A bright orange sun crawled out of the horizon. It looked around at the scenery before it: the bright greens of the leaves and grass, the vibrant yellows and reds and purples or the flowers, and the bright blue sky. No sooner had the sun smiled at the beauty all around than dark clouds rushed in, obscuring its view. The sun continued to try to peek around, under, and between the clouds for a bit before realizing the clouds were intentionally getting in its way.

The clouds swelled with overconfidence, lazing in front of the sun, never suspecting that the sun was simply biding its time, climbing higher for a better position to launch itself at the clouds.

Just before midday, the sun had waited long enough. It had the advantage of position, as well as the lulled laziness of the clouds. The assault was brutal, but fairly short. The sun pounded the clouds mercilessly, each blow accompanied by a bright flash of the sun’s pent up rage and followed by a thunderous roar of pain from the clouds as they spilled torrents of rain on the land below.

Having dispatched the clouds, the sun once again gazed about at the beauty below it. Beaming with pride and joy, it sent its warming rays to dry the land.

Here goes:

"Pick up the sword." The voice came from nowhere. A bright orange sun crawled out of the horizon. The light reflected off the sword and blinded James as he stood dazed in the orange glow of the early morning light. He knew he had to move but was frozen in place and felt that he was losing control. "Pick up the sword." The voice came again as the orange glow grew brighter and hotter. As James started to move to retreive the sword his foot caught on the trip wire releasing the poison dart. He never felt the orange flames engulf him. "Pick up the sword."

Hmmm... Can I use all four?

A bright orange sun crawled out of the horizon. I shaded my eyes and went in search of my morning paper. I tripped over something large before my eyes adjusted. That is definitely not supposed to be lying on my front porch, I thought. It wasn’t until later I realized I had stepped in the blood and tracked it into my tiny rented cottage. Mr. Fenwich, the owner of the place, came just as the police, coroner and reporters were leaving. “I am not paying to clean up that blood.” He started in by way of a greeting. “That’s new carpet.” Yeah right. I’d lived here five years and it was old then. Landlords must take special courses in how to be aggravating. Finally his ranting slowed down. “And one more thing,” he said as he started back down the stairs. He pointed behind the half dead rose bush next to the rotting steps. “Pick up the sword.”

I'll take a stab. I need to practice prose.

A bright orange sun crawled out of the horizon to reveal a fallen city. Swirls of smoke ascended the unfamiliar slopes of the skyline. The deafening sound of dead air descended like a plague, complemented by the roasted stench of the previous population. Clusters of cement with settled sediment crusted Main Street as it stretched beyond view. Nothing beside remained. The end was dawning.