Flashes of Inspiration

Doing Truck Stuff

Greg cringed as the gears clashed and ground.

"Clutch!"

The grinding noise turned to a whiny purr as the old gearbox found first.

"Alright," he said. "Easy, now..."

The wheels spun, spraying dirt back at him, covering him in a brown cloud.

"What does 'easy' mean on the planet where you were born?!"

The door opened, then slammed shut. "You're the one who want to show me how 'real truck stuff' was done. Is this what they call 'truck stuff' on the planet where you were born?!"

The redheaded fury stood before Greg with her hands on her hips, eyebrows drawn together. Her short red dress was out of place in this rural dirt field. But then, so was Greg's tux.

It had been all Greg could do to muster up the courage to ask Halsey out in the first place. But his friends prodded and encouraged him by turns, saying he needed to "cowboy up" and call the girl! He was surprised when she quickly agreed to come to the prom with him, and he'd decided during that phone call that he was going to impress her.

Well, he thought, she's never going to forget this night, that's for sure.

They turned toward the truck, both eyeing it accusingly, as though it had played some willful part in this mess, burying itself up to its axles out of sheer mechanical petulance. Greg sighed.

"Well, it's not exactly what I meant," Greg offered apologetically. "But this is kinda what happens with real trucks."

Her sour look softened a little. A slight glint in her eye told Greg that Halsey was a real country girl after all, and he relaxed a little. He cocked his trademark crooked grin and asked, "So what do you want to do on our second date?"

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words truck, dirt, noise