Ficlets

The Cone shaped mountain had been coughing and burping up impenetrable columns of grey gas for nearly 7 hours, and Rob was almost alf way to the top. The toxic fumes had already began to wilt the once green bushes on his trail, and he now tied his red bandana around his mouth to sooth his burning lungs.

Another hour and he was constently gazeing at the beautiful veiw through squinting, watery eyes. The ground was now scatterd with steaming pebbles that rolled from the smoking chimney above him. Amoung the miles of forest and mountians that took his breath away, was a long congested highway. They were exacuating.

Looking up at his destination, he began to see orange flashes at the base of the pilar of smoke.

The earth shook. Behind him the highway collapsed, sending cars plumiting to the ground, and before him, the column of smoke was replased with a roaring column of fire. The cloud had disappearing from the peak, and it rained glowing globs of molten rock. Rob sprinted the last mile to the top.