A little yellow flower bloomed in a sea of grass, awoken brightly to the sun.
Her beauty was unique, hundreds of tiny petals covered her face, each one like a drop of collected sunshine.
She spent her days reflectively staring into the sun, marveling at the beauty of the sky. When night came she curled into herself to sleep in a green cocoon.
When she was thirsty, the sky rained down on her, reviving her vibrant greens.
One morning, she was noticed. The flower happily drank in the acknowledgement until words like, “weed” and “plucking up the roots” were spoken over it.
The little flower shivered, frightened by the thought. She curled into herself, unsure of what these words meant.
One by one the yard was “purged” of her sunny golden friends.
Was there something wrong with them that they were worthless, compared to more refined friends?
Her color began to weaken, as her saddness caused her to droop. The powders she endured slowly ate away her will to live.
This flower did not escape her fate, she too was whisked away before her full cycle of life had come to pass. For instead of a Flower, in gleaming glory, all anyone ever saw was a Weed.