In a town, in a sector of a quadrant there lies two lines side by side that never cross. In stiff competition with one another, each glances over at the other periodically to see the score. “This is not the way lines should behave”, said the circle as he emptied the contents of his innards into a nearby discontinuity, “Don’t they know it’s a pointless endeavor? There is no end to it.” Glowing shards of unknown geometry floated gracefully into the distance. A cosmic ballet of warm plasma that would soon be no longer. Little by little the fragments fragment.
By Lord Gaffington