A Matter of Fate

The ambient sounds of the city floated through the entrance of the abandoned building where a door once stood. It mixed with the dust particles floating through the air, illuminated by streetlights glinting through broken window panes.

The honking of a horn right outside the building brought a flutter from Fate’s eyelids and a heavy, rumbling sigh as he shifted around on the pile of pillows and blankets that took up the entire corner of the room, settling back into sleep. Only a few minutes later, a clatter sounded, sending something small and metal skittering across the smooth coated concrete. Probably a raccoon, stray cat, or some other small critter but the noise roused Fate to sit up anyway, shaking his head so shaggy bangs were tossed away from heavy-lidded eyes, squinting through the dusky darkness. His gaze traveled over his pile of stuff; the metal top of a flask glinted from where it sat burrowed in a coat, backpack resting against an empty plastic crate, a torch, the wrapped up leftovers of a bacon sanger, a scattering of wrappers, empty stubbies and other rubbish. Nothing rummaging through his stuff, so that was good. Fate settled back and closed his eyes. More scuffling noises tempted him to look around again, but he was knackered and even if a ‘coon ran off with his brekkie he wasn’t far from a drive-through.

A light tug on the hem of his sleeve shook any remaining sleep away as his attention rose up to the sight of a messy mop of blonde hair and wide blue eyes staring down at him. It was a kid, a little girl, probably no older than 8 years in a raggedy green jumper and leggings with shredded knees.

“Whaddya want?” Fate grumbled.

“Are you the wish granter?”

“Wha? Izzat what they’re callin’ me now?” Fate rubbed at his eyes and sat up.

She fiddled with a string on her jumper, “I need a new home.”

“I’m not lookin’ for flat mate. ‘Specially not some lil’ ankle biter.”

“No, not with you,” she sounded slightly offended at the idea. “Just… not with mum or pop anymore.”

“So you're a run’way, izzat it?”

She didn’t say anything, just stared at the ground, rolling a rock back and forth under her dirty runners that had holes at the toes.

 He took a moment to get a better look at her, noting the bruises spread over her arms and the dark circles under her eyes.

“New home, huh?”

She glanced up again, chewing over her lips before responding, “A new family. A good one.”

“Yours isn't?”

Her small fingers rose to gently grasp her arms. “No. I hate them. They yell and drink and hurt me.”

Fate’s eyes narrowed, muttering a string of curse words. The little girl didn’t even blink at the usage, which only made the irritation in his gut grow.

“I brought money,” she said, leaning down and pulling off her shoes, dumping a few notes and a handful of coins. He stared down at the meager offering, mentally counting it up. Almost six pounds - if he traveled back to ‘Straya it would be just under ten notes. 

“I don’ need that,” he replied, and her expression immediately fell.

“That’s all I have,” she said in a small voice.

He stood up, and she shrunk back. “I don’t mean…” With a sigh, he scraped the coins and crumpled notes towards him and she looked back up with renewed hope. “Wha’s your name?”

“Sara.”

“A new fam’ly?”

“Yes sir.”

“Got any rellies?”

Her expression was blank, confused.

“Relatives,” he specified.

Sara shook her head.

“Iz not easy for a kid t’get adopted, y’know,” he said.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

“But no worries,” he crouched so he could see her face through the curtain of blonde strands. “I think I’ave an idea.”

Sara watched him pluck up the coins and shove them into the pockets of his windcheater as he asked her, “Which d’ya like betta’- dogs or cats?”

“Dogs,” she replied.

“Why?”

“Because they always seem really happy I guess. They love you no ma’tah what and there’s a lot o’ people who love ‘em back.”

Fate nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“You’re sure you wanna new fam’ly?”

An enthusiastic nod.

“Even if, say, you f’got everythin’ ‘n’… started over?”

Her lips tugged into a frown, “I don’t want to remember them. I… it gives me nightmares.”

“A’right then.”

“You can do it?”

“Defo. Close y’eyes ‘n’ ea’s.”

Sara hesitated, so he added, “It’s best as a s’prise prezzie. Plus, a wish-granta’ neva’ reveals ‘is secrets.”

Her eyes shut and her hands covered her ears, head bowed as she waited.

“I say there’s a 100% chance,” he said softly. “That you’ll turn int’a good, sweet puppy, real well-behaved ‘n’ trained, very cute ‘n’ all that, and you’ll be adopted by a very good fam’ly that’ll treat you kindly for the rest’ve your life.”

Fate scooped up the wriggling pup out of the pile of abandoned clothes and stood, stroking the golden fur up the bridge of her nose and over her head, down her back to her wagging tail. 

“Tha’s a good girl,” he murmured, adjusting his grip as the little dog snuffled at his neck and squirmed up to lick his cheek.

He was the first person to swing open the doors of the no kill shelter minutes after it opened, carefully placing the puppy on the counter, keeping gentle hands on it so it wouldn’t try and jump off and get hurt.

“Found’er in a box. Name’s Sara. Box said she’s potty trained ‘n’ well behaved. She’s been a real good, quiet girl as I’ve brought her here. Clean fur ‘n’ seems healthy.”

The woman blinked up at him, eyes softening at the puppy whose paws paddled across the counter, getting her nowhere against the grip Fate had around her. “Poor dear,” she tsked and reached across to take Sara into her arms.

“Do I need t’do anythin’, or just leave’r here?”

“Well, if that’s all you know about her, then we’ll scan her for a microchip, give her a quick evaluation, and  I’ll just ask you to sign this form for me, for her release here.”

“She’s not me pet.”

“It’s just a formality we ask of anyone who brings in an animal, whether it belongs to them or not. We’ll wait seven days to see if her owner comes for her, and if not, then the legal rights are ours, and she can be adopted.”

“Her owners won’t come.”

“Again, just a formality.”

Fate stared at the papers disapprovingly, but signed anyway, as the woman handed the dog off to another girl, who carried her to another room.

He waited until she returned with an ok and as the woman reached to take the paperwork back, he kept a firm grip on the white sheets. She gave a little tug, looking up at him with bewilderment. He leaned over the desk, staring her right in the eyes, expression steady, but intense enough to leave her frozen in her spot.

“Make sure Sara goes to a good home,” he said, words said slowly and carefully. The woman nodded slowly.

“A good home,” he repeated, letting the papers slip from his fingers as he straightened up again.

The woman smiled softly, “Of course.”

He gave a short nod, spun on his heel and slipped out the door, hands slipping into the pockets of his windcheater, fingers touching the cool metal of the coins. Pulling one out, he flipped it and caught it in his palm.

Time to eat.