Pietro Vaccari

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2023

Stories (4)

4 Stories

64 karma pts

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“Garden of the Fae” by Pietro Vaccari

Submitted to Contest #254

Amelia tarried at the threshold of the grand ballroom, her tresses of golden hue gently tousled by the wind, as her emerald eyes took in the grandeur that society had taught her — no, forced upon her — to covet.Candlelight basked the room in a warm glow, reflecting off the jewels and fine fabrics that adorned the affluent. The ballroom itself, a whirl of colors and laughter, seemed like a scene plucked from a fairytale. Yet, as she stepped into the throng, — her heels clicking softly against polished marble — the air felt stifling, heavy wit...

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“Forget Me Not” by Pietro Vaccari

Submitted to Contest #253

   Aylwin is floating.   He is floating in a sea of emptiness. His thoughts are fleeting, drifting out of his head before he can grasp them, slipping away like grains of sand between his fingers. The only thing he can make sense of is the darkness. Pitch black. Everywhere. Nowhere. All consuming. He tries blinking and opening his eyes. Nothing changes.   Aylwin can feel the darkness pulling at him. Welcoming him. Beckoning him. A small voice in his mind panics. Somehow, he knows that if he goes into that darkness he migh...

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“Waltzing to Aretha Franklin” by Pietro Vaccari

Submitted to Contest #253

[TW: HOUSE FIRE] Pietra despises the color gray. It’s.... it's like, the most boring color to ever... to ever even exist. Did it even count as a color? It shouldn’t. It’s so dull. So lame. All she can manage at the moment is to stare up at the gray ceiling in utter disgust. Her brain is... it's fuzzy, really. Cotton balls have been shoved down her ears and in her mouth... An incredibly... an irritating ringing is piercing her skull like a... like something that cuts meat.... cuts meat, cuts bone... In any case, it's causing a throbbing...

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“You're Nothing Without Me” by Pietro Vaccari

Submitted to Contest #252

“And when the world burns, I’ll be there… warming my hands by the fire.”  Tim spoke in a dreamy sigh, dramatically draping himself upon the silk couch like a Victorian maiden. Henry's face was stone, denying the other any satisfaction by refusing to react. In his hand, the weight heavy and familiar, was a Beaumont–Adams revolver, its muzzle trained unwaveringly at Tim's head. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.  “Can’t you just imagine it, Hen?” Tim tilted his head, offering Henry a sly, knowing smile. He didn't even glanc...

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Author bio

Have you ever had a dream that that you um you had you'd you would you could you'd do you you wants you you could do so you you'd do you could you you want you want him to do you so much you could do anything?