Sea Salt 6, Passionfruit 24: Comfort
Title: Comfort
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Sea salt 6 (trickle), passionfruit 24 (I am part of all that I have met - Lord Alfred Tennyson), hot fudge (Rebecca), pocky chain, malt (SC 487: “Stray Italian Greyhound” by Vienna Teng).
Word Count: 600
Rating: PG.
Summary: Rebecca finds some comfort.
Notes: Aaaand for malt week, villains and pets. I'm gonna be doing a lot of hot fudge this month. Last sea salt, and a rather more literal use of the malt than I expected...
The dog appeared on Rebecca's patio one morning.
She nearly tripped over it, going out to water her plants. It was huge, and black, with upstanding ears and paws the size of her hand. She'd jumped back and shrieked before she realized it wasn't a bear, just a dog eyeing her with serene indifference over its crossed paws.
Rebecca put a hand to her pounding heart, and ordered it to shoo.
The dog regarded her for another moment, then put its head back on its paws, clearly prepared to wait her out.
Rebecca went back inside, and locked the door.
--
The dog was still there a week later. To all appearances, it hadn't moved.
Rebecca stared down at it, pitcher dripping in her hand. The first heat wave of the spring had moved in and her plants really needed water, but that dog...
Well, she'd almost stepped on it, and it hadn't so much as barked.
She went out and watered all her plants, carefully stepping around the dog. It watched her with big, mild brown eyes, but didn't move.
She hesitated before going in, then set the half-empty pitcher down in front of it.
Even scary dogs needed water.
--
She grew used to the black mountain on her patio, as time rolled by. The dog never made any threatening moves towards her-- in fact, it didn't seem terribly interested in moving at all. Rebecca fed it, and watered it, and thought about coaxing it to the vet, but the dog seemed extra immovable at those times, so she let it be. Eventually she started patting it absently as she walked by it. The dog replied with a thump or two of its tail when she came outside.
It was a comfortable enough existence, she thought. Her and the dog.
--
She came back from the diner exhausted in every bone, too tired even to cry.
She had nothing left. Her husband had left her, and good riddance to him-- he'd been gone long before he actually left. Her children hated her, and with good reason-- but what else could she have done, let Michael die? Her family was gone; the life she'd imagined was nothing more than a fading dream.
She'd tried so hard, and lost everything just the same.
Rebecca climbed into bed and turned out the light, and lay staring into the darkness, too tired even to sleep.
--
When she woke up-- and how had she fallen asleep?-- there was a heavy weight in the bed beside her.
She would have been alarmed, but she was still exhausted, and anyway a distinct odor of dog permeated the room. So instead of running for the phone, Rebecca turned on her bedside lamp.
The big black dog lifted its head off its paws and blinked at her, mildly.
She blinked back.
It gave a sort of doggy shrug, then shifted onto its side and laid its head on her belly.
She patted it, feeling strangely comforted, and fell back asleep.
--
When she woke up again, feeling rested, the dog was gone, leaving only an assortment of black hairs and strange smells where it had been. Rebecca wasn't worried-- she shuffled into her slippers, and went to the patio.
As she'd thought, it was back in its accustomed place, head on its paws. It thumped its tail twice, as accustomed, and when she didn’t start watering the plants, it looked up at her, head cocked.
She had no idea how it had known, or how it had gotten inside. But it had.
"All right," Rebecca said. "I guess you can stay."
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Sea salt 6 (trickle), passionfruit 24 (I am part of all that I have met - Lord Alfred Tennyson), hot fudge (Rebecca), pocky chain, malt (SC 487: “Stray Italian Greyhound” by Vienna Teng).
Word Count: 600
Rating: PG.
Summary: Rebecca finds some comfort.
Notes: Aaaand for malt week, villains and pets. I'm gonna be doing a lot of hot fudge this month. Last sea salt, and a rather more literal use of the malt than I expected...
The dog appeared on Rebecca's patio one morning.
She nearly tripped over it, going out to water her plants. It was huge, and black, with upstanding ears and paws the size of her hand. She'd jumped back and shrieked before she realized it wasn't a bear, just a dog eyeing her with serene indifference over its crossed paws.
Rebecca put a hand to her pounding heart, and ordered it to shoo.
The dog regarded her for another moment, then put its head back on its paws, clearly prepared to wait her out.
Rebecca went back inside, and locked the door.
--
The dog was still there a week later. To all appearances, it hadn't moved.
Rebecca stared down at it, pitcher dripping in her hand. The first heat wave of the spring had moved in and her plants really needed water, but that dog...
Well, she'd almost stepped on it, and it hadn't so much as barked.
She went out and watered all her plants, carefully stepping around the dog. It watched her with big, mild brown eyes, but didn't move.
She hesitated before going in, then set the half-empty pitcher down in front of it.
Even scary dogs needed water.
--
She grew used to the black mountain on her patio, as time rolled by. The dog never made any threatening moves towards her-- in fact, it didn't seem terribly interested in moving at all. Rebecca fed it, and watered it, and thought about coaxing it to the vet, but the dog seemed extra immovable at those times, so she let it be. Eventually she started patting it absently as she walked by it. The dog replied with a thump or two of its tail when she came outside.
It was a comfortable enough existence, she thought. Her and the dog.
--
She came back from the diner exhausted in every bone, too tired even to cry.
She had nothing left. Her husband had left her, and good riddance to him-- he'd been gone long before he actually left. Her children hated her, and with good reason-- but what else could she have done, let Michael die? Her family was gone; the life she'd imagined was nothing more than a fading dream.
She'd tried so hard, and lost everything just the same.
Rebecca climbed into bed and turned out the light, and lay staring into the darkness, too tired even to sleep.
--
When she woke up-- and how had she fallen asleep?-- there was a heavy weight in the bed beside her.
She would have been alarmed, but she was still exhausted, and anyway a distinct odor of dog permeated the room. So instead of running for the phone, Rebecca turned on her bedside lamp.
The big black dog lifted its head off its paws and blinked at her, mildly.
She blinked back.
It gave a sort of doggy shrug, then shifted onto its side and laid its head on her belly.
She patted it, feeling strangely comforted, and fell back asleep.
--
When she woke up again, feeling rested, the dog was gone, leaving only an assortment of black hairs and strange smells where it had been. Rebecca wasn't worried-- she shuffled into her slippers, and went to the patio.
As she'd thought, it was back in its accustomed place, head on its paws. It thumped its tail twice, as accustomed, and when she didn’t start watering the plants, it looked up at her, head cocked.
She had no idea how it had known, or how it had gotten inside. But it had.
"All right," Rebecca said. "I guess you can stay."