Tick-tock, 7 o'clock time to get up! Tick-tock!
The clock sang as if it were afraid that nobody would. The house lay empty, with nothing but the clock repeating it's sounds into the emptiness.
Seven-nine! Breakfast time! Seven-nine!
Jungkook walked into the kitchen, sitting down to eat his already made and warm brown toast, six eggs sunnyside up, twelve slices of bacon, two cup of teas and two cold glasses of milk.
'Today is February 7, 1998' said a second voice from the kitchen ceiling, 'in Gyeongsang, Busan.' It repeated the date three times for memory's sake.
Somewhere in the walls, relays clicked, silence was loud, sadness was around the corner.
Eight-one, tick- tock, eight-one o'clock! Off to work, run, run, tick-tock!
But no doors slammed. No footsteps were heard on the carpet floor. No 'have a good day, see you later.' kisses. It was raining outside, the sky was crying yet again. The weather box on the floor sang quietly: 'Rain, rain, go away; rubbers, raincoats for today...' and the rain tapped on the empty house roof, echoing.
'Nine-fifteen,' Sang the clock, 'time to clean!'
Jungkook washed the dishes, mopped the floor, and made his bed.
Ten o'clock.
The rain had stopped, the sun came out from behind the rain, the house stood alone in a city of rubble and ashes. This was the only house left standing. The city gave off radioactive glow at night which could be seen from miles.
Ten-fifteen.
The garden sprinklers whirled up, sunlight took care of the grass and flowers.
Twelve noon.
A dog whined, shivering, on the front porch.
Jungkook recognized the dog's voice and opened the door. The dog, once huge and fleshy, but now gone to bone and covered with sores, moved through the house.
The dog ran upstairs, hysterically yelping at each door, at last realizing, that only silence was there.
It sniffed the air, smelling the dumped eggs and bacon in the trash, then scratched the closed kitchen door. The dog lied at the door, sniffing, eyes turned into fire, teary, sad, let down. It ran wildly in circles, spun, biting it's tail, and died. It lay in the parlor for an hour.
Two o'clock, sang the clock.
Jungkook stared out the window, looking at, nothing.
Two-fifteen.
The dog was gone.
Two thirty-five.
Jungkook sat on the couch, fumbling with the cards that were set down on the table, and picked one randomly, red Ace of diamonds
Then the tables were silent, and the cards were discarded at four o'clock.
Four-thirty.
Jungkook's on his bed, fumbling through pictures of his mother, father, and his lover.
Five o'clock.
The bath filled with clear, hot water.
Six, seven, eight o'clock,
dinner was ready.
Nine o'clock.
Jungkook went back to the bedroom to wear his pajamas, brush his teeth, and climb onto his warm bed, taking his slippers off.
Nine-ten.
A voice spoke from the ceiling.
'Mr. Jeon, what poem would you like to hear this evening?'
The house was silent, so was he.
The voice spoke again, 'since you express no preference, i shall select one at random.' Soft music played, followed by the voice, 'Sara teasdale. As I recall, your favorite...'
'There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims in a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, either bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.'
Soft music continued playing.
At ten o'clock, the house began to die.
The wind blew, a falling tree bough crashed through the kitchen window. Shattered glass, broken dishes, tree leaves and kitchen blankets fallen onto the stove. The room was ablaze in an instant!
'Fire!' Screamed a voice. The house lights flashed, water pumps shot water from the ceiling, while the voice took it up in chorus: 'Fire, fire, fire!'
"Jimin?" Jungkook yelled out looking to the other side of the bed, where his partner had went off somewhere in the house, "Jimin!"
Jungkook tried to save Jimin and the house. He sprang the doors tightly shut, but the windows were broken by the heat and the wind blew harder.
The carpet was set on fire as billions of angry sparks flew around and moved around flaming in every room then up the stairs.
Water sprinkled and sprayed from the ceiling, but it was too late.
Jungkook heard Jimin's screams and desperate, painful yells-- heartaching memories coming back to his mind-- and fell onto his knees, tears streaming down, one after another, as he relived the moment all over again, just like every night.
The fire crackled up the stairs. It fed upon Picassos and Rembrandts in the upper halls, turning the canvases into black shavings.
The fire was clever. It had sent the flame outside the house, through the attic to the pumps there, an explosion!
The house shuddered, Jungkook was still helplessly crying on the floor, why didn't the fire take him too?
One, two, three, Jimin's voice died.
The fire burst the house and let it slam down flat, puffing out skirts of spark and smoke.
Smoke, silence, tears, sadness, and regret.
Dawn showed faintly in the east, among the ruins. One wall stood alone. A last voice said, over and over again and again, even as the sun rose to shine upon the heaped rubble and steam;
'Today is February 8, 1998, Today is February 8, 1998, Today is . . .'
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This story was very heavily inspired by Ray Bradbury's "There will come soft rains" and this is nothing more than a re-creation of it and I've only changed a bit of the plot/characters, and whatnot. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!
