Nicholas Pietrowski
Bio
Trying to regain a sense of formality.
Stories (5/0)
Snowballs
My all-time favorite summer treat is a heaping, freshly-shaven, juicy snowball. I have enjoyed these for as long as I can remember; they were a mainstay of my childhood, and their necessity has carried over into my adult life. It’s comparable to a snow cone or shaved ice, and I’ve come to learn the term “snowball” is native to the Baltimore region. It’s an obvious way to mitigate the summer heat, a great excuse for indulging in empty calories, and an integral facet of Maryland summertime culture.
By Nicholas Pietrowski2 years ago in Feast
The Dragon Corps
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Some say they'd come from up north, from above the Scottish Highlands. Others say that the Saxons brought them over to assist in their conquest of the isle. There were rumors that they flew upon them over the Sea, one hand gripping the reins and the other brandishing a double-sided axe. But that was likely a myth, inspired by the tremendous fear of the invaders; I’m pretty sure no one can tame dragons, let alone ride them like a steed.
By Nicholas Pietrowski2 years ago in Fiction
My Dog & A Horse
There was this particular period in my life, about a decade ago, where I was in a quiet place of introspection, and chose to largely isolate myself from people. The vast majority of the inevitably necessary company I received was provided by my dog, Dexter. His muted, stoic presence filled the inevitable void dredged by solitude with a warmer, more comforting energy than any human could conjure. The cool thing about dogs is that you don’t feel the need to tirelessly impress them; they’re simple creatures, easy to please, and they don’t talk back.
By Nicholas Pietrowski2 years ago in Petlife
Clearing Through Mold
He woke up to an overcast sky, and he liked it that way. This weather would ruin the morning of most, but he felt something on the verge of excitement. He found it comforting. He felt grounded, less pressure, less stress when the sun was sealed off by clouds. It was a thick blanket of grey that hid the world, the one he couldn't hide from. The grey seemed to slow things down. Everything, everyone. Suspend time and action, if only a little, and that made it a bit easier.
By Nicholas Pietrowski2 years ago in Fiction
An Old Barn
Growing up in the American suburbs is a slow, anxious process that whirs by in a blink. You spend all this time wishing you were somewhere else, and when you're older you come back and look around and appreciate that you had that safety and tranquility in which to roam to nowhere.
By Nicholas Pietrowski3 years ago in Fiction