Марсианские хроники
August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains
Thedogranupstairs,hystericallyyelpingtoeachdoor,atlastrealizing,asthehouserealized,thatonlysilencewashere.
Itsniffedtheairandscratchedthekitchendoor.Behindthedoor,thestovewasmakingpancakeswhichfilledthehousewitharichbakedodorandthescentofmaplesyrup.
Thedogfrothedatthemouth,lyingatthedoor,sniffing,itseyesturnedtofire.Itranwildlyincircles,bitingatitstail,spuninafrenzy,anddied.Itlayintheparlorforanhour.
Twoo’clock,sangavoice.
Delicatelysensingdecayatlast,theregimentsofmicehummedoutassoftlyasblowngrayleavesinanelectricalwind.
Two-fifteen.
Thedogwasgone.
Inthecellar,theincineratorglowedsuddenlyandawhirlofsparksleapedupthechimney.
Twothirty-five.
Bridgetablessproutedfrompatiowalls.Playingcardsflutteredontopadsinashowerofpips.Martinismanifestedonanoakenbenchwithegg-saladsandwiches.Musicplayed.
Butthetablesweresilentandthecardsuntouched.
Atfouro’clockthetablesfoldedlikegreatbutterfliesbackthroughthepaneledwalls.
Four-thirty.
Thenurserywallsglowed.
Animalstookshape:yellowgiraffes,bluelions,pinkantelopes,lilacpantherscavortingincrystalsubstance.Thewallswereglass.Theylookedoutuponcolorandfantasy.Hiddenfilmsclockedthroughwell-oiledsprockets,andthewallslived.Thenurseryfloorwaswoventoresembleacrisp,cerealmeadow.
