Big Black Truck

Written By: D. C. Martin

 Jake Sullivan had never taken a dick pic before. But he just got a topless picture of Shannon and he wasn’t about to fuck this up. He lied about almost everything on his Tinder account, but he knew that once they’re dtf, reality didn’t matter any more. He pulled into the McDonald’s and got himself the first thing he saw on the menu. He couldn’t stop thinking about his Caramel Cheesecake McFlurry melting as he stared at Shannon’s picture and got himself hard. He sent it but waited a few seconds before leaving the stall. There was an old guy washing his hands. Jake walked out quickly, grabbed the McFlurry, hopped back into his truck and set out for the party. Maybe this thing with Shannon would be more than just another hook-up. Whatever happened, she would never supplant his one true love.

Jake thought about his truck, about when he bought it last week. It was time for a new truck. He drove to the dealership and saw Rams, F150s, Sierras. The setting sun cast a silhouette around an enormous black beauty and Jake was in love. Every conceivable thing black and shiny, ready to reflect the endless black and shiny void of him. The black, shiny void of his followers.

Jake purchased his GMC Sierra Denali Ultimate 1500 AT4 6.6L V8 Allison 10 speed transmission with 20 inch high gloss aluminum wheels. It was a serious investment, and it would be hundreds of dollars every time he fuelled up. But it would be worth it.

Sierra spoke to him in a sparkly metallic voice: “Welcome to Sierra, the vehicle so versatile, it will become whatever you need it to be.” His truck had been the best acquisition of his life.

He’d be at the party in seven minutes. His phone lit up with “Shannon”. Jake reached over to the passenger seat and opened up the new picture on his phone. He couldn’t look away. Someone honked at him and he looked back at the road, hitting the brakes hard. He got a dirty look from the nasty old Karen crossing the street.

His phone brought him back.

you lost?

Jake sped through traffic, weaving through lanes swiftly. Then his truck’s navigation system spoke to him. 

“Careful. Speed limit exceeded.”

Jake promised himself that he would fix her settings later. The last thing he needed was Sierra nagging at him. She still needed to be broken in. 

When Jake got to the party, he couldn’t find Shannon. 

where u at?

Jake thought about going into the kitchen and finding her a drink, but his phone began to vibrate.

meet in front

“Big black truck. So huge and expensive.” Shannon said. She was impressed, like they all are when they see something shiny. It reminded him of the girls he interviewed for his channel. Just wearing a suit and tie and having a camera crew made girls think he was some sort of big shot. Jake’s YouTube presence started exploding after “why_yo_girlfriend_so_ugly?” got its millionth view, and then its millionth subscriber.

#

“Donnie Drake here, ready for today’s report, gentlemen. It’s a beautiful day. I’m here at the Bend, just about an hour outside of Argyle. Walking around here, looking for jocks. Excuse me, sir! Can I have a word with you?” Jake asked, looking up and down a shiny, muscular body—pectoral muscles hard and tight, leading down to a toned six-pack. 

“Huh? Sure.”

“Would you and your girlfriend like to appear on my show?”

“You’re kind of cute,” the girl said.

“Sounds like a yes to me. But since I’m a serious journalist, I insist that your boyfriend agrees, too.”

“Ask your questions, man. I’m Steven, by the way.”

“Thank you. And, Steven, let me compliment you on your physical fitness. You must work out three, four times a week.”

“Dude, I work out three, four times a day.”

“Ha! That’s my problem. Three to four times a day,” Jake made it look like he was writing it down. 

“So, Steven,” Jake began. “You’re very fit. Like, elite level fit.”

“Well, maybe. I don’t know about that.”

“You are. You are, Steven. And elite level men get elite level girls right, Steven?”

“Huh? What are you saying?”

“Steven. Let me get to the point.” Jake paused, as he always did for the show, before unleashing his catchphrase: “Why yo girlfriend so ugly?”

Steven hit Jake so hard that his head bounced off the pavement and hit it twice. He was concussed and spent the day in the hospital watching his likes and views explode. That ugly girlfriend was the best thing that ever happened to him.

#

“Wanna see inside?”

Jake took Shannon’s hand and helped her into the cab. He was a gentleman.

It was going well. Shannon wasn’t as hot as her Tinder account had led Jake to believe, but she was definitely hot enough.

