Becky was a weed.  Nobody ever wanted them taking over the bigger, prettier plants.  People went to all extremes to make them go away.  They sprayed poison, pulled until the roots gave way. They felt only like their garden was complete when every tendril was extirpated.  This was how she felt from birth.
Ruth McLeod-Kearns, Weeds
beautiful, death, drama, family, flowers, love, sad, short-stories, weeds