Franklin Chopin's weird life thingy crap

“Franklin!” Tuberose yelled. She waited patiently for her son to get up out of bed because he was normally quite slow in the morning. She hugged him when he finally appeared. “Happy birthday, darling,” she cooed in his ear. “You’re finally twenty years old.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “It only seemed like a year ago when you were born.” She said. Franklin hugged her back, overflowing with the love he had for her. Tuberose looked back at her son. She always adored his dark curly hair and pale blue eyes; she was very jealous. She lightly touched his soft face. “You’ve grown so much.” Tuberose whispered. Then she suddenly straightened up, remembering something. “I have a present for you, dear! Come out and close your eyes!” she grabbed Franklin’s wrist and he closed his eyes.

“Open them up, son.” Franklin heard Tuberose’s voice saying. He opened his eyes and almost burst out laughing. It was a horse, the most hilarious horse he’d ever seen. It was a sleek black with flowing white mane, big teeth that stuck out, but the horse’s expression was what was funny. It was stuck in a smile. Franklin giggled and hugged his mother. “Thanks, so much, Mother!” he said through laughs. He gently patted his new horse’s mane. “His name is Ares, dear,” Tuberose said, trying not to chuckle. “After the Greek god of war.” Franklin turned around. “Well, he certainly looks ready for a war!” he chuckled. Tuberose smiled. That warm bubbly sound of her son’s laugh always comforted her. “I’m glad you like him, son.” Tuberose said. “No, Mother,” Franklin said. “I love him. But not as much as you!” he jumped up and embraced her. They laughed happily.