“You don’t remember me do you, Donnie Drake?”

All of the excitement left Jake, realizing he was looking into the eyes of Steven the jock’s ugly girlfriend.

“I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to know what it’s like to be treated like an object, an object of ridicule.”

She took out her phone.

“I’m sorry, Shannon. You gotta understand, it’s not like that. I never thought you were ugly. You’re–”

“I’m what? I’m what, Jake?”

“You’re not ugly. Not half as ugly as most of the ugly girlfriends. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, Jake. I have to be completely honest with you. I want to hurt you. You remember that picture you sent me? I’ve just shared it with a few of my friends.” She turned her phone around and Jake could see all the likes bubbling up like a glass of champagne. The caption read: “Little Donnie Drake.”

Shannon left the truck, talking into her phone. Jake’s phone started lighting up with reactions. It wouldn’t stop. Jake threw it down. He would deal with all of this when he got home.

“Fuck her!”

He hit the gas and spat a bunch of gravel all over the walkway. His phone started lighting up again and he couldn’t look away.

“Never again, never again.” Jake yelled into the emptiness of his cab. He forgot what girls were, what they truly were. He forgot. But he wouldn’t forget again. He wouldn’t give in to temptation, he wouldn’t stoop that low. They were lesser. They were needed for one simple thing and money provided it. He would never seek out relationships again. He would seek satisfaction only, in the most efficient way.

Jake’s phone buzzed and lit, buzzed and lit. He glanced down and then back at the road.

“Deactivating phone systems,” the truck said.

Jake frantically sifted through the settings on the centre console touch screen, trying to get his phone back. He raced through submenus and found it: external device controls …

“Emergency brake system activated!”

The scream from the brakes startled Jake. Then there was a bump and a clunk.

A  stroller bounced off the grille and landed a metre or two away, Sierra’s brakes skidded as they worked to a halt. A man fell but got right back up and ran to the stroller. As Jake shifted into reverse, he could feel something pinning him there. He finally got free and u-turned in the middle of the empty intersection. He saw the crumpled body of a woman on the road. There was so much blood. Jake went faster and faster. His eyes were glued to the rear view mirror as the family got smaller and eventually disappeared.

Jake pulled into one of those self-serve car washes. He would have never gone to a place like this, but he couldn’t think. He couldn’t think straight, the vision of the mother replaying in his mind as he scrubbed and squeegeed and pressure washed the fuck out of the grille. She was under the truck, she got run over. Each time he rinsed it he noticed another speck of blood and started over.

He tore out of the car wash not even knowing where to go.

“Set new destination?” Sierra asked, emotionless.

Jake jumped and let out a tiny scream. The screen mapped a route to Dawson and Sanderson, the accident. He pulled over and looked at the screen. His options were: “Not now” or “Later”. Jake couldn’t slow his breathing. He stumbled out and started pacing, each step grinding into the gravelly shoulder of Highway 20.

Another big black truck pulled over in front of him. Dust rose under its thread-bare All-Seasons as its chrome testicles swung gently from a rusty chain on its hitch with a high metallic squeak. It was dusty and old, but it was a friend.

“Need help, son?”

“Yeah.” Jake breathed out hard, but he didn’t know what to say next.

The man pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. He lit a cigarette as a Semi passed, forcing a gale of dust at the strangers. “So what is it?”

“I did something … ” Jake kicked some gravel. It was all grinding under his feet. He could feel it crushing down. He was sinking in it. Deeper and deeper.

The man came closer, set his hand on Jake’s shoulder and said, “We all done something, son. All of us. Whatever you done, I forgive you.” The man smiled. “Need a drive back to town?”

“No, sir. Thanks for stopping. I’ll be alright.”

 The man walked over to his truck, but looked back one more time before nodding and pulling away.

That’s what nobody understands about guys who drive big black trucks. They stick up for each other. They all know that they are paying more for gas, they all know that they make it harder for everyone else to see, they all know that they make parking a pain in the ass for everyone else, they all know that they make it impossible for you to merge on the highway. They weave through lanes, they speed, cut you off, they tailgate you, they give you the finger. They all drive alone, and never have any cargo. They never have a speck of dirt anywhere. 

They’re the inspiration for every truck commercial during every hockey game. They’re the ones who were angry and voted for the asshole ruining your life, ruining your country. 

