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Description
Jumble Story: The Last Sunset
   The sounds of the concert down the street are silenced abruptly as I enter the swanky new restaurant called Sushi Master. I'm grateful for the sudden quiet, happy to trade that country garbage that some people call music for this interesting, exotic Asian music. Cradling my camera close to my chest, I weave between the round tables with careful steps. The outlandish, but beautiful, trinkets decorating the tables make me wonder how the customers are able to eat food without breaking ornaments. I keep moving, anxious around all the breakable objects and totally aware of my tendency to lose my footing and break things.
   As I am heading towards the back of the restaurant, to meet the manager and plan my shoot, I glance behind me back at the sky. The sight makes me pause. The sun is just beginning to set, the colors of the sky running into each other. Pinks, purples, oranges, and even some blues all blend together into a work of art. As if caught in a trance, I bring my camera slowly to my face, capturing the sunset forever.
   But then, I feel a rumble, faint at first before coming in waves, each stronger than the last. The trinkets shutter, some breaking as they fall from the table. Instinct takes ahold of me, and I dash into the kitchen with my camera carefully tucked under my arms. I barely notice the chefs that are scattered around, flailing their arms and trying to save various objects. My gut tells me to hide, get somewhere safe, and so I ran into the industrial size freezer, slamming the huge, cold door behind me.
   Just as the door crashes close, the whole world seems to disappear behind me. I collapse on the ground, my chest heaving violently. The cool, crisp air stings the sweat beading on my forehead. I glance around the industrial freezer, noticing the large tuna hanging from the ceiling hooks. The kitchen outside is eerily silent. As I slowly lift myself from the ground, I notice some strange things. First, I discover that my camera is still in perfect shape, despite being thrown around by that last blast. Then, the sharp, sudden smell of raw fish fills my nose. What sense does that make? The fish should be frozen, yet as I look around I can see that the tuna is dripping, the ice melting at a rapid rate. I turn around, looking back at the door, and I watch as steam leaks in through the cracks.
   Suddenly feeling too hot and tight, I stagger to the door. With a shove, I manage to push the slightly warm door open. And the sight I encounter outside of the freezer leaves me breathless and stunned: Ash. That is the first thing I notice. It is everywhere, the only thing I can see at all. Taking cautious steps, I move away from the freezer and into the wasteland that was alive and standing minutes before. The sky is now orange, but not a beautiful orange. It is a hazy orange, one that looks ominous.
   Sushi Master is no more than a large pile of ash and cinders. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I venture forth into this wasteland. One of the first things I come across is one of the chefs that were scrambling around before. Now, though, he is frozen in time, coated with ash. My mind immediately races back to my history classes, to the people of the Pompeii Disaster that were captured in their last moments by the rain of ash from the volcano. Gingerly, I reach out to the chef, taking in his expression of terror. My fingers brush his rough, black cheek ever so gently, but it is enough. The chef instantly falls apart, adding to the already enormous pile of remains. With a frown, I look around and see the other chefs, all caught in different stances of their final moments.
   My fingers twitch on my camera, and before I know it, I'm taking pictures of everything that comes into my vision: The other chefs standing still, the one that collapsed at my hand, the freezer behind me that miraculously stayed intact. The pictures fill me with a strange sadness, but with rapture at the same time. It is an exhilarating feeling that keeps making me click away with camera.
   Soon, I tread out of the, or what used to be, restaurant. Nothing else is that different. Ash-frozen people are everywhere, and most buildings are completely gone. Although, I can see that down the road, where the concert is, the stage is still standing. The spectacle makes me want to laugh. Of all the things, the stage would be the one thing that stands. I can see the crowd still there, a black sea massed around the stage. With camera poised, I stride over to the concert.
   Once there, I, again, cautiously tread among the stand-still crowd. Every now and then, I stop and snap a picture of something that inspires me. However, it soon becomes too much. I drop my camera, letting it dangle on the strap hanging about my neck, as I climb onto the stage. With a snort of laughter, I poke the once-country singer and watch him fall down into a pile of ashes. But my laughter is short-lived. I am the only survivor, the only one left alive. Why?
   "Oh, my God!"
   The voice makes me jump up, and I turn back to the audience to see a woman coming out of her hiding place. A survivor! Filled with elation, I jump down from the stage and rush into her. She throws her arms around me, crying hysterically and whispering something in my ear. I don't take in what she says until it is too late. She falls down to her knees, and I fall with her. That's when I see the blood seeping through her shirt. My heart plummets.
   Her last breath is feeble as it brushes against my face, and my hope goes with it. Holding her limp, dead body in my arms, I consider just ending my hopeless existence. I glance around, and low-and-behold, a gun lays not far from my reach. Slowly, still cradling the girl with my arm, I reach forward and my fingers curl around the gun. I bring it to my head, contemplating whether to pull the trigger or not.

