I'm Issy.
I'm 14 and an aspiring artist and author.
Black Lives matter.
Bi puns
Murder mystery TV shows
Shakespeare poetry
I can't even be bothered writing them all down
Have a nice day

Message from Writer

Remember to write even if you think you are bad at it, you're not

writing streak week 7 day 1

May 11, 2020

The city buzzes with energy, it's buildings and lights taking on a life of their own with every car, every person excitedly chatting, every street lamp lighting up the Melbourne night sky almost as bright as daylight.                                         
    My phone buzzes, it's familiar tune lighting a spark in my heart at the thought that Layla might have responded this quickly. I glance down, flooding with disappointment, it's only Mum, telling me to be back to the hotel soon.                   
      For a girl from the country side of England, holidaying in Melbourne, I am already getting good at navigating this city. It's the opposite of that old song; the streetlamps don't beat a fatalistic warning, they beat with the heartbeat of the city, pulsing with life excitement and the never-stopping feeling that something amazing could happen, despite the fact that unless you count accidentally letting thirty cattle out of our neighbors farm, nothing that interesting ever happens to me.
    Just as I have all but given up hope that Layla will ever respond to my message, a miracle happens. There in my inbox is a message from The girl who has been the main focus of my attention for the last three weeks and doesn't even know that I like her, well she didn't until approximately three minutes ago.
    I can hardly bear to look at the message, like if I don't it will last forever, but gathering all my ounces of courage, looking away from the phone screen I tap into my message chain with Layla.                                                             
    I can't quite believe my eyes at first, she sent me a single heart emoji, just a plain rose red heart. Then three dots appear, Layla is typing something, and I am holding my breath waiting to see what it is. It is strange to think that somewhere, Layla is looking at her own phone screen, this very second, probably deciding the nicest way to reject me. But then the dots disappear, in their place is a message, a single message from the girl who makes my heart beat a little faster, who's kindness never ceases to amaze me, who doesn't care what people think of her and just does her own thing,

'Meet me in the  Fitzroy Gardens, (I have sparklers.)'


See History
  • May 11, 2020 - 5:17am (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.

1 Comment
  • poetri

    Hey! I followed your insta, you asked me to comment on one of your pieces :) also this was a rly fun read

    10 months ago