They are called bullies, psychos, monsters. But they are the only ones strong enough to force you into reality. Your inevitable, inescapable self. Where the will, the power of you, the individual, triumphs. They exposed your weakness and made you stronger. And that’s the point. They want to make you hate them. They want you to know their gas costs more than your rent. It’s their Botox, it’s their diamond ring. It’s their mascara, it’s their bling.

And most importantly, they know that they will live through the accident. Big black truck drivers always live through accidents. Why would they care about anyone else? 

Jake just needed to get over this. The man was right: everyone’s done something. It was time to lavish affection on his only true love. Sierra needed a big set of chrome balls. But Jake wasn’t a sucker. He researched endlessly to find the best set of shiny testicles. He read all of the reviews. They need realism. He could picture his silver balls swaying gently off the end of his hitch, drivers behind him remarking about how perfect they were, how they made a statement about the kind of man the driver must be. 

Loneliness finally set in on Jake. It was unfortunate, because he just wanted to drive his truck and get away from it all. He pulled over under a flashing neon sign.

“Setting new destination: Main and King. Police station,” Sierra said. Jake turned her off and stepped out.

Girls were a commodity. A monetary necessity. As soon as he accepted that, everything got better. He would be surrounded by girls when he got rich. That’s the easiest path: get rich. Girls want rich guys regardless of how they look. Money is efficiency, money is success. Besides, the girls at “Bottoms Up Gentlemen’s Club” kept him entertained enough.

“What are we going to do with you?” Stacy asked while grinding into Jake’s lap. Of course this part was only the appetizer, to build the anticipation. Eventually she would say, “What’ll it be today, Mr. Jake?”

“I think you already know, babe.”

In many ways, Stacy was the perfect woman, and this was the perfect relationship. Jake would never have to worry about her in-laws or raising a damn kid. If she got too needy, he would just find another Stacy at another gentleman’s club.

Jake’s eyes rolled back and then his body sank deep into the plush burgundy banquette. Occasionally he would look at her, and her eyes would lock on his, even as they bobbed up and down. He thought back to her on the stage, spinning down a pole as the sound system pushed out Blur’s “Song 2” and all the fat assholes and university kids in perv row cheered. All his fives were crumpled into Stacy’s g-string, never in those of lesser strippers.

Jake checked his phone after he pulled his pants up. He got a text from Sierra. 

Prostitution is illegal. 

His phone went away for the night and he tweaked Sierra’s privacy settings.

Food didn’t taste good anymore. In fact, nothing felt good. He couldn’t even enjoy his favourite video game. He watched the razors spin, too fast to see an individual blade. He watched his alter ego stand there in front of them, standing idle, waiting for a button command. He was tall and strong—a Greek god, hard muscles ripping shadows along edges of bare flesh. He always took charge. He didn’t ever ask for anything, he took what was rightfully his. But Jake could never be the god of anything. All the joy had left Jake, he couldn’t move forward; he couldn’t see a way out. He became the same as his video game character, standing around waiting for something to happen, for someone to move him forward.

#

“What are we going to do with you, Mr. Jake?” By now, Stacy was practically his girlfriend. And she would never betray him like Shannon.

Stacy started her descent. 

“What’s your hurry?” Jake wanted to stall a little.

“I know what you want, Mr. Jake.” She started unzipping and then stopped. “You’re under too much stress today, right? We can just talk if you want.”

Jake began fuming; blaming society, blaming his conscience, blaming everyone but himself.

“It’s okay, Jake, but just so you know, the agreement money-wise still sticks.”

“Stacy, I … ”

“Honestly, it happens to lots of guys. Y’know, some guys just need more self-confidence. Quiet guys, shy guys … ”

“Shy guys? Fuck you, Stacy! I can’t believe I wasted so much time with you.”

Stacy’s jaw dropped.

Jake was so furious he could barely get his breathing to steady. He stood up and flung some bills at her. “You cheap, ugly whore.”

Jake hated himself more than ever when he got back into Sierra. He just sat there in the cab, trying to justify the man he had become.

“Jake,” said the truck, centre display lighting up. He turned her off.

