A mountain jiggled. As I peered closer, I saw that it was no mere mountain but a breast beyond comprehension. It was the tip that gave it away as the giant brown areole surrounded a giant nipple pierced the clouds.
The mountain breast lactated. Down the side of the breast the milk flowed into a stream. Surrounding the stream were much smaller breasts of all shapes. Brown breasts jiggled alongside pale. Plump mounds wobbled next to rigid tiny tits. I saw tan lines among a few of the breasts but how those lines were formed were beyond me.
The stream of milk flowed past these breasts into the hills, but they were not hills. They were giant breasts, though not as giant as the mountain. These breasts were merely the size of houses with nipples the size of doors.
Nothing lived among these plentiful breasts. No creature stirred and no insect crawled. I could not divine the purpose of so many breasts. Were they formed by some mad god or did they provide nourishment for someone I could not see?
As I watched, a great wind sent the hill tits to jiggle and shimmy. A great breast moved and I saw the flash of bone beneath. It was difficult to see with my glass but the bone appeared to be a human skull, crushed long ago under a breast too heavy to measure. I suspect that some mammary obsessed magician may have made a fatal mistake in this bizarre dimension.
“In a Purple Mirror”