Andrew C McDonald
Bio
Andrew McDonald was a 911 dispatcher for 30 yrs with a B.S. in Math (1985). He served as an Army officer 1985 to 1992, honorably exiting a captain.
https://www.amazon.com/Killing-Keys-Andrew-C-McDonald-ebook/dp/B07VM843XL?ref_=ast_author_dp
Stories (749)
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Wasteland
I trudge across a barren landscape dotted with blasted remnants of our once thriving civilization. I pray to find a sign of human life. Swollen tongue begs for just a drop of water. Stomach rumbles, angry at the emptiness. Skin reddened, peeling. A silo rears above the landscape. Its tilt reminds me of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Perhaps some untainted grain or a rain barrel. Wearily, I plod on. A chittering noise. Sound unexpected in vast cocoon of silence. A squirrel? Hard to tell with patchy fur oozing pestilence. Edible? Doubtful. Six days ago they pushed the button. Wonder who won? Either way, life after a nuclear holocaust does not seem to hold much promise. At least it's quiet.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
Where?
All his life Commodore Antoine Ciccerone had hungered to explore the farthrest reaches of interstellar space. Since the disappearance of his family as a youngster in a raid on his home planet by an unknown alien race, he had vainly sought to know the unknowable: Certain in his belief that somewhere beyond the next blue event horizon would lie the answers. When last he tight-beamed a message to Space Station U4B his message, the last thing to escape the gravity of the pinpoint black hole his one man ship approached, had stated, "Finally, I know." Today, Antoine Ciccerone Jr. graduates the Space Force Fleet training, majoring in Deep Space Exploration. Perhaps his new missions will answer the old questions.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
Glorious Sensations
When I hear her voice, I feel my heartbeat increase - rapidly fluttering in my chest. Beating out a rhythm I pray shall not surcease. Sweeter than the happy song of a robin on a cool spring morn. Her voice more musical than any song ever born.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Poets
Dear River
Dear River, I sat today along your bank, feet dangling in the cool damp. Playful fishes nibbled at my toes, causing my tendons to clamp. When I seek solace from ills or just simple solitude I come to you, knowing that your softly babbling conversation my troubles will soothe.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Poets
