Molly Sickle

“Adeline and the Opal Pendant ” by Molly Sickle

Submitted to Contest #286

In the alleyway just outside the Gernard, Ida leaned against the wide, two storied building standing low in the belly of towering skyscrapers. The sun had all but set, leaving a residue of heavy blues and grays to blanket the city between scattered rain. She took one last steadying puff of her cigarette before flicking it away.The industrial back door she propped herself up next to heaved open, revealing her coworker, Adam. He pushed past the weighted door and limply fell against it, eyes closed. A hollow sigh escaped him. With folded a...

19 likes 4 comments 4

Read story

“Undefinable Love” by Molly Sickle

Submitted to Contest #237

All that time.  What a waste. “Please.” The word meant to invoke something that had been lost on her for a long time now, but it instead dribbled off his lip and into the belly of her nonchalance. She tried to feel, actually tried to feel something, anything, but there was nothing. Not even disgust. He knelt before her, as if the very act of his precious knees kissing the ground would stir the air of forgiveness within her. She only stared down at him through her bottom lashes. He begged for anything; a morsel of acknowledgement. Only t...

8 likes 1 comment 1

Read story

“The Story of Everything” by Molly Sickle

Submitted to Contest #197

I stand alone in vast emptiness, a proprietor of knowledge. In my hands sleeps a glowing sphere of pale white electricity, crackling and popping lazily up at me. In my hands sleeps a secret, a secret I guard with what you could call my life. How do you guard a concept? An idea? You hide it. In vast emptiness. I watch with eyes that see everything as the ball wakes and lights the room with hues and colors of a different reality. Synchronicities and miracles engulf me and a sporadic hum of the sound of everything all at once settles ...

10 likes 4 comments 4

Read story

“Like The Night Sky” by Molly Sickle

tw: deathI can remember my life well, as short as it was. Being born was traumatic. It was the horror of sudden light and starling cold pressing against my bare skin. I could only cry. I wasn’t good for much else at the time. Then there was the matter of consciousness which came to me at the worst of times. A few days old, eyes barely open, and it hit me in the back of the head. It soaked through my skull and flooded over my squinting eyes. Where am I? That was all I could think and: Why? Who put me here and for what? I couldn’t do...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“The Devils Ivy” by Molly Sickle

Submitted to Contest #176

Cold tendrils of water push and pull at my feet. This ocean, this force of nature which I cannot part with thoughts alone, moves around me with a great delicacy. It laps at the shore, only to pull away. Faced with constant indecision. To stay or to go. Push and pull.   Enough of this gray sky. Enough of contemplating passive waves. I venture past foaming water, past fine grains of sand, and back into the thicket of trees and trailing plants until I am upon the devil’s ivy, epipremnum aureum. Specks of gold fleck its waxy green fa...

11 likes 1 comment 1

Read story