Just Out of Reach of the Sun

Tonight's Episode

What about day seventeen of Flash Fiction February? What about that? Yesterday was episode 50 of the podcast, and the official all-the-way-past-half-way-through FFF. A cool convergence, bro.

Like yesterday, today’s is also prose driven story.

The crust of iced over snow, drips, just out of reach of the sun. For the better part of the day, just out of reach of the sun. The surrounds are drenched in sun, all day. It’s firm, and warm, but that small patch, that hanging crust, extended, reaching, just out of reach of the sun.

Just Out of Reach of the Sun (I guessed the title)

It’s the final days of winter. There aren’t any big frosts to look for; it’s mostly a thaw, from a pretty short freeze. There was a lot of snow, and that’s great for the water table. Everyone is thrilled.

There’s this big, unwieldy issue of the local HOA and the people who want to keep the rules, the ones who want to change them, and the ones who don’t think the rules apply to them. All of that. All of that childish nonsense from people with too much time on their hands, so much that they have to mind each other’s business, and nobody even asked them to. Like that.

“It seems like everyone wants the rules applied to everyone else, but not to them.” Francine says.

Milton responds, “It’s always the way.”

“Now that the road is thawing out, it’s going to be pothole repair.” Francine says.

Milton says: “They’re talking about a type of asphalt road and also speed humps or speed dips or something.”

“Oh my.” She says. “I just can’t figure out why some people can’t stop minding other people’s business.” She continues.

“Too much money and too much time on their hands, hun, that’s all. A car driving down a road, a rumor—it’s all very large news in a little shallow hollow like this. “They actually believe their own nonsense.” Milton says.

“How long have we been here? Two weeks?” Francine asks.

The two of them are rustling through some things, looking for things, and placing certain items in their pockets or in a bag.

“Yes, and we’ve already been to three of those stupid HOA meetings.” Milt replies.

“I couldn’t get out of there fast enough today.” Francine says this as she pulls her arm away from a window, just out of reach of the sun.

Milt agrees: “All that time they spend at that hoopla, then they sit around and talk for an hour afterward. “It’s like they love to hate each other.”

“Like a dysfunctional family.” Francine replies. “Whenever we come through one of these gated communities, we hit on a good real estate deal, but the people treat us like outcasts. Like unwanted kids, it’s like we’re vampires or something.” She says. “I’d really love to stay in one of these little neighborhoods if people could just be nicer.”

“I’m going to check for them,” Milt says. “It’s been about a half hour; they might be coming back.”

Francine replies: “They’ll gossip like creeps for an hour.”

“Let’s go; out the back, they’re coming.” Milton says.

Francine frantically grabs things and makes sure she has everything. They leave out the back door and are waiting at the edge of the building, next to the driveway.

“Milt says: “If they go in through the front door, we wait till they are out of sight; if they come up the driveway, we bolt immediately.”

Three of the local ladies from the local HOA board meeting are coming up the driveway.

“What better time to do this than when those old crows are sitting around screeching and clucking? “It’ll give them some new gossip for their next dramafest meeting in three days.” Milt says.

“We’ll be long gone before then.” Francine says.

“I’d say in just the jewelry we’re looking at, about 15K?” Milt says. “That took us a half hour.”

“I have a gold vase that’s worth 15k in this bag.” Francine says.

As the two run across the backyard to the other side of the house, where they’ll be out of sight and down the next street over in no time, Milton slips on some dawdling snow that refuses to go along and melt. He pulls himself and his wet black sneaker around the corner of the building. Just out of reach of the sun.

The ladies hear a noise, and they hurry around to the back from the driveway. They see a disturbed patch of snow, and one of them thinks they saw something move around the corner of the building. “It was something dark.” She says.

“Like a bird or a little animal?” Another one says:.

“Hard to say," she said. It was just out of reach of the sun.”

End