The dry cracked wasteland stretches in all directions around you like an endless sea of grey. The patched backpack resting upon your shoulders suddenly feels impossibly heavy. For one brief moment the thought flickers through your head to just drop it and stay here. Even though the ground around your feet is identical to the hundreds of kilometres that came before it looks especially inviting for some reason. But no, you’ve come too far to stop now. Re-adjusting the shoulder straps you resolve to continue.
Hours of careful plodding pass without incident. A few burnt out husks of buildings, some more withered tree trunks but then, just when you’re preparing for your periodic crisis of determination you see it. Off in the distance, through the dust clouds and orange evening sunlight, an oasis. A single patch of green, the first non beige thing you’ve seen in years. You forget about the straps digging into your shoulders and the blisters on your feet. From deep within comes a special reserve of strength and hope propelling you forward.
It’s the fastest you’ve gone in a long while but time still seems to crawl. Pushing forward it becomes clear what you’re working towards. A hill covered in trees, green leaves rustling in the constant breeze, looms ahead growing ever larger but somehow impossibly far away. Until all of a sudden you arrive and you see what you couldn’t bear to hope for. A creek, a single perfect babbling brook. If it weren’t for the dehydration surely tears would be streaming down your face.
The backpack falls from your shoulders and rushing forward you plunge your hands into the water. The coolness is such a foreign sensation it’s almost painful at first. As quickly as they found the water your hands pull out, cupping the precious liquid. Greedily, you drink from them spilling half of their contents down your filthy shirt. Desperate for more you reach in for a second drink and your hands brush against something unexpected. You pull it out of the stream and look at it. A stainless steel bucket, perfectly preserved by the rushing waters and something else hidden below. It’s been so long since you’ve seen something like this it takes a moment to remember what it was for.
Hands shaking you gingerly pull it free from the rocky creek bed. A bottle opener, the perfect representation of how life used to be back then. Imagine that. A time when opening a bottle of beer was such an inconvenience that we would need a special tool designed specifically for this singular purpose. You turn the thing over in your hand and see an etched engraving on the wooden handle. BREWQUET. Now you really do cry. You may not know what it means but it reminds you so vividly of a time before. Truly a priceless relic, you vow to carry it with you for the rest of your days as a memento of this beautiful moment.
Add a custom bottle opener to your Brewquet order today for only $7! Also included in all “Gastown” and “Bankview” Brewquets.
-Delivery Driver Darrince