Molly Winton
Bio
Currently in my final year of studying English Literature with Creative Writing. I love writing short stories and poems. Check out my lifestyle and travel blog- https://mollywinthemiddle.blogspot.com/
Stories (8/0)
A B C Doomed
Child A Without all the paintings hung out on display the place seemed a lot bigger. More like a maze. There was a ceaseless buzzing in the corridor. A boundless energy of those who moved through it, weaving around each other. Child A kept her head down and pushed her way through the sea of faces. The floor was shiny, just like water.
By Molly Winton6 years ago in Horror
Down Demon's Dyke
The next morning, I woke up wishing I hadn’t. The nearby coo of a wood pigeon had interrupted my restless dreams. Startled by its strange clucking I sat up and felt my brain swell beyond the size of my skull. A sudden wave of queasiness only added to my discomfort. It was freezing to say it was June. Where was I? Trees. There were lots of trees. Again, my stomach lurched and burbled. I gazed up at the tree tops as they swirled around me, attempting to avoid the streaks of light that broke through the branches in both intensely bright and shadowy beams. Why was I still in Wharncliffe Woods? What had happened last night? I reached for my phone in the back pocket of my denim shorts. Its screen had been smashed to pieces. The anonymous text I’d received last night, hours before the rave, flashed up: "free rave- get to Wcliffe woods left o Demon’s Dyke tonight." I dialed Danny’s number. The screen went black, its battery dead.
By Molly Winton6 years ago in Horror
My Camp America Experience: The Honest Truth!
'The only thing worse than being at Summer Camp is not being at Summer Camp at all.' As we packed up our stuff and left for home, we asked each other exactly how we were going to sum up our camp experience. How do you accurately explain camp life to your friends and family at home? Rewind back ten weeks ago when we'd all just arrived in the States, our supervisor had told us exactly how we were to summarise. Before we'd even started she warned us that 'the only thing worse than being at Summer Camp was not being at Summer Camp at all.' Back then I just assumed it was some cheesy American drivel but now I completely get it. Working at a children's Summer Camp is the absolute worst but at the same time it's one of the best and most rewarding things I've ever done in my life. And here's why:
By Molly Winton6 years ago in Wander
Snapshot
Sorrow, all I can feel is sorrow. Everything else I’ve pushed away. Where there was once happiness and love, there is just an aching hollowness. It’s as if the rest of me has shut down. I stare vacantly at my bedroom walls and it doesn’t matter what anyone says to me, nothing will change. How can I feel anything else when she’s gone?
By Molly Winton6 years ago in Horror
The Monologue of an Unborn Baby
Week 8: Mother said my name was to be Jamal, Nikhil or Sachin, like the famous cricket player. Father said maybe something a little more traditional, perhaps Naadir, Shahid or Muhammad, like the famous prophet. I listened intently and giggled. Oh if only they knew.
By Molly Winton6 years ago in Viva
Reflections
The beach wasn’t at all how I’d recalled it as a child. I’d often fantasised about scrunching my toes in the soft, glorious sand, shrieking at the countless blue waves, often intimidating in their size, fiercely crashing into the bay. Now upon my return I saw the beach for what it really was. The sand blurred out in a dismal trance, the shore fading into a grey liquid sludge, bleak and miserable in the dull winter light. The sea, now brown in colour, was motionless, dead. Its rancid salty breath blew tepidly through my hair accompanied by the keen bite on my cheeks of cold winter winds. A small colony of gulls chased after the rest of someone’s discarded lunch blustering across the decaying peer. The repetitive buzz of fair ground music and slot machines only soiled the atmosphere further.
By Molly Winton6 years ago in Families
