| General Flash Fiction posted July 24, 2019 |
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300-Word contest entry
The Crimson Princess
by RodG
In 1968 I was bound for summer school and needed wheels. That salesman's grin should have made me wary, but I'd seen my dream car in the lot--a red '63 Chevy Spyder Monza coupe. Only five years old, 20,000 miles, priced at $650. I talked him down to $600 cash and sang all the way home.
I immediately christened her "The Crimson Princess" and drove two jealous friends up and down Reno's main drag half the night, crowing with delight.
Two days later I put my suitcases under the hood and zoomed off to the City by the Bay. Oh, could that sweet thing hug the curves up and over Donner Summit. She zipped across the Bay Bridge and dashed easily through traffic. If I hadn't been in love before, I was truly smitten now.
But her betrayal began the first weekend after classes started. Half way up the steepest hill in 'Frisco, she balked, then stopped. Try using a clutch while stalled at a 75-degree angle. I caught my breath until she gasped, restarted, and . . . died again on level ground.
Her carburetor, I discovered, had a faulty flap. Never much of a mechanic before, I became adept at keeping that flap open by relentlessly inserting a screwdriver.
I quickly detested that dame's quirky personality. For three weeks I put up with the petulant bitch. But when she embarrassed me on a date by croaking six times, I cursed and vowed to junk her pronto.
The next day I was fortunate to get her to a Dodge showroom. Inside, I hocked myself up to the eyeballs with a three-year loan on a brand new Dart.
Receiving $700 for the trade-in, I grinned and tossed the salesman the keys to that pile of crap sitting outside.
An Automobile Story writing prompt entry
In 1968 I was bound for summer school and needed wheels. That salesman's grin should have made me wary, but I'd seen my dream car in the lot--a red '63 Chevy Spyder Monza coupe. Only five years old, 20,000 miles, priced at $650. I talked him down to $600 cash and sang all the way home.
I immediately christened her "The Crimson Princess" and drove two jealous friends up and down Reno's main drag half the night, crowing with delight.
Two days later I put my suitcases under the hood and zoomed off to the City by the Bay. Oh, could that sweet thing hug the curves up and over Donner Summit. She zipped across the Bay Bridge and dashed easily through traffic. If I hadn't been in love before, I was truly smitten now.
But her betrayal began the first weekend after classes started. Half way up the steepest hill in 'Frisco, she balked, then stopped. Try using a clutch while stalled at a 75-degree angle. I caught my breath until she gasped, restarted, and . . . died again on level ground.
Her carburetor, I discovered, had a faulty flap. Never much of a mechanic before, I became adept at keeping that flap open by relentlessly inserting a screwdriver.
I quickly detested that dame's quirky personality. For three weeks I put up with the petulant bitch. But when she embarrassed me on a date by croaking six times, I cursed and vowed to junk her pronto.
The next day I was fortunate to get her to a Dodge showroom. Inside, I hocked myself up to the eyeballs with a three-year loan on a brand new Dart.
Receiving $700 for the trade-in, I grinned and tossed the salesman the keys to that pile of crap sitting outside.
I immediately christened her "The Crimson Princess" and drove two jealous friends up and down Reno's main drag half the night, crowing with delight.
Two days later I put my suitcases under the hood and zoomed off to the City by the Bay. Oh, could that sweet thing hug the curves up and over Donner Summit. She zipped across the Bay Bridge and dashed easily through traffic. If I hadn't been in love before, I was truly smitten now.
But her betrayal began the first weekend after classes started. Half way up the steepest hill in 'Frisco, she balked, then stopped. Try using a clutch while stalled at a 75-degree angle. I caught my breath until she gasped, restarted, and . . . died again on level ground.
Her carburetor, I discovered, had a faulty flap. Never much of a mechanic before, I became adept at keeping that flap open by relentlessly inserting a screwdriver.
I quickly detested that dame's quirky personality. For three weeks I put up with the petulant bitch. But when she embarrassed me on a date by croaking six times, I cursed and vowed to junk her pronto.
The next day I was fortunate to get her to a Dodge showroom. Inside, I hocked myself up to the eyeballs with a three-year loan on a brand new Dart.
Receiving $700 for the trade-in, I grinned and tossed the salesman the keys to that pile of crap sitting outside.
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Writing Prompt Write a story of up to 300 words (no poems) including something to do with an automobile. Fact or fiction, but a car must be mentioned somehow in your story. |
The Chevy Corvair (see illustration) was a novelty because of its engine-in-the-rear. The Monza Spyder was a sportier coupe and could really zip.
WORD COUNT: 298 Apple Pages
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. WORD COUNT: 298 Apple Pages
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