Jovanka's eyes shot open in a panicking wake. Her mind was a whirl of confusion as to what had occured. She made an effort to rise but found herself to be blocked. With some strain and effort she pushed a small block of crippled metal off of herself and her torso shot out of the wreckage like cannon fire. Her breaths her heavy and quick and her eyes darted about, gazing at her surroundings.
The kitchen didn't look like the kitchen anymore. Metals was dangerously littered across the once spotless floor and the soups and stews and delicious dishes, which had been given much thought, time and effort, were strewn across the chaos, like the dressing on top of the mettalic salad.
Jovanka looked about in awe. She'd only been in the kitchen to write. She wanted to see, first hand, what goes on in a real busy kitchen for a book she'd been thinking up. The last thing that she could recall was some screaming and voices in another language-the chef and his staff-and then she was thrown to one side by a cataclysmic shake. Her head struck a countertop and she fell to the floor and then there was nothing...
Her forehead felt warm. She brushed it with her wrist and found to her dismay that she was bleeding from a head wound. She couldn't see how bad it was, she only knew where it was.
"I'm... I'm bleeding! S-Somebody..." and it was as Jovanka attempted to relieve herself of the grey nest of metal barrings and wall strips that she noticed the individual to her side. He had been underneath the rubble with her, his face shredded by a fallen metal panel, his form twisted so grotesquely and his eyes open wide in horror, glimpsing at ever woe to pass him, forever seeing his demise in a continuous purgatory. It was the head chef.
Jovanka's scream resounded about what was left of the room. Her eyes shot wide in terror and she scrambled away from him, trying to free herself of the sight. Scrambling up the metal, cutting her bare knees, her torn skirt tearing more as she climbed. And once at the top, unbenounced to her, Jovanka was greeted with a less than pleaant drop to the floor below; if it even was the floor. She tumbled down the side of the grey hillside, utterly at the mercy of fate, and when she reached the bottom, she did not hesitate to stand and make her way to the door, sore and terrified.
Passing through the doorframe, her boot kicked at a kitchen knife lying by a disembodied hand. Jovanka had to strain to keep down what food she had. She ducked down and grabbed the knife in a second and quietly mumbled under her breath "sorry... But I don't think you'll be needing it much now..."
With that she stepped into the hall and cupped her hands over her mouth. "Hello!" she screamed into the darkness. "Help! Somebody! Anybody!"
