'There Will Come Soft Rains' by Ray Bradbury- Rewrite

                 The house was an uncanny sight. An undisturbed oasis standing in a scorched wasteland. I could hear the gentle clink of the dishes dropping into the dishwasher, and the gurgle of the sink as it washed away the leftovers. It sounded hollow. Mrs. Leary wasn't telling Mac and Fern to be careful. I couldn't hear Fern cry as Mac pinched her. Mac wouldn't run out the door to play with me today.

                    

                  I shuffled towards the house, trying to ignore the searing pain of my clothes against my skin. It peeled and fell off in flakes, I couldn't tell what was cloth and what was skin. My stomach grumbled as I reached the front door. I raised a red, blistered hand to push it open. 

                  "Welcome Patrick! How can I help you?" the house sang. 

                  "Can I have something to eat?" I struggled to speak.

                  "Sure! Mac will be with you soon." The kitchen sprang into action. The nursery came to life. "Patrick's here! Patrick's here!" it said to no one. Mac didn't run out with a ball and glove. Mrs. Leary didn't warn me that the food would be hot.

                   In the afternoon, a raggedy dog wandered into the house. Buster. Buster yelped and ran from room to room. He clawed and barked at every door before making his way to my feet. We sat in silence, the rhythm of his laboured breathing comforting. I stroked his head as if it was just another lazy Sunday. Until I realized that the rhythm had ceased.

                  The cleaning mice raced out of their holes. They seemed angry that something was out of place in this perfect home. I was alone again.

                  In the evening, the nursery came to life once again. Colourful leopards hunted spritely gazelles. Majestic elephants walked while noisy crickets chirped beneath their feet. Gentle breezes raked against my skin. I chased a gazelle across the technicolor grasslands. I caught a cricket and put it in my pocket. But they were still there, and I was still here. My mind raced, but my aching legs refused to move. My eyes chased the gazelle as the bloody stain where I sat grew larger. My sight captured the cricket as my trembling hands kept me from slumping to the floor.

                  The animals slowed. Somewhere in the distance, the kitchen summoned. My legs were heavy. My eyelids were lead. I curled up and let the smell of dinner carry me away.

                  I started awake with sirens blaring and the whole house screaming "Fire! Fire!" Smoke bellowed out of the kitchen and clouded my vision. My legs worked again, driven by panic. I remembered the moment normal life ended. I was reliving it. Only this time, there was no blinding flash. And this time no one would die to save me.

                  I stood outside and watched, the flames leaping higher as if trying to touch the sky. Distorted voices made their way out of the inferno. "M-Mac it's timmme" "Mr. Leary, let me h-heeelp" "scarcely know that we were goooo" The last word dragged on forever. It got deeper and turned into an anguished howl. It bore a weight at odds with the emptiness of the house.

                 Only one wall survived the inferno. The paint had been stripped off in all except four places. The silhouettes gazed at me warmly. Mac had an arm raised, beckoning me to join him.