The Last Supper.

Manav was a hungry boy, hungry of something particular. He had just one of it and neither did he know the recipe to make another. But that couldn’t deter him from endlessly savouring this piece of wonder he had. Every day he nibbled at it, took a bite or two, and it never ceased to satisfy his ever growing appetite. Oh what taste! It surprised him to no end! Each day was a new discovery! He became greedy. Never for once did he stop to think that his favourite little dish might be over soon by his ruthless craving. Strangely though, no matter how fulfilled or contented Manav felt, he grew thinner with each passing day. Not that he noticed. Not that he cared. The young boy was engrossed in extracting every bit of enjoyment he could from his prized possession. 

One cold winter day, at twilight, Manav sat down at the table. He stared at his plate. Only a small portion rested there. Did he wish he had consumed with a little more restraint? Did he wish he had preserved some for later? Oh no! Not Manav. Without thinking twice, he sunk his fork into it and gobbled up the last piece of his big round marvellous meal of blue, green and white. The fork fell. He disappeared.

Somewhere, the Mayans high fived.