This is an entry for a Flash Fiction contest Made possible by 
It was once common knowledge not to look at the sun. How silly Dean thought to himself as he put one more old tome on a pile almost as tall as him. “It has to be here, someone had to know how it all happened,” he murmured into the empty chill of the dusty library. Every hair on his body stood tall for a brief moment as he heard a crash a few meters behind him. It was to soon, he had not had time to figure anything out and it was noon and getting dark. He would try again tomorrow. His lantern was out of oil and nearly out of wick. The shadows were long and heavy. The only way back home was through the forest.
As he tread hurriedly through and around the leafless ash trees, he found himself once again questioning how he even got to this strange place. He knelt down at a small brook, uncapped his jug, and filled it to the brim. It was nearly dark. He could feel static and the scent of ozone rise. His fear was pin pricks on the back of his neck; he knew not to look back. He just had to keep going. Just had to cross one more hill to sanctuary. The warm wind was picking up. Soon enough the crystal laden steeple of an ancient temple was in sight. This dusty world had few respites, but it was one of them. It was fortified and safe with enough light from those crystals to keep the shadows off them until the moons rise.
He was greeted with squeaky gibberish by a small knee high creature he decided to call Bob. Undoubtedly Bob was telling him to hurry from the small slit near the entrance. Which Dean always thought was funny because Bob and the others were clearly not the intended residents of this human-sized temple. A few of the little guys pushed the door open for Dean. A few smiles peeked out when they saw the water and scraps he had brought back. The creatures' village was in a roofless courtyard not much bigger than him stretched out a few times. Dean thought kindly on knee high creatures. They were kind and giving. They were the only reason he survived the first few nights in this world. They even gave him a Dean-sized blanket for him to cover himself. He took that blanket and wrapped it around himself now. He laid there huddled looking up at the sun. It was dark and dead with slivers of orange and red cracked on its surface in web-like pattern. Dean prayed for dreams of home as he laid in the shadows of the Deadsun. He had touched the void, he had felt it's fall. He knew what ever was out there couldn't get in, which was good enough to fall asleep with.
