Perfectly Imperfect

five >> of cow tipping and cigarettes.

prompt 5: write a scene that takes place on a farm. 

A/N: All I can say is I'm not mad about this piece. I just wasn't sure how to incorperate a farm into my style of writing. Please don't hate me for how terrible it is.  

"I dare you to tip that cow." 

This is the first thing I hear when we hop out of the truck and onto the ground, feet crunching under the dirt. 

When exactly did driving out to a farm and drinking more beer out there become a good idea? Oh yes, after the fourth shot. Right. 

"What the hell is this? Some movie from the eighties?" 

Lisa shakes her head, blonde hair moving in curls around her head. The type of hair that drives guys nuts. And for some reason she is my best friend. Me, the antithesis of her, with my acne, dark hair and skin, and too heavy frame. And I let her convince me to do so many dumb things because of it. She's the cool one. I have to do what she says, right?

"I guess just sort of wanted to know what it would be like, you know? I have never tipped a cow." 

"Lis, you don't have enough strength to tip a damn puppy, let alone a whole cow." At her glare, I add. "Well, neither of us does." 

"Fine. I want to get drunk now. Really drunk." She says, moving to the bed of the trunk and grabbing a beer. 

I giggle. "Aren't you already?" 

"Just a little. Not a lot." She replies casually, popping open her beer and taking a sip. 

We drink in silence. "Come on. You have to tip that cow." She insists, lighting a cigarette and smoking it slowly.

She thinks that looks cool.

I beg to differ. 

"I fucking can't, Lis." I reply, sipping my beer. 

"Oh, come on. You have the strength of three of me." 

"So the average amount?" 

She sighs, rolls her eyes. I guess that's the thing about Lisa, and all girls like her. She's so pretty she's used to getting her way. That must be what makes attractive people so crazy. 

I am actually considering tipping the stupid cow, which says something about my drunken state, when a farmer's light shines on us. 

"Hey!" He yells. "What are you doing?" 

"Shit!" Lisa and I say at the same time. Maybe best friends do pick up each other's habbits. 

We rush into the truck, and I can't even buckle before Lisa has started the truck, speeding away in a cloud of dust. 

We are laughing like mad, hair whiping about us in the wind, Lisa's cigarette delicately dangling out of her window, lighting up the night sky. I look back to see the farmer yelling at us like we can hear him. 

I errupt into more giggles. 

I guess if I were sober I would tell Lisa to not just go straight, but she is sucking on the end of her cigarette now, one hand casually on the wheel and I think she looks cooler than me, even when we are both being bad asses, which kind of annoys me.

But I still keep laughing, lapping down the rest of my beer. 

That's when I see the two large lights, like the halos of two angels. 

Oh my god. There is a heaven, Is the last thing I remember thinking. 

Then all is the glowing lights like I'm drifting through paradise, then the flickering light of a cigarette before it hits the dashboard, then red like that of a million flames licking the logs of a fireplace, and finally darkness.