A can of coke

Picture it, the year 2050, not too far away. You might even be reading this in the year 2050, in which case you can have a good laugh at my portrayal of your time. Welcome to MY year 2050, global warming has accelerated due in no small part to the continued greenhouse gas emissions of the United States. We’re starting to feel it big time. Not bears drowning on a chunk of ice on the North Pole feeling it, New York underwater feeling it. Birds dropping out of the sky from heat exhaustion feeling it. If you’re a smart man or woman you may be asking yourself, what is there that remains valuable in a time of chaos such as this. The answer is simple, blatant and simple. Coke. No not cocaine, Coke, the fizzy refreshing drink.

How did a simple beverage gain such great value? Simple. Environmental terrorists destroyed the Coca-Cola production factory in Atlanta. It’s as valuable as gold now, due in no small part to the aristocratic collectors who demand a cold refreshment to take their mind from the squelching heat that’s beating us all slowly downward in to the pits of hell. So lets get this party started, pop open a can of the good stuff, sit back and relax, and get ready for a trip you won’t soon forget. Hit it.

The sun beat down on Xander’s large straw hat, of Asian design. A tattered tan cloth flapping violently about his shoulders in the relentless wind of the unnamed desert. He was searching again, that’s all he did anymore. Maybe he was looking for himself in that sand, maybe fortune, maybe he was just looking for death, but what he found was something far more unexpected.

Xander’s hand moved slowly to his side as he saw a glint on the horizon, hard to make out through the shimmer of the heat. Definitely something. The tall muscular man stood there for a moment, tugging a piece of cloth tighter around his face. Then adjusted his red-tinted goggles securely. With a downward tilt of his head and an inaudible spoken word he began journeying to the light.

Hours passed like minutes, maybe they were minutes, no real way of telling. His eyes were fixed on the glint, like those of a hawk on his prey though the light was as far away as ever. More hours passed, the glint was beginning to reveal a shape on the horizon now, perhaps a building? Still more time passed, the sun highest in the sky now, he could clearly make out what looked like a gas station. He halted his approach, remaining silent. “Raiders…” he mumbled to himself as he caught a glimpse of two trucks parked by the building.

His hand once again gripped his gun tightly, drawing it with great care, 44 magnum revolver, a real beauty. He pressed the side of the barrel against his face with a sigh, bowing his head once more, as if in a sort of prayer. He slowly extended his arm, aligning the iron sights of the pistol with care. No one in sight, it’d best stay that way he thought, lowering his arm again as he resumed his approach to the building.

He made his way to the door, glass broken for countless years, sand covering the floor within, walls gratified. Nothing here for raiders, nothing valuable. Nothing but him and the 5 thousand dollar bounty on his head. Chump change to most, but worth it if you’re hungry or looking to make a name for yourself. Abandoning this train of thought he stepped through the broken door, glancing around. Cash register gone, food gone, everything gone but sand. Sand… he looked downward at the sand, and noticed a red metallic object. He picked it up, dusting it off curiously, it was a can, a can of Coke no less. He began laughing to himself raucously, as if there was some great irony in it. Just then he heard footsteps, at least three sets. He leapt back from the door, rolled across the counter, ducked behind it.  The raiders entered the store, assault rifles drawn, shouting to each other in their COM systems.

Their paintball like masks muffling their words, only the muffled radio noise audible. Xander stood slowly, gun in his hand, can of Coke in the other, raising both hands high. “I don’t want any trouble, this is worth more than I am, why don’t you just take it and leave.” He said slowly, setting the can on the counter, expression hidden by the cloth tied about his face. One of the white clad raiders stepped forward, taking the can in his hand, backing up slowly. At once Xander leapt forward, grasping the man by the neck, holding him between himself and another raider, his gun pointed at the third. “Stand off” he said in the same deep emotionless tone. The third raider charged forward, then flew backwards against the sand, blood staining it red, his gun firing random shots in to the air before falling silent again. “Lets not try that again…” Xander muttered, tightening his grip on the raider’s neck at his struggling. Without warning the free raider began firing at Xander, hitting the raider in Xander’s grip, killing him instantly. Xander threw the corpse at the maddened raider, firing a single shot through the visor of his mask. “Good riddance, you people have no honor… now get out of my store” he grumbled, hoisting each body in turn, tossing them out the door.

He made his way victoriously back to the can of Coke, claiming it once more he sat  upon the counter, slipping the cloth from around his face, revealing a scarred lightly bearded visage. Then with a laugh he popped the can open with one hand, sipping the Coke, then spluttered, spitting it out ruefully. He shouted in disgust “Five million, five million for this CRAP? You couldn’t PAY me to drink it. DISGUSTING.” Throwing the can to the ground in agitation, the brown fluid seeping in to the sand.

Fin.