Flash Fiction

Half the time its dark, half the time its not.  Sometimes its twilight.  At twilight its magical.  A land of possibilities.  A treeless plain, full of glaciers and volcanoes.

The glaciers move, so slowly.  If you stand close, so close that you can touch them, you still can’t see them move, but you can hear them sing.  They sing like angels.  And in their shadow its dark, dark and cold.

The volcanoes are fire breathing dragons.  Exploding in anger and throwing their weight.  Beating down all opposition.  In their shadow its dark, dark and so very hot.