What lives inside all humans is the innate feeling to predict the future. Just slightly. Feel danger three steps before it happens, feel the wandering gaze of someone wishing you harm, and in Allen's experience, it came when he looked at the gargantuan tree that had spawned from nothingness. Unlike this creation, he could feel the pit, the root of the sickness, forming in his heart. Nothing was right about it, and yet he felt as if no one else felt the same way. Even as they escorted the kids out of the school, he couldn't let his vision stray from the tree. That was until his name was called, but not by Gryce, but by one teacher; in his hand was the unconscious body of his son. Allen's vision became hazy, and everything after that moment collapsed into itself. In his next moment of clarity, he recognized the beeping monitors and the unbearable cold of the hospital room, everything besides the body that lay in front of him. Staring at the unknown, how many times would he have to feel this way?
Bandages with no blood, holes that seemed to squirm, red vines begging to intertwine and heal themselves. Like roots, that was the only way he could describe it. But this was his son; he had his face, hair, it was him, and yet it felt wrong to say it aloud. His heart beat like any other, but inside that child was something more akin to the Earth, the Green Door, and the hole. Unnatural.
He slapped himself across the face.
Thinking that way, how could he ever think such a thing about his own son? Ashamed, the pit in his stomach was right to hurt him; pain was the only repentance worthy of scum like him. A monster hurt Gryce. Why would the injury of one be any more mysterious? He was alive, that was the only important part, and his wife was on the way. Things would be alright.
He hears a storm of footsteps outside.
A rush of doctors and nurses flashed past the door until the hallway grew empty. Allen took one last look at his son before peeking his head out and saw the last glimpse of someone turning the corner. Different sirens blared around the scattered rooms, patients yelling into their phones, but no one was at the receiving end. He rushed toward the end of the corner, but that wasn't necessary; they were only a few steps ahead.
Leaking from the room was a nurse; she couldn't bother noticing anyone around her, too enamored with whatever was inside the room.
Allen's stomach coiled at the sight, wrapping among itself, squeezing until he was on the brink of retreat. The emotion was awfully similar; this scenario was awfully similar. He didn't want to be right, refusing to believe the roots of that event had made their way here. Each step was heavy, the image of the woman's face begging for mercy from a fate no one in the world should ever face. Shouldn't have ever faced. And yet, inside that room, he could feel the overwhelming sense of fear, its tendrils shooting out from the room; the groans and their weeps became clearer with every step.
"What are you people doing?" Allen had broken out of his trance and pushed the first nurse out of the way and pried through all the others, with only one thought in his head: to end their suffering. And yet that was impossible, as the only thing in the center of the room was a patch of grass and a lone Sunflower filling the void.