The Coca-Cola Bottle

This is not how Ruben wanted the end the day.

”C’mon mate, you know you can’t keep getting into trouble like this!”

Ruben’s father, nicknamed “Gramps”, helped pull him out of the scraps which buried Ruben’s legs. This was a common occurrence for both of them – it even gave Ruben some nostalgia for when he was a “wee little kid” as Gramps put it. Back when he faithfully adopted Ruben, inadvertently gifting him the skills required to scrap metal.

“It ain’t all bad, I found some silicone in ‘ere. We can melts the gold off!” Ruben replied in his raspy voice. Gramps took the chipset and inspected the text lasered onto it. “That’s from a 2027 iPhone, one of the last ones released. Scrap that and you’d be a fool.”

Ruben always appreciated Gramps and his knowledge of the past; he wouldn’t be the type to care but as he grew into teen-hood he began to realise the true extent of how the world had changed over the past half century. Through Gramps furrowed beard always came a drop of wisdom now and then.

“Sun’s setting,” Ruben noticed, “We’d better heads back.”

They packed up all the most valuable finds into their backpacks, leaving room for the Coca-Cola bottle. Ruben couldn’t read but certain written words and phrases in specific fonts had the disturbing ability to stick in his head. To Ruben, the bright red label with articulate, white, wavy calligraphy seemed distinctive enough to be recognisable from Mars, despite having never seen or drank Coca-Cola before in his life. Nonetheless, a bright red bottle took up an unreasonable amount of space in Ruben’s backpack, in case him or Gramps were to find a source of water.

Ruben decided to observe the view to distract himself from the stupid bottle. Ruben saw how the sun’s glow could still pierce through the thick monotonous air in its whole grey glory. It was almost completely set by now. He looked to his left and to his right, trying to gather all there was too see, in a path he had wondered through, sprinted though and danced through thousands of times. Gigantic skyscrapers, now lifeless, without its glassy skin, composed of nothing but concrete bone, truly did scrape the sky. There were isolated individuals with little fires nesting there, like ants on a corpse. They lived how millions did before Ruben. When their tragedy was not a matter of fact but reasoned by those who were in the skyscraper. Now, similarly isolated parasites continued their heritage.

“Coca-Cola warmth is overthinking me’s,” Ruben paused, ”In a good way.”

“Do you mean fire is fascinating?” Gramps inferred.

“Yeah, probably.”

They continued on their trek and Ruben’s thirst started to annoy him. It seemed like they were finally getting away from the “scrap zone”. Whilst it had no distinct start or end (it was mostly just a pile that levelled out toward the centre), the scraping area was in a somewhat designated place. As homes of corrugated metal started appearing more frequently on the walk away from the scrap, more people spoken to around the city would describe where they live as a “neighbourhood”. Ruben suddenly felt a tug on his foot.

It was some fabric. He reached down and picked it up.

“What kind of Coca-Cola logo is this?” Instead of white text in the centre of the design, there was some flower in its place. There was, however, text encircling the flower.

“It’s nothing.” Gramps replied.

“What’s wrong?” This time he did not reply.

Finally, at the end of their walk, Gramps and Ruben arrived home. Eager to pour some water for the two, Gramps went to inspect the water tank.

“God damn it!” Gramps shouted, “We’ve been raided.” He buried his face in his hands. “I know I’m not your father, but I still feel responsible, Ruben. That iPhone made me think of the life before, the life you deserve.” His face was turning Coca-Cola.

“You’ve done everythin’ for me.” Ruben insisted, “You jus-

“No, no you don’t understand, your constant thirsty voice, your illiteracy, your inhumane childhood…” Gramps trailed off in complete grief. It was up to Ruben to comfort Gramps. His agency. His power. In this moment, he felt the world dissolve around him. He pulled out the flag out from his pocket. Despite being unable to read, Ruben had already seen and memorised the specific sequence of letters that comprised the words “go to” and “water”, which appeared on the advertisement.

“C’mon Gramps.”

It’s time.