Description
Jumble Story: The Last Sunset
   The sounds of the concert down the street are silenced abruptly as I enter the swanky new restaurant called Sushi Master. I'm grateful for the sudden quiet, happy to trade that country garbage that some people call music for this interesting, exotic Asian music. Cradling my camera close to my chest, I weave between the round tables with careful steps. The outlandish, but beautiful, trinkets decorating the tables make me wonder how the customers are able to eat food without breaking ornaments. I keep moving, anxious around all the breakable objects and totally aware of my tendency to lose my footing and break things.
   As I am heading towards the back of the restaurant, to meet the manager and plan my shoot, I glance behind me back at the sky. The sight makes me pause. The sun is just beginning to set, the colors of the sky running into each other. Pinks, purples, oranges, and even some blues all blend together into a work of art. As if caught in a trance, I bring my camera slowly to my face, capturing the sunset forever.
   But then, I feel a rumble, faint at first before coming in waves, each stronger than the last. The trinkets shutter, some breaking as they fall from the table. Instinct takes ahold of me, and I dash into the kitchen with my camera carefully tucked under my arms. I barely notice the chefs that are scattered around, flailing their arms and trying to save various objects. My gut tells me to hide, get somewhere safe, and so I ran into the industrial size freezer, slamming the huge, cold door behind me.
   Just as the door crashes close, the whole world seems to disappear behind me. I collapse on the ground, my chest heaving violently. The cool, crisp air stings the sweat beading on my forehead. I glance around the industrial freezer, noticing the large tuna hanging from the ceiling hooks. The kitchen outside is eerily silent. As I slowly lift myself from the ground, I notice some strange things. First, I discover that my camera is still in perfect shape, despite being thrown around by that last blast. Then, the sharp, sudden smell of raw fish fills my nose. What sense does that make? The fish should be frozen, yet as I look around I can see that the tuna is dripping, the ice melting at a rapid rate. I turn around, looking back at the door, and I watch as steam leaks in through the cracks.
   Suddenly feeling too hot and tight, I stagger to the door. With a shove, I manage to push the slightly warm door open. And the sight I encounter outside of the freezer leaves me breathless and stunned: Ash. That is the first thing I notice. It is everywhere, the only thing I can see at all. Taking cautious steps, I move away from the freezer and into the wasteland that was alive and standing minutes before. The sky is now orange, but not a beautiful orange. It is a hazy orange, one that looks ominous.
   Sushi Master is no more than a large pile of ash and cinders. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I venture forth into this wasteland. One of the first things I come across is one of the chefs that were scrambling around before. Now, though, he is frozen in time, coated with ash. My mind immediately races back to my history classes, to the people of the Pompeii Disaster that were captured in their last moments by the rain of ash from the volcano. Gingerly, I reach out to the chef, taking in his expression of terror. My fingers brush his rough, black cheek ever so gently, but it is enough. The chef instantly falls apart, adding to the already enormous pile of remains. With a frown, I look around and see the other chefs, all caught in different stances of their final moments.
   My fingers twitch on my camera, and before I know it, I'm taking pictures of everything that comes into my vision: The other chefs standing still, the one that collapsed at my hand, the freezer behind me that miraculously stayed intact. The pictures fill me with a strange sadness, but with rapture at the same time. It is an exhilarating feeling that keeps making me click away with camera.
   Soon, I tread out of the, or what used to be, restaurant. Nothing else is that different. Ash-frozen people are everywhere, and most buildings are completely gone. Although, I can see that down the road, where the concert is, the stage is still standing. The spectacle makes me want to laugh. Of all the things, the stage would be the one thing that stands. I can see the crowd still there, a black sea massed around the stage. With camera poised, I stride over to the concert.
   Once there, I, again, cautiously tread among the stand-still crowd. Every now and then, I stop and snap a picture of something that inspires me. However, it soon becomes too much. I drop my camera, letting it dangle on the strap hanging about my neck, as I climb onto the stage. With a snort of laughter, I poke the once-country singer and watch him fall down into a pile of ashes. But my laughter is short-lived. I am the only survivor, the only one left alive. Why?
   "Oh, my God!"
   The voice makes me jump up, and I turn back to the audience to see a woman coming out of her hiding place. A survivor! Filled with elation, I jump down from the stage and rush into her. She throws her arms around me, crying hysterically and whispering something in my ear. I don't take in what she says until it is too late. She falls down to her knees, and I fall with her. That's when I see the blood seeping through her shirt. My heart plummets.
   Her last breath is feeble as it brushes against my face, and my hope goes with it. Holding her limp, dead body in my arms, I consider just ending my hopeless existence. I glance around, and low-and-behold, a gun lays not far from my reach. Slowly, still cradling the girl with my arm, I reach forward and my fingers curl around the gun. I bring it to my head, contemplating whether to pull the trigger or not.