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"I have no particular desire to live. I have no particular desire to be killed. It is a matter of indifference to me. I do not think I am all together right."

- Albert Fish, AKA the Grey Man, the werewolf of Wysteria, the Brooklyn Vampire, the Moon Manic and the Boogey man. Confessed to killing 3 people, but there may have been as many as 10. (The exact number is not known as he was a cannibal)  

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When a flower rots, when it twists and crumbles into itself, when it stinks of worn socks and mouldy bread, it becomes trash; rubbish; waste. The colour lost, the stem sunken and squishy, the flower both smells and looks like death.

When the garbage trucks comes on Thursday evenings, the men inside dread the untied bags of liquifying petals which fill the bins of one particular household. When the weeks are kind, the bins, all three which line the stone driveway, are only half-full. For the occupants of the white two story home, the half-empty bills meant a variety of different things.

To Shauna Silverman, a 48 year old botanist with gold glasses, a sharp bob of blond hair and a smile as thin and dangerous as rose thorns, it meant business was bad. In the Spring, when both flowers and weddings were abundant, bouquets lined the halls of the heavily windowed home. The outdoor shed became the town of Rosewood's only florist shop. The home itself became a display case. Summer continued the trade in a similar fashion, but allowed Shauna to experiment with colours only a 48 year old would consider 'wild' and 'revolutionary'. In winter, when funerals became more abundant, the bouquets became plain and white, but no less beautiful. With autumn came an abrupt stop to the steady distribution of flowers.

Autumn, in the town of Rosewood, was killing season.

The correctional facility just a few miles south of 'Shauna's Shed' meant death was just round the corner for most residents of Rosewood. The seasonal death of serial rapers and killers meant the seasonal death of the flower trade. And so the half-empty bins meant business was, unfortunately, bad.

For Peter Silverman, the 54 year old reluctant husband of Shauna with a solid round beer gut, a permanently half-shaved beard and eyes so blue they triggered a shiver on the warmest of nights, half-full bins meant business was good.

The correctional officer, recently appointed, thought autumn was a time of great satisfaction and relief. The smell of rotting flowers was replaced with burning odour that came with the hospital products used with each lethal injection. Nothing made Peter happier then watching a murderer die. Sometimes, Thursday night burgers from Little Charlies came close to taking the lead. But that was only when the day had been long and the prison cafeteria sandwiches were just not cutting it.

For Emily Silverman, the 19 year old daughter of the two with her mothers sharp lips and her fathers piercing eyes, the half-empty bins meant nothing but lost potential. The scent of the flowers never really bothered Emily. In fact, the smell intrigued her more than most things in her life. How could something smell so bad, feel so terrible, taste so foul, and yet look so beautiful?

The flowers were always Emily's go to metaphor in her psych papers. The small town psychology professors pandered to her like she was the only university student with a chance of getting a real job after graduation. It was likely, of course, as the only other two psych students at Rosewood College were too busy trying to find the meaning of life at the bottom of French Rosé bottles. But as a result of the exceptionally high grades that fell into Emilys lap, she had grown quietly confident with her ability as a psychiatrist. The corner of her mouth was, of late, permanently curled up into a smirk. Words like 'humble' were not in her repertoire.

The garbage trucks would be waiting another year before the flower business slowed again. As the Autumn was ending, Shauna's Shed was once again picking up speed. The house wives of the prison cops emerged from their homes and began to decorate the interiors with an abundance of flowers. They hoped that with the overwhelming pleasant scent they could snap their husbands back into the mundane routines that gave them comfort in the off season. Without his mind pre-occupied with the routine murders, Mrs Patricia Cornwell could convince her husband to cook a meal once a week, usually a cold lump of mash potato and overcooked steak. If she was feeling really lucky, she might buy the pink rose bouquet from Mrs Silverman, litter the floor with the petals and entice her husband into bed. This would only occur, to Mrs Cornwells dismay, about once a month.

Mrs Margaret Beach, another regular at Shauna's Shed, thought the scent of fresh flowers would make her husband forget the autumn season entirely. Mr Beach was plagued with night terrors. Every year they got worse. Last year they got so bad that Mrs Beach had to remove all metallic-smelling items from the house. No metal cutlery, no metal doorknobs, no metal fridge, no metal photo-frames. They all had to be replaced with plastic or stone or wood, resulting in a rather unpleasant mix-matched interior design. He also couldn't face the dentist. Mrs Beach could put up with this. So long as her husband wasn't found hanging from a metal ceiling fan, she counted herself lucky. Shauna thought that any woman brave enough to kiss a husband who tasted like the rotten flesh stuck behind his molars was worth giving a discount to. She got her tulips half price.

To the rest of the town, the Silvermans were a strange but powerful family who needed to be avoided. Mothers pulled their children out of the way in the shopping aisle, scolding them if they did not move fast enough. As one of the only upper middle-class families in the area, it was uncommon to find a family who did not stare at the Silvermans with eyes half glaring. After a local teenager was arrested by Peter on an attempted murder charge, a rumour spread that he had the power to bring in anyone for anything. And so, when there was a Silverman in sight, no one misbehaved.

Unfortunately for Mr Silverman, this wasn't the case inside the walls of Rosewood Correctional Facility. Although he held one of the higher positions as Senior Correctional Officer, the prisoners neither feared nor respected him. In the last week alone, Peter had shit thrown at him three times, was pissed on once, and physically broke up five fights. Peter was stronger than he looked, able to hold down even the seven foot tall serial rapist Ben Hughman when provoked. But he could never be respected by the prisoners. He was the one who decided who died when on death row.

Occasionally, a prisoner would try to use this to his advantage. They chose one of two tactics: 1. try to become Mr Silvermans favourite prisoner, or 2. try to become Mr Silvermans least favourite prisoner. Either way, they hoped their behaviour could either delay or escalate their appointment on death row. Sometimes it worked. Mr Silverman, as gracious as he may be to his family, was known to accept things under the table. Subconsciously, he justified his behaviour by thinking of his family: he was the man of the house, he had to provide for those who depended on him. That entire belief was based on a patriarchal lie. It was Shauna's business money which mostly kept the family's upper class status afloat.

Emily was an entirely different story. With her education totally paid for by her parents, still living at home, and virtually no social life, she had no responsibilities. It was the way her parents liked it. Being totally dependant on her parents, she had no other choice but to stay at home, under their control, until she finished her degree. Maybe even after that. At this point in her life, she was still too young and dumb to notice. Book smarts can only carry a person so far. It sometimes surprised her parents how naive Emily could be. They had brought her up to be that way, that much was true, but they had also brought her up in an environment surrounded by murders. Emily was a slow learner, but she did, eventually, learn.

Shauna and Peter Silverman failed to realise that raising a daughter in an environment filled with psychopaths and maniacs would have its affects. Emily was good at playing young and dumb to her parents. Emily was good at hiding the other aspects of her life. Emily was good at hiding what she really thought. Emily was good at almost every thing she had ever had to do in her life. Emily wasn't scared of the murderers or the rapists that her father told her about. Everyone is a little rotten inside. If they're not already, some day, after life wilts away, they will be. 

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Y'all asked for it, you shall receive. 

Welcome to the rewritten version of Monster Minds, which will include an extended, and different, ending. 

Enjoy ;)