Flash Fiction Friday is a weekly feature of short-short fiction I’ve either written on the spot or pulled from “the trunk”. Community Property is a trunk piece.

 

The couch was antique. It had belonged to Don’s grandmother. I sat on the middle cushion, running my hands over the burgundy velvet, staring out the window. The air was thick and hot, my nose burned. The temperature in the house had risen steadily as the sky grew darker. The flames were closing in.

I felt a small pain in the center of my chest, sitting on Don’s couch, in Don’s house.

Don had taken the ATV. I could have gotten down the mountain early in the day when the evacuation order went out, if I had it.

Don’s kindness surrounded me, mocking me. The five thousand dollar stove I had to have when we remodeled stared back from it’s faux retro frame. “Just had to have the vacation home with the custom kitchen you never use, didn’t you?”

The soft, worn velvet of the couch tickled my fingers, giggling. “You just had to have me, didn’t you? You slut.”

I thought I could hear the BMW in the garage saying, “You know, the beat up old Chevy had four wheel drive. You’d at least have had a chance.”

The afternoon sky was black now, but I stared out the window, anyway. Waiting. All the things I had won in the divorce looked back at me, disapproving. That’s okay. They would burn, too. I saw the crimson and orange flames lick the outside windowsill. It was time. Everything I fought for would be gone.

I should have fought for Don.

 

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