there, sits a monk, in some filthy basement. not a single soul around.
he believes a set of ideas, now considered weird, once considered a widespread religion. yet, he’s all alone.
in the corner of the room there is an old box of candles. at least it was filled with them, a long time ago. but now, there’s only one left.
he takes it out, lighting it and setting it on the damp floor. the fire slowly eats away at the wax.
he meditates, focusing on the flickering fire. an atmosphere of something important ending in the air.
corpos stopped making good candles half a millenium ago, when real wax was deemed unprofitable. the only alternative are awful synthetic ones.
as the fire slowly goes out, so does he.
he’s the last one to reach enlightenment.
awareness was not profitable for the capital, so they made us get rid of it.