Day five of @kay-m-sinc's writing challenge: Saved or Saviour?
The two artworks are: Lull - Pete Sherrard and House Dog - Brian Kershisnik
Frost licked the edges of windowpanes and a thin layer of powdered sugar like snow coated the grass. A cold-whetted wind whistled through the naked branches of the winter trees. Gently, from far off, the whisper of cars passing each other faded towards Ada. She stood in front of a large, metal building. It was shaped like a T. The facade stretched upward, corrugated metal sheets making it seem much taller than it was. She turned over a piece of lint in her pockets and grimaced at the nearly brutalist sight of the building. Unwelcoming. Ada sighed, watched her breath drift into the sky and shuffled towards the yellow light spilling from the door. Stepping in, the warm settled on her skin; tingling softly, like tiny brushes tickling at her cheeks. Her nose began to run and she pulled a tissue from her pocket.
"Good afternoon. How can I help?" A middle aged man chimed from behind the shabby front desk. Ada glanced over the blue, plastic chairs that made up a waiting room of sorts and the framed pictures of happy dogs that lined the walls.
"Um," She approached him, placing her reddened fingertips on the glass counter, "Yes. I would like to see your dogs." Ada stated, smiling lightly, out of courtesy. The man looked her up and down, clacked on his keyboard and settled his gaze back on her. A smile warmed his creased face.
"I can help you with that. We keep them in the back, down the hall." He ran a speckled hand through his salt and pepper hair and straightened his little, laminated name tag before slinking out from behind the desk. Herr Bretz.
"Thank you, Herr Bretz." Ada spoke, a tart taste in her mouth. Her hands trembled, just slightly.
"Follow me, I'll show you our lovely, little residents." He tittered, "Although, not all of them are little; in case you're looking for a large friend. We have plenty of big dogs housed here too." Ada's boots squeaked as she scuttled behind the speedy steps of Bretz. The keys on his belt jingled as he strode onwards. Sterile lights beamed down through metal, grated coverings. Clinical. A shiver passed down the length of Ada's spine.
"I know we don't look too homey, but we try to make the best with what we have." He insisted, sensing Ada's unforgiving glare speckling itself across the dull walls.
"We're low on funding these days." He looked back as they approached a door.
"I know what that's like." Ada added, a cynical snort pushing through her. Herr Bretz jangled his keys, fumbling to open the door.
"Jetzt," He chimed, creaking the door open, "Have a look. If you see anyone you want to single out, come let me know." Leaving a firm handshake pressed into Ada's palm, he turned away and jingled off into the distance. She was greeted with barking and whining. The sound of claws clacking about on laminated flooring. She breathed in and set off, slowly wending her way through the hall. As she laid her eyes upon each new, furry face she looked for familiarity; she looked for a friend in whom she could confide. The wet eyes of a sad beagle, the pink nose of a speckled mutt. Greeted by wagging tails and wiggling bodies she felt a sense of profound sadness wash over her. She couldn't take them all. There seemed to be at least twenty. Twenty dogs wouldn't fit in her apartment. Oh, and the bills.
Then, she stopped. The rock in her stomach dissolved. Before her, behind the wire gate, stood a timid terrier. A west highland terrier, with fur as white as a summer's day cloud; just about as soft too. Polite, the dog slunk slowly towards Ada. She placed her hand up against their barrier and felt the wet nose press gently against her hand. A firm wag of her tail. Heidi. Her chart said that she was six years old, and that she had been rescued from an abusive household. Little Heidi was afraid of men and people wearing hats, she didn't like baths too much and she loved chicken and whipped cream. Ada giggled as Heidi pushed her pink, velvety tongue through the gate.
"I'll be right back." Ada ensured, bounding back to the front desk.
"Herr Bretz? Herr Bretz! I found her." She chimed, panting.
"You lost your dog?" He inquired, placing his hand on his chest.
"No, no. I... I just found exactly the type of dog I was looking for." Ada beamed. "A friend." Bretz grinned, scratching at his stubbly chin. He clacked at his keyboard.
"What was her name?"
"Heidi. She's a uh, a little white terrier. Highland. West, high-"
"Ah Heidi." He cooed, his eyes glinting with remembrance. He took up his glasses from the desk and began typing away some more.
"She is a rescue, from an unsafe home." He stated. "It might take her a while to get settled." Ada shook her head and smiled, her cheeks warm. She tapped her fingernails on the glass of the desk.
"I read. Afraid of men."
"And hats." Herr Bretz added, quickly.
"Yes, hats. But I recognise myself in her eyes. Not just my actual reflection, but in her spirit." Ada professed, adjusting her scarf. "I just left my husband." Herr Bretz's expression diluted into one of surprise; his eyes widened and his face grew paler.
"He isn't a good man. I think Heidi would get it. I need a companion. I think she would get it." Ada added. Colour returned to Bretz's face, his smile fading back in.
"Yes, she would." He reached across the desk and stroked Ada's arm. "You're good for wanting to take Heidi home; for rescuing her."
"Well, I'm not quite so sure who's saving who here... but I know that I will take care of her."