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.

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