Short Story: The Contestant, Part 3 - The Cat
I've been experimenting with perspective lately, and the the following is the last in a series of three short stories. I've written one story, but from three different perspectives (first person, second person, third person). Although I do say one story, each one is different-- it all comes down to perspective!
The Contestant Part 1: The Cigarette
The Contestant Part 2: Somebody's Niece
Parts 2 and 3 make more sense if you at least read Part 1 first.
Poor Sonja. You think that by jamming your feet into sensible shoes and slinging out cups of coffee at Little Bill’s Diner every evening from five to nine, every night leaving a nice casserole dish just needing a quick fling with the microwave for Artie’s dinner, painstakingly writing out the birthday cards, Christmas cards, Easter cards, get well and have a nice day cards for his family that you don’t even like, you think that all of these things will somehow come with their own shiny medal attached. Job Well Done, Sonja. And now, now what do you get? Artie’s niece with the sullen eyes and bad dye job dropped off right in the middle of your morning, some kind of mental health emergency the woman had whispered on the phone before Artie rushed out to the college to get her. Now what are you supposed to do, sitting there, wondering what to do with the girl, wondering what the girl is going to do next?
You promised Artie you’d watch her until he came home, but what does that mean? He really didn’t leave much instruction, just don’t let her kill herself or something like that (they said she’d tried to jump out of a window) oh, and make her fill out a job application at least. You wonder did Artie pick up the application before or after the girl? What a thing to think of, at a time like this, but that was Artie, always going on about the value of work. Not that you disagree with him, you’ve worked hard too, not like that sister of his always taking off with some new man, never knew an honest day’s living if it jumped up and bit her on the kiester, but at any rate, why should you have to give up a good Thursday afternoon watching the trollop-sister’s messed up kid?
You watch her, sitting, glaring, rolling her eyes, and taking up good oxygen in the room with all her sighing. Good thinking on trading the cigarette for filling out the job application Sonja. At least Artie will be happy about that. You watch her filling it out at the little table, just big enough for you and Artie the rare nights when you both have off. The girl slams down the pen and stretches, sticking her chest out like a little floozy. Quickly, you turn back to the cat– don’t let her catch you staring. Look, there, is that a flea? Grab it, pinch it between your fingers, you got it! Flea. Parasite. Squish. Sonja, you’re today’s big winner. Come on down and claim your prize.
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