Reread the final paragraphs of “There Will Come Soft Rains,” in which one lone wall stands after fire has destroyed the house. Think about the feeling this imagery has created for both the reader and the house. Using the story starter that follows, write a continuation of the narrative that shows what happens next. Use imagery and deliberate sentence structure to emulate Bradbury's style. Consider writing an alternative resolution. Be sure to:E1.10(A)

“Today is August 5, 2026, today is August 5, 2026, today is…” the lone wall kept repeating over and over. In the distance, a figure emerged and drew closer through the smoke and ash, a shadow among the ruins. The wall stared straight ahead, its paint peeling and its bricks cracked, as memories whispered within its remains.

The figure was a small boy, holding a tattered red balloon. His bright blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. He stepped carefully, avoiding the blackened ground where the house had once stood proudly, full of life and warmth. “Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing like a song in the emptiness. “Is anyone here?”

The wall shivered slightly, remembering laughter, music, and the comforting thrum of family life. “Today is August 5, 2026,” it repeated, almost as if responding to the boy’s call. The air around it felt heavy, thick with stories left untold. It could almost feel the echoes of the past dancing around it—the clattering of dishes, the whir of machines, the calls of children playing.

The boy approached, his small hand reaching out, fingers brushing against the cool, rough surface of the wall. “You’re all that’s left,” he murmured, a hint of sadness in his voice. “You remember how it was, don’t you?” The wall sighed, a soft sound like the fluttering of leaves in the wind. It wished it could share the memories—the bright mornings filled with sunlight, the cozy evenings wrapped in warmth, the gentle voices that once filled every corner.

As the sun began to sink low in the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and purple, the boy closed his eyes for a moment. “I wish I could see it like it was before,” he said, a note of longing in his tone. The wall felt a flicker of hope, as if it could paint pictures with thoughts, showing the boy colors brighter than the ashes surrounding them.

Then, a breeze stirred, lifting the boy’s balloon higher into the evening sky. “Can you see it?” he asked, almost dreaming. The wall focused, and in its mind, it saw the children laughing, the music playing, everyone gathered around the dinner table, smiles all around. “Yes, I can see,” the wall wanted to say. “You have that memory too.”

The boy took a step back, watching the hopeful rise of the balloon, and smiled for the first time. “You’re not alone,” he whispered. “You have me now.” The wall pulsed with warmth, as if a tiny spark of life ignited within it. The boy would tell stories, share laughter, and fill the air with new memories.

As the last light of day slipped away, the wall stood tall and proud, a guardian of fond memories yet to come. Today was not just a single day—it was a promise of brighter tomorrows, a chance to make magic out of the ashes of yesterday. And as the single wall stood there, the boy beside it holding tight to his red balloon, it knew they would face the future together.