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1August2026:ThereWillComeSoftRains(1950)1RayBradburyInthelivingroomthevoice-clocksang,Tick-tock,seveno'clock,timetogetup,timetogetup,seveno'clock!asifitwereafraidthatnobodywould.Themorninghouselayempty.Theclocktickedon,repeatingandrepeatingitssoundsintotheemptiness.Seven-nine,breakfasttime,seven-nine!Inthekitchenthebreakfaststovegaveahissingsighandejectedfromitswarminterioreightpiecesofperfectlybrownedtoast,eighteggssunnysideup,sixteenslicesofbacon,twocoffees,andtwocoolglassesofmilk.TodayisAugust4,2026,saidasecondvoicefromthekitchenceiling,inthecityofAllendale,California.Itrepeatedthedatethreetimesformemory'ssake.TodayisMr.Featherstone'sbirthday.TodayistheanniversaryofTilita'smarriage.Insuranceispayable,asarethewater,gas,andlightbills.Somewhereinthewalls,relaysclicked,memorytapesglidedunderelectriceyes.Eight-one,tick-tock,eight-oneo'clock,offtoschool,offtowork,run,run,eight-one!Butnodoorsslammed,nocarpetstookthesofttreadofrubberheels.Itwasrainingoutside.Theweatherboxonthefrontdoorsangquietly:Rain,rain,goaway;rubbers,raincoatsfortoday…Andtheraintappedontheemptyhouse,echoing.Outside,thegaragechimedandlifteditsdoortorevealthewaitingcar.Afteralongwaitthedoorswungdownagain.Ateight-thirtytheeggswereshriveledandthetoastwaslikestone.Analuminumwedgescrapedthemintothesink,wherehotwaterwhirledthemdownametalthroatwhichdigestedandflushedthemawaytothedistantsea.Thedirtydishesweredroppedintoahotwasherandemergedtwinklingdry.Nine-fifteen,sangtheclock,timetoclean.Outofwarrensinthewall,tinyrobotmicedarted.Theroomswereacrawlwiththesmallcleaninganimals,allrubberandmetal.Theythuddedagainstchairs,whirlingtheirmustachedrunners,kneadingtherugnap,suckinggentlyathiddendust.Then,likemysteriousinvaders,theypoppedintotheirburrows.Theirpinkelectriceyesfaded.Thehousewasclean.Teno'clock.Thesuncameoutfrombehindtherain.Thehousestoodaloneinacityofrubbleandashes.Thiswastheonehouseleftstanding.Atnighttheruinedcitygaveoffaradioactiveglowwhichcouldbeseenformiles.Ten-fifteen.Thegardensprinklerswhirledupingoldenfounts,fillingthesoftmorningairwithscatteringsofbrightness.Thewaterpeltedwindowpanes,runningdownthecharredwestsidewherethehousehadbeenburnedevenlyfreeofitswhitepaint.Theentirewestfaceofthehousewasblack,saveforfiveplaces.Herethesilhouetteinpaintofamanmowingalawn.Here,asinaphotograph,awomanbenttopickflowers.Stillfartherover,theirimagesburnedonwoodinonetitanicinstant,asmallboy,handsflungintotheair;higherup,theimageofathrownball,andoppositehimagirl,handsraisedtocatchaballwhichnevercamedown.Thefivespotsofpaint—theman,thewoman,thechildren,theball—remained.Therestwasathincharcoaledlayer.Thegentlesprinklerrainfilledthegardenwithfallinglight.1RayBradbury,TheMartianChronicles(Toronto:BantamBooks,1985),166-172.2Untilthisday,howwellthehousehadkeptitspeace.Howcarefullyithadinquired,Whogoesthere?What'sthepassword?and,gettingnoanswerfromlonelyfoxesandwhiningcats,ithadshutupitswindowsanddrawnshadesinanoldmaidenlypreoccupationwithself-protectionwhichborderedonamechanicalparanoia.Itquiveredateachsound,thehousedid.Ifasparrowbrushedawindow,theshadesnappedup.Thebird,startled,flewoff!No,notevenabirdmusttouchthehouse!Thehousewasanaltarwithtenthousandattendants,big,small,servicing,attending,inchoirs.Butthegodshadgoneaway,andtheritualofthereligioncontinuedsenselessly,uselessly.Twelvenoon.Adogwhined,shivering,onthefrontporch.Thefrontdoorrecognizedthedogvoiceandopened.Thedog,oncehugeandfleshy,butnowgonetoboneandcoveredwithsores,movedinandthroughthehouse,trackingmud.Behinditwhirredangrymice,angryathavingtopickupmud,angryatinconvenience.Fornotaleaffragmentblewunderthedoorbutwhatthewallpanelsflippedopenandthecopperscrapratsflashedswiftlyout.Theoffendingdust,hair,orpaper,seizedinminiaturesteeljaws,wasracedbacktotheburrows.There,downtubeswhichfedintothecellar,itwasdroppedintothesighingventofanincineratorwhichsatlikeevilBaalinadarkcorner.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.Hiddenfilmsdockedthroughwell-oiledsprockets,andthewallslived.Thenurser