this year and am writing new ones. I love to garden and write in my spare time.
Stories (6)
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Erica struggled in her sleep, tossing, and turning, as she waged a literal war in her brain, her dream came alive so vividly, but she was completely in control of the wicked masterpiece unfolding in her slumber. The killer in her first three dreams had turned into a talking barn owl that had much to say about how Erica was living her life. She was not doing anything wrong, per se, but she was not exactly excelling, either.
By Michele Montague Witte4 years ago in Fiction
The Imposter
The Imposter The cold wind had whipped a frenzy into the snow draped pines, making a sound of a fleeting yet aggressive sinister howl. Erica could not sleep as she knew the following day would be a multitude of tasks amid an environment of unruly snowmobilers. She loved her job, she loved to work, but sometimes one just needed that perfect environment and how she longed to find it one day. She had even liked her job at Home Station, a do it yourself supply store, the one with all of the nonexistent employees that everyone complained about. She didn’t even mind when she got moved to lumber as there was a shortage and she got to drive the forklift. Her coworkers were such fun, playing pranks on each other like putting spray foam in Matt’s locker, the who can split the smallest piece of wood on the panel say (Erica won), or watching the young kids try to light wheelbarrow wheels on fire to get them off. It was fun, but not challenging, of course, or even that eventful. What was she to do? Her marriage had failed, or was failing, she was working in an extreme environment, beautiful and friendly, provided there were no natural disasters, or any other sort. Erica just needed that break to get her writing career, not just off the ground, but well into space.
By Michele Montague Witte4 years ago in Fiction
The Starfish
The sliding door embarked on its opening path as Shay entered breathlessly, her arms full of plates teetering on the brink of her enveloped arms, like the Tower of Pisa, inclined to drop and smash at any second. “Corner!” she belted out while skirting around the immensely tall, solid, walnut bar, bearing imprints from Teddy Roosevelt’s day. It upheld the daily attitudes, lost phone numbers, failed marriages, and drunken foibles of every kind.
By Michele Montague Witte4 years ago in Fiction
The Squirrel
The Squirrel There was an eerie stillness in the woods, even as their feet crunched along the fall maple leaf remnants, left strewn about carelessly. On their way to the pond, Ginger eyed Molly’s beautiful new scarlet red scarf that was effortlessly lounging on the nape of her brown, wool coat. Even at ten years old, girls had a way of corralling their envy into a vial of jealousy. It was an inevitable station on the railroad of life.
By Michele Montague Witte4 years ago in Fiction
Origami
Origami It was a blustery, snow filled night, as Monique made her way across the hotel lobby to turn down some of the lights. She did not like the dark, never had, due to all the many power outages during childhood from tornado threats. She was an easy-going sleeper, though and could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
By Michele Montague Witte4 years ago in Confessions