Jake started scrolling on his phone. He got a notification from Sierra. “Recommended article.” It had a link to: “Guilt: How to Manage Your Guilt in the Modern World.” He cleared it from the screen and promised himself to change the settings tomorrow. He went deep into his phone, and finally calmed down. 

Another recommended article: “Betrayed by Their Own Brothers: How Life in the Manosphere is Ruining a Generation of (would be) Men.”

Cleared. 

His truck switched on, but Jake was sure he hadn’t hit the ignition.

Sierra’s display lit up again: “Impotence: Why it Affects Narcissistic Young Men.”

Jake’s fist went directly into the centre display and sent cracks throughout the screen, expanding from the centre. His knuckle was dripping with blood. 

“Home,” Jake said, shortly. But he couldn’t sleep. 

#

Saturday came and Jake had lots of time. 

“Okay, let’s take Main Street to Norwood Avenue … ”

Jake couldn’t help but notice that the centre interface wasn’t cracked any more. Maybe he imagined punching it. Sierra’s voice was different, too. It took him a while to put his finger on it, and then he finally figured it out. She sounded exactly like Stacy! 

Sierra started taking him where he didn’t want to go. She took him to his parents’ house and he had to have lunch and listen to dad talk about golf and mum talk about gardening. She took him to Argyle. To the very intersection where his brakes didn’t work. But Jake’s past wasn’t important. He didn’t care about it. He didn’t even care about girls any more. 

“Remorse detector activated,” appeared on his screen as Jake resigned himself to being a passenger.

Sierra drove him to the police station in Argyle. Jake just sat there. Hours went by and Jake did nothing, not even look at his phone.

Sierra sped off out of town, all the way to scenic Argyle lake, and parked. Jake got out and walked around, thoroughly disinterested. He looked at his truck. So perfect. Not a spot, not a speck on it. The setting sun cast rays on the hood, and light splashed off through the trees. In the past, Jake would have got a few pictures and a couple of selfies in front of Sierra. Now nothing seemed to matter. 

Sierra’s headlights turned on. Jake fumbled around with his keys to correct it. Sierra’s engine turned, sounding much louder than it ever had. Again, Jake pressed buttons. He pointed his fob right at his truck, pressing harder and deeper. The hood flipped open and the V8 engine lifted out by itself. It dragged internal components with it, rising slowly and shifting parts to form impossible shapes. The Allison transmission came out next and began rising slowly. Wires and coils reached up quickly like fingers and nails, they wrapped the body of the monster. The serpentine belt slithered upwards.

Jake began to tremble.

Sierra started changing. The transformation was smooth. Different parts were flowing into each other. Jake could see what was happening now, a clear shape forming. A woman. She was metallic and shiny like the truck, but it was a woman. Head down, fetal position, enormous.

Sierra began standing up. Shapes moved to form parts quickly. It was all detail work now. Electrical wires made veins that knotted around arms. 

When Sierra began unfurling, as a butterfly from a chrysalis, she was shiny and smooth. And totally black. Her form was naked and perfect. She was probably twenty-five feet tall. The chrome testicles Jake had attached to the truck flew away and clanged when they hit the edge of the road.

Jake regarded the shiny naked beast. She was complete now, standing erect and breathing out gently. Swaying slightly as she inhaled and expelled air. Sierra had the picturesque beauty of a neglected video game character. Everything shone brightly. The texture was sublime, like liquid captured in a glass, but without the glass. Each sculpted toe, every contour on the shin, the calf. 

Jake gazed at the knee’s curved front, its edge, its sides shining out dents and grooves. He observed the quadriceps next, smooth and long. Much longer than Shannon’s, and more toned. As Jake tilted his neck further, he fell back. 

Sierra’s stomach was outlined with abs in glimmering black steel, right to the subtle edge of her ribcage. He slowed his gaze to savour the rest of her torso, which featured spectacular tits. Better than any he’d seen at Bottoms Up. Jake became aware of how swole he was, aching under the zipper of his jeans. He looked down and saw that he was even bigger, even harder than that day. He was haunted by the day that he sent his first dick pic to Shannon. 

“What are we going to do with you?” Sierra asked, her liquid metallic face catching the blue shine from the street lights. “Let’s go back to the police station. You could confess. You killed her, Mr. Jake. Her name was Jessica.”

Jake was fuming with anger. 

“Take me home, now.”

