My house is an Irish styled structure that is on an anonymous location on Ireland. How long will it survive without us?
1 second: The glass of cranberry juice falls out of my hand and shatters on the floor. The seat cushion pops back up. The TV keeps playing. My dog, Clover, is confused and jumps off the sofa. Meanwhile another person disappears from the computer room. The keyboard keys pop back up. The eggs in the kitchen keep frying and eventually the teakettle boils over.
2 seconds: Another person is driving. Their car keeps driving until it runs into a building and knocks it over.
1 minute: The eggs burn. The toaster pops up toast, but there is no one to grab it. The kettle spreads water all over the stovetop and the water extinguishes the fire. The gas keeps running, contaminating the air. A single spark ignites part of the kitchen. Popcorn kernels pop as the fire reaches the pantry.
1 day: Surprisingly, the fire goes out. Now the power fails meaning that the TV stops. As do the lights. My cuckoo clock will never cuckoo again. Clocks freeze all over the house. The fridge stops, and food starts to rot.
2 weeks: Most food has rotted away. My dog dies of starvation. The water in the pool turns green and the yard is overgrown.
1 month: The pool can't hold the water anymore. It pops and the water floods the yard and the house with 4 feet of water. The rose bushes overgrow the patio umbrella, table, and chairs. The vines grow over our brick wall and lamppost outside.
1 year: Plants have taken over my backyard. My neighbor has too many trees and they fall and crush the garage. All our food is gone.
5 years: Most things indoors are cracked and/or dusty. The car's windows have broken in a storm and the tires have popped. The plants indoors die.
10 years: The bowl of fruit cracks, crumbes into pieces. The hollyberry trees grow taller than the house. All cotton goods are gone.
15 years: The Chinese teapot shatters though the plastic handle still remains. Nails and hinges are all that are left from the coffee table. Our modern teapot is rusty and missing a handle. My backpack and its contents rot away. Our driveway cracks. Shingles begin falling from the roof.
20 years: Our sofa is a rusty steel frame, because the leather disintegrated. Leather shoes face the same fate. Antiques shatter as glass shelves break. The island caves in. The pantry doors fall off. The lawn chairs and table and patio umbrella are brought down by the weight of the rose bushes. As is the lamppost, which is covered in vines.
50 years: The souvenir plate from Spain breaks into pieces, and the wooden holder disintegrates. The miniature wooden bench also disintegrates and the pieces fall apart. A faulty screw sends the ceiling fan crashing down.
75 years: The chandelier falls onto the dining room table, knocking it down. The curtain rack loosens from the wall. The last violin string breaks. The carved wooden Indonesian bowl rots away.
100 years: The house itself collapses. The walls fall away from the base, while everything upstairs slides down, onto the first floor. Mostly everything indoors is gone or damaged.
10,000 years: The remnants of objects such as metal keys, glass bottles, electronics, a few contents of my backpack, the teapot handle, the lamppost, my Swiss tea ball, kitchen utensils, and anything made of plastic, rubber, metal, shell, porcelain, or stone still survive under a forest on Ireland.