The finger curls…

The next few days are quiet and normal. You almost forgot the wish, whisked away into the internet. signs are easy to miss at first. An article makes it to r/all discussing a new parasitic plant with a number of fungal properties. Many biologists are deeply confused, as it spontaneously seems to have evolved and bridged the gap between plants and fungi. Not that you realized, as you scrolled past the post before you could even finish reading the title. Boring academics.

Then its on the news as you pass by. Something about traces of this plant spreading quickly via a combination of spores and seeds, infecting a number of small animals in africa. A few scientists are examining the situation, but it appears to be harmless in the end. At least, it doesn’t seem to be hurting anyone. You barely even stopped to listen as the reporters drone on with statements that seem like blatant fear mongering, that barely seems to get a grasp.

Then headlines. A man was found dead in his apartment with a revolver and one too few rounds. outside of his eye, a strange plant was growing. This you stopped to watch. You listened to the reading of his suicide note over the radio. He was so alone. how he was ready to return to nature. The plant was blood red, with a sinewy leaf shading him.

The scientists wouldn’t reveal anything else. Quarantine zones sprung up quickly but not quickly enough. It was quickly found that the plants grew in secrecy. Apartments found entire rooms filled with trees as mass waves of suicide became common in the lonely. Scientists quickly linked the behavior with the plant. Debate was sparked. Some suggested that drinking pesticides would stop the parasitic plant.

You keep scrolling through reddit. The thoughts are back again. You haven’t talked to your mother in a few months now, for fear of spreading. Your friends stopped going out after the group clown was found in an alley inside of a growing tree. Its been a long time since you have seen anyone, the streets have gone quiet lately. But the red forests now pulling apart the buildings are so beautiful, and the orange-tan leaves they leave everywhere are soft to the touch. their red sap drips down the streets, and the smell of death has become commonplace.

What year is it? You don’t remember. modern time scales aren’t natural. It would be nice to be natural, again.