The Year is 2044

I'm sixty eight years old. I've been saving this cola bottle since the 20s. It's not going to be pretty. I hope to elevate my consciousness. You don't know what they used to put in this stuff. They had us all hooked back in the day. I expect that it's been fermenting long enough to cause hallucinations.

This bottle was made to endure bullet trauma. It's a freakin' tank with a nasty payload. I've always been afraid of side effects. Now that I'm old, it's time to try. Nothing but 'shroom pizza and brownies for me.

(Author's Note: it is at this moment that my own attention span has reared it's ugly head and reminded me why I'm no good at fiction... skipping ahead.)

I--I see the dinosaurs. They had pet bunnies.

(fast forward)

The big bang was a science project.

(fast forward)

Jesus was a woman.

(rewind)

"They mistranslated the Word of God! It was supposed to say CELEBRATE!"

(fast forward)

"'The sleeper has awaken'," he says to me. I wish he was right. I can feel my sweat dripping skin. Blood, ketchup, hot dogs, bits of stomach. I'm eating myself slowly starting with my nails. The day is longer than forever.

(fast forward)

The camera zooms revealing the man's hand clutching a bottle. The skin of his knuckles are chapped and bleeding. Fade to black. Roll credits.