There Will Come Soft Rains...

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Glide: 1
In the living room the voice-clock sang. As if they were afraid that nobody would. The morning house lay empty. The clock ticked on, repeating and repeating its sounds into the emptiness. “Today is August 4, 2026,” said a second voice from the kitchen ceiling.
Glide: 2
At eight-thirty, The sun came out from behind the rain. The house stood alone in a city of rubble and ashes. This was the one house left standing. The entire west face of the house was black, save for five places. Here the silhouette in paint of a man mowing a lawn. Here, as in a photograph, a woman bent to pick flowers. Still farther over, there images burned on wood in one titanic instant, a small boy, hands flung into the air; higher up, the image of a thrown ball, and opposite him a girl, hands raised to catch a ball, which never came down.
Glide: 3
A few more hours went by. The dinner dishes are manipulated like magic tricks, and in the study a click. A falling tree bough crashed through the kitchen window. The room was ablaze in an instant! The crash. The attic smashing into kitchen and parlor.Smoke and silence. Among the ruins, one wall stood alone. Within the wall, a last voice said, over and over:“Today is August 5, 20266, today is . . .”

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