And then the sky opened, and a hail of melancholy poured from the gaping hole. The torrent was sent to cleanse the city, but instead seemingly took away the denizens’ pleasure—everything they valued melted away.
Along the boulevard, buildings started dissolving, showing the steel skeleton of the structures, but those, too, evaporated as soon as they came. Cars and buses and bikes did likewise. The things in the buildings—the beds, the writing desks, the computers, the carpets, the toilets, the Frigidaires—all of them evanesced, as well.
People looked upward at the strange aperture in the sky, regardless of where they were at the time, feeling the rain beat down on their hair, their skin, their clothes. Those who were inside the buildings were brought back to their senses as they realized the floors they were standing on and the seats they were sitting on all started crumbling. They ran outside onto the street.
Strangely, no person disintegrated. Neither did the dogs and the cats and the canaries and the rabbits—neither did the trees. Even the concrete pavements they were standing on began turning to dust, and their clothes disappeared like cotton candy on your tongue.
Grown-ups hid behind trees, whereas children stayed out in the open, intrigued by the oddity of the shower. They waved their arms, as if trying to speed up the vanishing of their clothes, and they jumped up and down to see what splashes and puddles the precipitation made.
The grown-ups stayed behind the trees, hidden, trying to usher their children over without revealing themselves.
The children did not care.
Soon, none of the denizens were clothed at all, and nothing was left but the people and the animals and the trees. The ground became dirt, and the rain ceased. The puddles on the ground evaporated, leaving behind fresh, new soil, endowing the people foundations of a brave new world.