Who Loves the Sun?

Submitted into Contest #92 in response to: Write about a character who thinks they have a sun allergy.... view prompt


Fiction Funny Holiday

The sun makes me wheeze hard. It makes me grow spots and welts. It makes me strip naked and roll around in my front yard to stop the intense burning and sweating. I confine myself to the house and shut the blinds. People call me weird but they don’t understand because-

“-they’re not allergic to the sun.” 

“And you are?” 

That is Falicia Myers over the phone. She's my alleged best friend who doesn't believe I'm allergic to the sun. Despite me bailing her out of middle school detention when the teacher slept underneath her newspaper. Despite me distracting her horrible date with someone else's flashy sports car. She encourages me to step outside and suffer solar hives. 

Solar hives are not real, Lucas,” she declares as if she is an authority on solar hives. 

“You do not know that, Falicia.” I grunt between bites of my egg salad sandwich. 

“The Solar Inquisitor says solar hives are on the rise among millennials.” 

I can hear her eyes roll in her sigh. And then her keys jangle. She's coming over to persuade me about the so-called evidence against solar hives. 

“I'm keeping my door locked.” 

“No you are not, Lucas Maison.” 

She hangs up. I pace around my room to plot a way around this solar hives conversation. How about my first dive into cooking? I nod and descend the stairs with my sandwich once the doorbell rings. Here she is and here I am behind the door.

“Why did you open the door like a weirdo?” 

“To evade the sun-” 

Uh oh. Abort mission. Avoid her eyes and clean up my sentence. Invite her into the kitchen. 

“-day afternoon solicitors. You hungry?” I rush her into the kitchen with ease. 

Her stomach growls on cue. 

“We can eat at the beach,” Falicia deadpans away from the fridge. 

“Or in my air-conditioned house. Much better idea there,” I reply with the fridge wide open. 

“We’re going,” she drags me into the living room and I cling to the doorway. 

“Not gonna have my skin boil.” 

“Grab an umbrella.” 

I'm reluctant to grab an umbrella and she snatches one to slam into my chest. 

“Come on, sun spot,” she frowns on the way to the car. 

I don't do so much as touch the car radio on the beach ride. Falicia reaches for the umbrella but I yank it away. 

“I had no idea pearl swimsuits were your thing,” I manage with a tight grip on the umbrella. 

“You left with denim on denim,” she shoots back and peeks at people and buildings we blur pass. 


The crowded beach comes into full view and I gasp. I grip tighter to the umbrella. 

“There is no space for us to relax.” 

“Can't squirm your way out,” Falicia crows and jerks into a parking spot by the rocky beach barrier. 

We stroll onto the beach and maneuver around people until we reach a perfect spot by a dock. 

“You have a beach towel?” 

Falicia produces one and lays it across the sand. 

“One for me?” 

She lays another one across the sand.

“And a beach umbrella?” 

She leaves and returns with a massive one within seconds. 

“Anything else, my Lord?” She replies with a sarcastic tone spreading sunscreen across her body. 

“Gotta be safe, Falicia.” 

She rolls her eyes and crouches beneath the umbrella. I would drop mine but better safe than exposed to the ruthless sun. 

“Redundant to be under two.” 

“Two is better than one,” I nod and block incoming sand with the umbrella. 

Falicia and I take in the scene of carefree families, couples, and friends on the beach. They sculpt sandcastles and dance to the radio and splash by the shore. Then she shakes her head at a cluster of muscular and denim-clad men and a woman covered by umbrellas a short distance away. 

“More of your kind,” she sighs and shifts away from them. 

“Fellow intellectuals,” I say with a smirk and wave the group over. 

“You are unbelievable.” 

The group shuffles over with a smile. Falicia scoffs and curls up in the beach towel. She is missing out. 

“What a solar hive-free day,” I exclaim and they nod with tight umbrella grips. 

“May Lady Fortune shine on us instead of the sun,” one of the group declares with a bow. “I'm Destiny.” 

“I'm Lucas and this is Falicia.” 


Destiny's eyes light up. 

Tu parles français?" 

Non,” Falicia frowns and curls up harder. 

“Oh,” Destiny scratches the back of her head and blushes. 

The rest of them crane their necks to watch her. 

“Your friend Falicia...”

“She doesn’t have it,” I assure them with a smile. 

“Or believe it,” she chimes in to their collective gasp. 

Destiny grabs a copy of the Solar Inquisitor while the men hold her umbrella. She rifles through and points to an article about the- 

“-first case of solar hives,” she says in a frantic nod. “Silvia Rosemarie in the summer of France 1992.” 

Falicia sits upright and scans the photo. 

“This is a joke,” she comments with a suppressed chuckle. 

I join Destiny and her friends’ collective gasp. 

“How could you say that?” I frown and stamp into the sand. 

“Those are dots of fancy cheese spread.” 

Destiny's face burns red straight to her ears as she flips to another article. 

“Queenie Samuels,” she points in a half-scream and attracts everyone's stares. “Summer of Chicago 2005.” 

Falicia squints at the photo and slaps her knee in a giggle. 

“Chicken pox.” 

Destiny flips to article after article with frenetic speed and points to them. Me and her friends watch in awe. 

“Ferdie Basco in the summer of New York 2015.” 

But Felicia is not fazed. She stretches and sorts through each photo with an uncomfortable ease. 


“Jaleel Quistis in the summer of London 2002.”


“Solaris Johnston in the summer of Boston 1997.” 

“Yellow polka dots”. 

Destiny howls and notices everyone with cameras fixed on us. Fixed on her. She composes herself and bows. 

“Nothing to see here. Carry on with your beach day.” 

Falicia waves goodbye with a grin and I mouth the words “I am so sorry” but Destiny pinches one of my cheeks. 

“At least you are sensible.” 

“Sensible must be code for strange,” Falicia chuckles as I hold Destiny back from retaliation. 

“I bid you both farewell.” 

She pivots and stumbles over a kid’s sandcastle. Her umbrella falls away from her and she squirms in a guttural noise. Her group of guys shield and lift her away from the beach and scattered laughter. 

“I am not gonna be that careless with my umbrella,” I shake my head and grip it tight. 

“I hope you trip and lose it when we leave,” Falicia cackles and curls back up in her beach towel. 

May 05, 2021 16:25

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