Day 2,172

The house was dying - plain and simple. There was nothing more for the family to do but gather what little possessions had survived its sickness and wait outside, keep it company til the end. It was the least they could do in return for all the years it kept them sheltered.

Slate tiles slid from the roof with each forced inhale, plaster and wood cracked on every exhale and each seemed as though it might be the last. There was always one more, though the many minutes between made the family hold their breath and hope it would soon find its peace and let go.

They didn't know why it continued to stubbornly cling onto life, in spite of the gaping abscesses all along its walls and broken chimney spine that flaked further and further away with each passing moment that the house did not pass away on. So they began to encourage it along.

First they recounted all the happy memories it had provided them - from comfort at the end of a hard day at work to the way that it always smelled faintly of last night's supper to the many generations of birds that built nest on its porch and lived long little lives with it.

This only seemed to strengthen its will to live, prolonging its suffering and inevitable collapse. They tried chasing it towards death's embrace instead - begging and pleading with it to just go and to go in peace. Stubbornly it kept taking those agonisingly slow breaths, crumbling gently and without care for the family who only wanted to make sure it didn't die alone.

The house knew that as long as it lived, it would never be alone and so it took its time to die, savouring the little lives that it held captive in spirit as every fibre of its being cried out and slowly fell to ruin. They would never forget their home - it would make sure of that.