isa

Joined June 2022

0 stories

Bio

There was a young man named Bob

who desperately needed a job.

Everywhere he looked

said they were booked,

so he searched for a bank to rob.

Stories (9/0)

November
I drive on the highway now. On the way to my aunts' house. In time the tears dry up, the fears of highway driving fade.
By isa6 months ago in Poets
Jenna
She wears a dress that billows like a cloud, and walks around the town. At night she lays her head down, and blows her candle out.
By isa6 months ago in Poets
Self Portrait
red, green, orange, and purple lines- blocks of color placed simply wherever she felt necessary. somehow the scraps make a face.
By isa9 months ago in Poets
We Have Something to Bury
The linoleum booth table was freshly wiped, streaks of cleaner still remaining. Evan slid his coffee cup back and forth between his hands, left, right, left. Some light came through the window and caught his eyelashes before reaching his unfocused eyes. They took in everything without looking at anything in particular. Piano tones played throughout the coffee shop. A lady walked in. A lady and her kids. Or one of her kids at least, the other must be a friend. Evan stood up and walked his cup to the counter.
By isa10 months ago in Fiction
Atmospheric Pressure
What if Atlas let the sky fall from his shoulders? He must grow weary from carrying his loss, returning to his post day after day,
By isaabout a year ago in Poets
Sentimental
Snowflakes trickle lightly through the air while Stevie Wonder sings from the radio. I sit in the car because ice skate scratches always fade slowly.
By isa2 years ago in Poets
Athanasia
“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say,” a seasoned guard nudged the newbie with his elbow. The young blood scoffed, “I believe it. Just what did those guys do to deserve all this security? Those holding chambers are brutal!”
By isa2 years ago in Futurism
Abiding by the Dirt and Grass
The seasons shift as they go on, one rain, one snow and not much sun. The horses in the field are living with their numbered days to entertain.
By isa2 years ago in Poets
River Thinking
A little chipmunk darts across sticks, tossed on the ground as if by chance. Ripples in the stagnant eddy come and go;
By isa2 years ago in Poets

isa

Bio

Stories .css-19zxm0z-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(9/0)

November

Jenna

Self Portrait

We Have Something to Bury

Atmospheric Pressure

Sentimental

Athanasia

Abiding by the Dirt and Grass

River Thinking

Stories (9/0)