From Riches to Rags Read Online Free

or the way her eyes sparkled a deep forest green when she got angry at me? Perhaps it was her prideful indignation that was an equal match to my own? Probably it was, because I couldn’t let her have the last say. No one dresses down Melinda Blackstone, no one. I heard the little voice in my head laughing at me. This time my little voice was right. How asinine of me to talk about myself in the third person, as if the first one wasn’t good enough. The little voice laughed even harder. No, wait, that wasn’t what I meant either. Shit! I’m having an argument with myself and I’m losing.
    Okay, so how do I purge the skinny wench from my mind? What would make me feel better? What would get me out of this funk and back on track to the fun times? “And Christine Dolores Livingston does not appreciate having your snot thrown on her apron.” That’s it! Her name is Christine Livingston. Find her, screw her, or give her some money and I’ll feel a whole lot better about things.
     
    ***
     
    The Haunting ‒ Chris Livingston
     
    I woke up exhausted. I worked at that restaurant all day until I thought I would fall asleep on my feet, and then I came home and had to exhaust myself again, in order to fall asleep. My demons followed me into the darkness of sleep, and I would wake feeling exhausted… again Somehow I must find a way to end this cycle, prove to my parents that I am worthy of their love again, and make amends to a man I almost killed. That’s a tall order for a short order waitress, without a job, chased by an enormous guilt.
    I rolled over on my back and stared at the cracked, dingy ceiling. I can’t believe I got myself fired already. Not a good way to start out my make amends mission.
    My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden banging in the hallway, and then someone turning the door knob to my apartment. I reached under my pillow for the baseball bat that I kept there. It was my most expensive purchase since I sobered up, but it was well worth skipping a meal for. I pulled it out and sat up, gripping it in both hands, ready to swing. Thank God I played softball in junior high school and knew how to swing a bat to connect with a ball, or in this case, someone’s head. But the noise finally moved further down the hallway, and I knew it must have been a drunk, looking for a place to pass out. Been there, done that, wish I could forget it.
    I left the bat on the bed, just to make me feel more secure, as I got up and slipped my cold feet into my slippers. As I do every morning, I shuffled over to look out the tiny window, look past the diagonal security bar bracing the window shut, past the fire escape, to the rising sun on the horizon. Seeing the sun come up every day gave me beauty where there was none, warmth for my cold soul, and hope that there would indeed be a future for me.
    My attention was diverted when I heard a soft mew, coming from under my window. I looked down and saw a small ball of fur, with the tiniest face and largest eyes I’d ever seen on a kitten.
    “Aw, you poor thing. Where did you come from?” I asked, knowing there would be no answer.
    There was no collar on the kitten, no way of telling if it belonged to someone. There were no other cats around, so it must be weaned from its mother, though it looked like it had just been born. For some reason that I will never understand, I opened the window, reached my arm through and scooped up the kitten, bringing t it and all its fleas inside.
    “How did you come to be on my fire escape, little one?” I held it up and saw it was a girl.
    I had a half a can of tuna left over in the tiny box that served as a refrigerator, so I brought it out and set the kitten and the can of tuna on the floor, and set crossed legged in front of them. I watched as she devoured whole chunks of tuna at once, until the can was empty, and her belly was full. She was content, and began purring, rubbing her tiny cheek across my slipper.
    “I’m not keeping you, you