The Diamond Jewel on the Crest of Francois the Giant

by Momar Van Der Camp


You are standing on a circle, or something that may or may not look like a circle. But it really should be a circle. Move left. Or move right. Backwards or forwards. It doesn’t matter, especially if it’s a circle, because it’s a circle. After you leave the circle (which you must, for life in a cycle is a never a cycle), you jump about 30,000 feet in the air to touch a face that isn’t there. Or is it? It might be, who cares? Somehow, something else happens (!) and you manage to place your feet on some kind of platform somewhere. The platforms (as they have now doubled, then tripled, and so on and so forth), shake and tremble, or maybe not, it seems that they do, but that doesn’t really matter. You start to bleed from something that happened earlier 30,000 feet in the air and now your legs dangle under things that are or are not there. The dangling stops you as a giant, who really is a midget wearing pants, or maybe not, stands above you shaking a finger in your face. You were trapped in a circle, which is now a square, and then might turn into a triangle of sorts. It doesn’t matter. You don’t really pay attention to the circle as the cycle continues. Your body starts to crumble and crack into a million tiny little rock-shaped figures that look like dust mites crawling out from under a microscope to rip open a body of bed sheets, or maybe it doesn’t crack and crumble, as then you find your final destination! Or not.