Isabella Sopo

“The Music of Love” by Isabella Sopo

Submitted to Contest #78

Addae’s worn dark hands closed around the covered box. Based off of the online picture, it was old, rust already creeping up the ornate metal designs. It had taken him a while to find the right box, but Addae was glad he had waited.  He hadn’t seen a box like this one since his childhood, back when they were still in use. It was difficult to find a music box, these days. The musical wonders of his childhood had been sold off, replaced with shiny electronic rectangles without buttons or cranks. Addae still preferred the boxes, however. ...

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“The Shattered Pieces We Call Memories” by Isabella Sopo

Submitted to Contest #77

Leti let her eyes rake over the abandoned cabin. It had been awhile since she’d been there. Too long. She had meant to come back years ago, but whenever she packed, got in her car, she found herself turning back.  There wasn’t much left in the old cabin in the woods. No wolves prowling the deep stretch of trees, no angry birds flapping their wings, shouting at Leti to feed them. What had once been a world of wilderness had changed, evolved. No trees, less nature, and more people. Leti had to drive through some residential areas that ha...

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“The Black Hoodie” by Isabella Sopo

Submitted to Contest #37

Mrs. Ling, Jocelyn Ling, walked on the dirty sidewalk, making sure to avoid any gum. She was wearing her nice clothes today, Mrs. Ling. She had an interview but no car, so walking would have to do. It wasn’t necessarily a crowded street, that day. The skies were darkening, so Jocelyn was mostly alone. A few dog walkers here, a food peddler there, and most of them walking quickly so, Jocelyn assumed, they could finish up, close up shop, and get home before the rain. Mrs. Ling jogged along the sidewalk, toting a black bag above her shoulder an...

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“A Picnic in the Woods” by Isabella Sopo

Submitted to Contest #37

Camellia waited, book in hand, on the bench in the woods. It wasn’t just any bench, of course, it was Jame’s and Camellia’s bench. The wooden bench in the middle of nowhere, the one they had engraved their initials on. Camellia traced her finger on the initials. CL + JH. It may seem like nothing, but to Camellia, the little bench was everything. She set her book now, Agatha Christie, and sighed. Where was James? He was ten minutes late! Camellia checked her phone, and just in time to see a text pop up. “James!” she grinned to herself. The te...

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“Camellia and the Tape Recorder” by Isabella Sopo

It all began as a normal day, as the worst days often do. Mrs. Ling woke up and came downstairs, whereupon she saw her husband. The tall, Asian, Mr. Ling was sitting in his rusty colored armchair and reading the most recent newspaper. “Orion, where’s Jackie?” Mrs. Ling snapped as she lifted the waffle iron from it’s place in the cabinets. “He’s three, Elaina, not a newborn. You can eave him alone, once in a while,” Mr. Ling replied. “But where is he? Breakfast will be ready soon!” “In the playroom,” Mr. Ling sighed. Ever since he had gotten ...

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“The Cardinals” by Isabella Sopo

Submitted to Contest #36

Journal,I’ve been advised by my therapist to start keeping a journal. I have an anxiety disorder, it says so in that ginormous tan folder labeled “Jocelyn.” Female, age thirty, lived with mother. Then it says in big old parentheses, “Parents Divorced.” Parenthesis are never good, they’re therapist red flags. Parentheses say, “Hey therapist! This is the problem! Right here!” I’m single, but my little house, overgrown by ivy and weeds by now, got too expensive to keep, so I’m moving. My therapist, Mrs. Jane, who should be a lawyer she’s so goo...

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“Ms. Ling’s Camellia” by Isabella Sopo

Submitted to Contest #36

A seed floats to the ground, falls to the leafy springs that decorate Mrs. Ling’s yard. Down in the fertile, dark ground, moist soil, the seed takes root. It places green shoots down, anchoring itself to maintain a steady hold during the storms. Water, a steady spring rain, showers the little seed with all it needs. The sun glows, prideful of it’s daughter, as the seed begins to sprout up from the soil. From the tan, ordinary, plain old seed comes a shoot of green. 4/2/19–I am watching the plant grow. It seems like a flower, but I can’t...

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