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 (730)
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Sleeping Beauty
Gazing at the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, I feel my heart squeeze. Lying there she looks like more of an angel than I will ever be. Behind their lids her eyes move. She’s dreaming. Wonder if I’m in it. I miss our talks; the way she laughed; the tilt of her head as she leaned into our kisses. I miss how her hair would tickle my nose when we’d cuddle close. Sighing, I turn away. Even if she hasn’t moved on I must. Perhaps on this, the 2nd anniversary of my death, she’ll take off her wedding ring.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
Caught Out
In the sky the moon was but a bare sliver. Her beams barely penetrating the stygian depths of the woods where I hid. Rustling in the trees made me jerk my head back and forth, wondering what creatures may await there. Over the crickets and sighing wind I could still hear the voice of my pursuer. "Come out... Come out." Huddled beneath a bush, trembling, I held my breath in fear of being discovered. If he caught me it would be game over. Anxiously I peered through the fingers laced over my eyes. Suddenly a hand grabbed my ankle, causing me to screech as my heart jumped into my throat. "Got you!" came the gleeful shout. "You're it!" shouted my little brother as he ran back to base.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
White Water Hell
Frothing, roaring, the water hurtled along. Clinging to support for dear life, the tossed, dizzy victim gave himself to elemental fury. Surrendering any hope of succor. Should he jump? Perhaps he could make one of the rocks against which this force of nature dashed itself. Should he remain, hope that his conveyance, so flimsy and battered, would see him through this white water hell? Digging in he clung tenaciously. Finally, just as he was about to give up, the roaring slowed. The whirling torment ceased. With a relieved croak the bullfrog jumped from his lily pad. The stream continued its way, all unaware.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
Perhaps the Next
They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Gazing deeply into Sylvia's eyes I see only a vast wasteland. Devoid of emotion, intellect. Forlorn in their absence of knowledge. Too bad. Our meeting earlier had shown such promise. I had truly hoped to learn more from our intimacy. Removing my blade from her heart, I wipe it on her chest. Ah well; perhaps the next one.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
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
