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" Twelve noon.
A dog whined, shivering, on the front porch. The front door recognized the dog voice and opened. The dog, once huge and fleshy, but now gone to bone and covered with sores, moved in and though the house, tracking mud. Behind it whirred angry mice, angry at having to pick up mud, angry at inconvenience. For not a leaf fragment blew under the door but what the wall flipped open and the copper scrap rats flashed swiftly out. The offending dust, hair, or paper, seized in miniature steel jaws, was raced back to the burrow. There, down the tubes which fed into the cellar, it was dropped into the sighing vent of an incinerator which sat like evil Baal in a dark corner. The dog ran upstairs, hysterically yelping to each door, at least realizing, as the house realized, that only silence was there. It sniffed the air and scratched the kitchen door. Behind the door the stove was making pancakes which filled the house with a rich baked odor and the scent of maple syrup. The dog frothed at the mouth, lying at the door, sniffing, its eyes turned to fire. It ran wildly in circles, biting at its tail, spun in a frenzy, and died. It lay in the parlor for an hour.

Two o'clock sang a voice.
Delicately sensing decay at last, the regiments of mice hummed out as softly as blown gray leaves in an electrical wind.

Two-fifteen.
The dog was gone. In the cellar, the incinerator glowed suddenly and a whirl of sparks leaped up the chimney."

from "There Will Come Soft Rains"
by Ray Bradbury

Stock Used>

GettyImages--Buildings and Dog

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[link]

Google--Buildings

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Artwork assembled in PhotoSuit4 and Adobe PhotoShop Elements, Aug 07 2010

Post-Apocalyptic Concept Copyrighted (C) by mmpratt99

Quote from "There Will Come Soft Rains" Copyrighted (C) by Ray Bradbury

Description
" Twelve noon.
A dog whined, shivering, on the front porch. The front door recognized the dog voice and opened. The dog, once huge and fleshy, but now gone to bone and covered with sores, moved in and though the house, tracking mud. Behind it whirred angry mice, angry at having to pick up mud, angry at inconvenience. For not a leaf fragment blew under the door but what the wall flipped open and the copper scrap rats flashed swiftly out. The offending dust, hair, or paper, seized in miniature steel jaws, was raced back to the burrow. There, down the tubes which fed into the cellar, it was dropped into the sighing vent of an incinerator which sat like evil Baal in a dark corner. The dog ran upstairs, hysterically yelping to each door, at least realizing, as the house realized, that only silence was there. It sniffed the air and scratched the kitchen door. Behind the door the stove was making pancakes which filled the house with a rich baked odor and the scent of maple syrup. The dog frothed at the mouth, lying at the door, sniffing, its eyes turned to fire. It ran wildly in circles, biting at its tail, spun in a frenzy, and died. It lay in the parlor for an hour.

Two o'clock sang a voice.
Delicately sensing decay at last, the regiments of mice hummed out as softly as blown gray leaves in an electrical wind.

Two-fifteen.
The dog was gone. In the cellar, the incinerator glowed suddenly and a whirl of sparks leaped up the chimney."

from "There Will Come Soft Rains"
by Ray Bradbury

Stock Used>

GettyImages--Buildings and Dog

[link]

[link]

Google--Buildings

[link]

Artwork assembled in PhotoSuit4 and Adobe PhotoShop Elements, Aug 07 2010

Post-Apocalyptic Concept Copyrighted (C) by mmpratt99

Quote from "There Will Come Soft Rains" Copyrighted (C) by Ray Bradbury