Caroline Greaser

“Cream Colored Misery” by Caroline Greaser

Submitted to Contest #163

The midday Saturday sun creeps in through the cracks in the crappy hotel blinds; they roll over in the lumpy bed and groan.  The Advil on the bedside table has a blue child safety lid already uncapped and waiting for them. They fumble for it without opening their eyes, hitting the lamp with the back of their hand and retracting it, hissing in pain. Finally, they settle on the medication and pull it back into the f...

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“How to Cook Pasta” by Caroline Greaser

🏆 Winner of Contest #94

Content warning: suicidal thoughts   She waits with a watchful eye, staring at the pasta. It doesn’t boil.  Pacing back and forth across the empty kitchen with the useless pots and pans still in the creaky cupboard, she adds another pinch of salt to the pasta. It still doesn’t boil.  She thinks about putting on a bit of music while she waits, but the downstairs neighbors hate when she does that, and she can’t remember where she last left her headphones. They might b...

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“Silent House” by Caroline Greaser

Submitted to Contest #76

“Okay so it opens with: Dear mom.” “Okay.”  “Dear mom. Dear mom. Dear mom I uhh- I uhmm- I- well I,”  “If you can’t even read this to me, how on earth are you going to read this to her?”  “I wasn’t- I wasn’t going to read it to her! I was just gonna leave it in a convenient spot...”  “Cass, are you sure you’re really going to do this? Do you really want to?”  “Yes. Yes- ye...

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“Two Boys, One Choice” by Caroline Greaser

Analise stared at the letters before her in dread. There were two, delicately placed on the table by the butler, and each bore a different kind of seal from two opposite lives. She groaned and picked up the first, rolling her eyes at the over-the-top fancy decorum of the wax seal upon it and the frillish envelope, decorated with pressed flowers and a hint of perfume. But then again, Rollan was always like this, and in the sixteen years she’d known him, he’d never once sent a letter that wasn’t pompous and ridiculous. She half ...

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“Guilt Doesn’t Make Good Second Chances” by Caroline Greaser

Submitted to Contest #54

The noise the tiny graphite pencil makes, as it drags its way across the uneven paper in the dimming light of the flat, is discouraging. The words aren’t quite right, but they’re as close as she’s going to get tonight.  She groans and rolls out the muscles in her shoulders. They’re stiff and with a grimace she realizes she’s been sitting for far too long. She makes her way to the dingy fridge in the corner. All ...

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