They are all too conversant with the allocation of such a scene but circumstances have vanished within the smog of a single lit votive. It rests in solidarity, slowly shedding tears of wax that collect at the very foundation they can’t see. They are generously placed in an orderly procession, filed like quintessential lattice, fatigued with concentration that is devoted to a small flame that quivers in the ether. Their expressions are stoic but staggering in awe as the flickering light casts’ a shadow of doubt on the contours of their faces. Their thoughts are radiating, taking the shape of halos that orbit around their heads as if imitating some epicyclic desire of truth. They welcome the fictitious fragrance that pollutes their minds in a prograde motion, leaving their lungs desperate to exhale.
Thats when they realize they can’t.
They try to open their mouths but they’re sealed by the very wax that is now suspended in the increasingly dense atmosphere they can only assume they are sitting in. But how can one sit if one has no foundation? Is not the definition of a seat a structure formed with four legs that are firmly rooted to the ground to raise and support a being in a comfortable manner?
They realize that it was because of their belief, that the foundation to sit ever came into existence. Their faith in the unknown that surrounds them keeps them afloat in, essentially, nowhere. The fire grows taller as they start to secure some sense of this awareness. They begin to shift in their seats, blinking rapidly as if trying to gain focus on anything other than the sparkle that has, for so long, entranced them.
There is but one whose vision becomes comparatively clear.
She squints ahead; instead of trying to deny the seemingly innocent seduction of this single flare, she centers herself around it. Coming into her only known reality, she begins to meditate with eyes pealed to the shallow white light. She begins to see other forms taking shape.
Lines abrupt, morphing the once restrained pigment into an epitome of florescent hues that pierce out like the sharp pain she is now feeling in her lungs. She wants to scream… With mouth still restrained, she clenches over, never losing sight of the flame. Suddenly, she can see everything. She looks around at the people next to her, they seem so lost. While she is just as lost, she has a sense that something is just not right. She can now move her arms, she wraps them tightly around her abdomen then sits up, beginning to touch her face. She can’t find her mouth, its as though her depth perception as disappeared like the floor below her. She is finally able to exhale as she locates the hard wax and holds it in her hands. It melts between her fingers but she can’t feel a thing. She molds the liquefied wax as her mind unravels with the possibilities that echo between her ears. She closes her eyes, desperately trying to escape this nightmare. She is growing pusillanimous with every thought and, try as she might, she can’t getaway from the pulsing questions of her sanity.
She begins to panic, hopelessly dangling her feet at the edge of her seat. With every kick, a wave of molten wax splashes up, drenching her weak body. She slowly begins to dissolve.
If only she knew she was dreaming…