Your Stupid Face

A Dash of Oil

The summer sun sent beams through the dusty air as it trickled through the holes in the shed roof. Fixing those was another thing on Morgan's long list of projects, but it wasn't what they were working on right now. At the moment, they were trying to find a bucket big enough to hold the old oil from the truck, but shallow enough to fit under it.

It was nice to have this brief moment of reprieve from the irritation that was Alex Stewart. They had hoped that he would relent once he saw what Morgan had done for his parents. The man passing out in the archives had given them time to forge documents giving the neighbor's land to the Stewarts, removing a threat and adding dozens of acres to the farm. Surely that would have been enough to prove to Alex that Morgan was on his side...

They were a fool.

If anything, the act only intensified the man's attacks. Every time Morgan turned around, something was wrong. Tools went missing, stacks of hay bails went tumbling, Morgan was knocked into a stock tank... They swore the man was a ghost, too, because half of the time, Alex was gone before they were able to respond. Something fishy was going on with him, but the farmhand didn't have the energy to deal with it right now.

With a sigh, they turned to the truck moving to push all their tools under the front end. They hadn't found a cart or a skateboard in the shed, so they just shimmied their way under the vehicle, barely noticing the rough concrete through their baggy shirt.

A smile worked its way onto Morgan's face as they looked up into the engine, seeing light through the pipes and belts and wires. This was their element. Tools and machines. They shifted under the truck, pulling their tools with them as they found the oil pan. The plug was a bit stuck, forcing them to twist to get a good angle on it, but eventually, it gave way, releasing a spout of dark oil.

Morgan waited patiently, not paying much attention to their surroundings as they waited for the flow to stop. Suddenly, they felt an iron grip on their ankle, followed by the painful scraping of the concrete across their back as they were dragged through the filthy stream and out from under the truck. "Shit!" they swore, sitting up and spitting in a futile attempt to rid themselves of the disgusting flavor of old motor oil. They reached up to clear their eyes before turning to meet a murderous brown glare with their own dark gaze. "What the fuck was that for!?" They demanded, feeling the oil oozing over their skin and through their hair.

"What the fuck are you doing under my dad's truck!?" Alex demanded right back, and from the way he held himself, Morgan couldn't help but feel that thrill of excitement only facing down death seemed to give them.

They grunted, pulling off their plaid overshirt and throwing it at Alex's face. "I'm changing the oil, dumbass!" they snarled, pulling off their ruined tank top too, and using it to try and clean their face and hands, at least enough to finish the job.

Morgan expected another quip or angry retort from the monster, but nothing came. When they looked up, they saw Alex just staring at them, a light blush across their face. "The fuck are you looking at?" they hissed, looking down at the oil dripping down their scarred and muscular torso. Nothing seemed to out of place. They didn't understand what had Alex reacting like that. They looked up to yell at him again, but saw nothing. Gone without a trace.

They looked around, grumbling about the man being a coward before they climbed back under the truck, into a puddle of oil, to finish the job.

It didn't take long to change the filter and put everything back together. Morgan had found some wood shavings to sweep over the oil spill and poured the last quart in before they started to clean up. The small cuts across their back stung as they pulled on their plaid shirt and slung the tank top over their shoulder. They needed to be at least semi presentable, since they still had to let Mr. Stewart know what they'd done.