Rachael MacDonald
Bio
Avid Reader, Sometimes Poet, Occasional Writer, and searcher of truths often lost in the breaths between candy-coated lies.
Stories (76/0)
Za
Stop me if you have heard this one before. Hawaiian pizza is the best pizza. Either you are nodding your head in agreement right now or seething with fury. Am I right? Now listen, those people, those die hard pineapple defenders are absolute, one hundred percent wrong. Ok, now don’t you leave me head nodders; hear me out. What I am about to say will change your life. Cavoletti pizza is the game-changer. It’s the type of warm hug your body needs on a rainy day; It's the salty, crispy crust you deserve after a day’s swim in the lake. It's ooey; it's gooey, its cavoletti baby.
By Rachael MacDonald2 years ago in Feast
Bert
I was six years old when I met Bert. I was eleven when my mom and him were married. I was thirty when he died. Four years have passed, yet still, when I think about him too hard, a deep-seated ache that I assumed would lessen over time returns. He was my dad. He was my nail painter, grilled cheese and soup when I was sick maker, and my take your daughter to work day date. I loved him. I still do.
By Rachael MacDonald2 years ago in Families
Blades and Blooms
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Yesterday there were none. Up until this morning, the land in the Valley was forever brown. The air was thick with yellowish smoke choking the spindly trees barren of leaves but covered in thick ashen bark. Clouds blanketed the sky never allowing a single ray of sunshine to escape in all of the years of Bronwyn's life, sixteen years of perpetual grey, never showcasing the warmth of the summer sun or the sparkling crescent moon.
By Rachael MacDonald2 years ago in Fiction