Ash and Smoke

On a daily basis, nothing really interesting happens, ever. I always grab a bottle of onion powder, a thing of food, and a shovel. I leave the cabin when the light finally comes through the windows and start digging. I dig all the graves. I am the grave digger. Its my job. My friend is a shoemaker in the village and only comes to visit about once a week. Today is that day. Suddenly, I choke. My breath is dry and I can see the air turning black all around me. The ashes fill my lungs as I see the eruption. My shirt button falls as I run to a clear area, but there are none. Its as if Yalma was completely engulfed in smoke and ashes. Yalma was a quiet town, people rarely visited the barren place and food was plentiful. Yalma was named after the founder, Latona Yalma. He was a superficial auctioneer. Suddenly, the heat starts. It is bad heat, and my back feels as if it were melting. I ran back to my cabin and grabbed my paints and paintbrushes. I loved to paint. It was almost a second career. I painted the meadows that were now filled with ash. Gelo Meadow was a beautiful place to relax. Many people told stories that Gelo Meadow could not be harmed. I quickly ran there to see. Complete beauty. No ash or smoke, no heat. I stepped into the barrier and gaped at how there was a force field shape around it. I look around and hear a strange noise. I looked around and pulled out my soap, paints, and paintbrushes. Along with a canvas.