Hideaway

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The last time, everything fit in three duffles.  She was getting greedy.  Robbing banks was just supposed to be a means to an end – a way for her to get enough money to move away from the podunk town where she’d been born and get out of marrying her childhood sweetheart.  Everyone there had the exact same life.  No one ever left.  But she wanted to be different.    She never thought she’d get addicted to the thrill.  Now she was infamous, robbing banks up and down the Florida coastline, eluding the police.  This would have to be her last haul.

She barely got all of her money into the duffle bags, she would have to count it later, then ran to her car, tossing the money into the backseat.  She would miss the hotel.  It was gorgeous, right on the water.  Her favorite hideaway so far.  As she drove away, four cop cars, sirens wailing, zoomed past her in the opposite direction.  She’d left in the nick of time.  The car would have to be ditched next.  And then she’d start her new life.

For Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

 

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