As Jake walked towards Sierra, he heard her ignition sound and she revved her engine.

“There are two phases to this next mechanism, Jake. The carrot and the stick. I would very much like you to take the carrot.” She bent a little to look down at him. Her voice was still as soothing as ever.

“Fuck you!” Jake was furious. “You’re my truck. I command you!”

The next transformation was slow as each part melted into new forms. It was scary to watch, not knowing what was coming next. She was much lower to the ground now and she resembled a tank. She had enormous shiny blades, like propellers, in front on the left and right. Sierra settled into her new state and then Jake began to perceive a whirring sound, like when you turn a food processor on. It was deep, with a very low bass. Like a thousand enormous food processors. 

“Vengeance mode activated.” 

Sierra’s voice rang through the night air from the enclosed cabin of the truck, easily eclipsing the crickets, who had since then dominated the dark atmosphere. Then Sierra began moving, razor blades spinning rapidly. Jake saw the edges of blades spinning at an alarming speed and ran on the gravely road.

She was right behind Jake, matching his pace exactly. He was going to get away. But when he got tired, Jake wanted to just quit the game. His Nikes started kicking up dust and pebbles. He looked back and Sierra’s blades were close so he dug in again, pushing off harder from each landing, stretching his stride. The first cut barely touched his right ankle, most of it being absorbed by the heel of his running shoe. He kept going and got a little faster with a solid dose of adrenaline. The next cut was a deep gouge through most of his left calf and heel including his Achilles tendon, which made him fall flat. He struck the road with his elbow first and then his wrist, his chin, his jaw and his nose. His brain reset as he started to bleed out. Sierra stopped completely. He looked at the place his heel used to be and saw it cleaved like the edge of a ham at a butcher shop, except that blood kept pouring out and pooling around the edges. Jake crumpled up, grasping his calves. He was screaming out in white-hot pain, rolling from side to side.

Nothing happened for a moment as the screams subsided. There was a stillness and a silence. Then Jake heard the crickets scratch their sound back into the darkness. Another transformation began to occur. Sierra became much lower and flatter. Jake felt the urge to give up, to fall asleep as he looked back at the end of his left leg, a steady line of blood still spilling out and looking for grooves around pebbles in the decaying body of the highway. He was lifted up and placed back into Sierra, who was shifting and changing before his eyes. 

In front of him was the interface screen, which normally had a speedometer and song lists from Spotify. Now it had front-cam video of the accident. Jake had never seen this. How the mom cradled the stroller with her body just before the impact. The look of horror in her eyes, the reflection of his big black truck in her dark black pupils. It played again. It skipped and replayed like a glitching YouTube short. 

“Digging mode.”

Sierra started vibrating. Soil and rock flung in great clumps all around outside of her cab. She was digging down. She was boring into the earth. On the interface, Jake still saw the mother protecting the stroller, faster and faster loops. Her hands grasping hard. Starting over. Her look of horror. Grabbing the stroller, putting herself in front of the truck, stroller flying through the air and landing on the curb. Father running, mother missing. “Jessica!” Hitting the brake, mother missing, shifting in reverse. Where is she? Hitting the gas, thud, looking back.

“No! I didn’t do that. I didn’t do that … ”

“Setting new destination,” Sierra said. Her voice still a perfect match for Stacy’s.

Jake needed to know where they were going, he just needed to escape this hell.

“Where are we going? Sierra!”

“Oh, Mr. Jake … ”

“Sierra! Stop! I get it. I’ll go to the police station. I’ll confess! I’ll do whatever you want! Sierra, please!”

It got darker and the machine kept digging. It became much louder and faster, penetrating deep into bedrock. Jake was dying and desperate. He could barely keep his eyes open, slipping in and out of consciousness. He saw her eyes again, he saw Jessica look right at him. He could barely command his own voice, but with his last ounce of strength, he asked, “Where are we going, Sierra?”

The metallic voice of his big black truck still rang with the fake, horny enthusiasm of Stacy. 

“I think you already know, babe.”

D. C. Martin is an emerging writer who lives in Guelph, Ontario. He hates the winter and people who don’t signal lane changes. His writing is known for its quirky characters who find themselves in highly unexpected predicaments. Mr. Martin teaches Grade 4 and lives with his wife, daughter and cantankerous cat.