The Red Rose as Bright as the Sun

It was red, like a rose in a field of weeds. It was dead center, waiting for me to approach the little feet that were her buds, the long hair that were her leaves, and the tiny arms that were her thorns. She was the brightest flower I had ever seen. Her name was Vivian.

She was so small at the time. She was only two, and I was six. We were cousins, she had the best experience this time of the year. Everyone else was in their own social bubble talking about the most ridiculous things that have ever reached my ears, for me to hear how absurd it all was. 

I could only talk to her, she was the only one who could understand me. She would crawl all over me like a spider on the wall while we were lying down on what seemed like a billion pieces of dog hair on top of the hardwood floor. 

All she spoke was gibberish, but I was able to understand the bundle of words she made up just to make her feel better. 

She loved the turkey that she ate all the time, little did she know it used to be a screaming bird that would run around like a chicken in a barn. She hated what she called blood, she hated cranberry sauce. But the thing that caught her eye was the chocolate rose cake. Her mouth was filled with a rich muddy brown that only she loved.

Vivian was the light at this time. She was more important than the screaming chicken. No one cared about the turkey, just the red rose who ate all of it. 

We loved Vivian, and she loved Thanksgiving.