Isabella Rose
Bio
I am a dedicated author with a passion for fiction. I own a joint business with my amazingly talented co-writer and poet, Raven Black.
Stories (41/0)
An Adventure Through Hell. Top Story - June 2024.
Emaciated arms covered by the tiniest bit of flesh capture me, holding me close to its decaying form. Gnarled and thin fingers pull my dark hair. Screams of anguish surround me, somehow reverberating from the empty chasm. I punch and watch as bits of grey flesh disintegrate into dust. Scratching at the caverns where its eyes should have been, I could only hope for an end to this hell. The sounds of torment continued, assaulting my ears with one tremendous roar.
By Isabella Rose10 days ago in Horror
Devoured. Top Story - May 2024.
My fingers dance across the yellowed pages of the library’s archaic volumes. Despite the candle illuminating the shelves, I’m not searching for a book. Instead, I’m relentlessly investigating the halls for a door to run from the horrible reality that consumed all our lives.
By Isabella Rose2 months ago in Fiction
Pride Comes Before the Fall. Top Story - April 2024.
I stretched in a vain attempt to wake myself up, to just make myself a bit taller, to simply push away the constricting dirt that imprisoned me under the cold surface of the earth. The sunlight beamed as I made my last attempt at growing taller.
By Isabella Rose3 months ago in Fiction
A Beautiful Night
The rain drops hit the cold stained glass of the window, causing the fragile pane to reverberate in its place. She wrapped her delicate and cold hand around the base of the wax candle, wincing as her feet touched the frozen floor. Shadows seemed to dance as if enticing her to play with them.
By Isabella Rose3 months ago in Fiction
Lollipop Dreams. Top Story - February 2024.
I glared at the ticket placed before me until the typed numbers appeared to be nothing more than squiggles. Tobacco wafted through the dusty air of my cramped apartment. The kitchen faucet dripped; each drop of water vibrating in my ears. Picking up the worn slip of paper with shaking hands, I flipped it over, quickly reading the claim written in bold ink:
By Isabella Rose5 months ago in Fiction
Snow
I was flung from one side of the container to the next. My body banged against the thin nylon of the bag and crashed into some type of jar containing many fragrant beads. The throbbing in my head was only eased by remembering her smile as she ate those round pebbles. What was the term she called it? Coffee! Yes, that’s it, I thought triumphantly.
By Isabella Rose5 months ago in Fiction
The Death of the Wicked. Content Warning.
The majestic black feathered bird sat lonely and defeated in his solitary prison looking longingly out of the bars of his tiny cell. The water that the woman brought him was stale and tasted horrible, and his stomach cramped every time he took a drink of the murky and dirty liquid. His black feathery wings once took him far into the heavens, but now his once glossy feathers were found decorating the bottom of his “home” as the thoughtless woman called it.
By Isabella Rose5 months ago in Petlife
Subscribe to my stories
Show your support and receive all my stories in your feed.