Singing, jumping, laughing. The young woman stumbled across a garden full of red roses. You could see the passion, the lust, the intensity. Caressing every petal, she decides which one will be ripped apart in command. She chooses the prettiest one yet. The rose with all the perfect features, but also broken by insecurity, corrupted by anxiety, filled with depression. She loves the imperfection that lies beneath it all. The flower is there, breathing without any oxygen. She was torn open once again and has been taken hostage away from the comfort zone. A new place, a new atmosphere away from the safety space, everything turned into a risk between life and dead. Holding her breath, the flower maintains her beauty although she was being slaughtered. Used and abused, her vulnerability is noticeable. Delicate as glass, one fall and she’ll be destroyed. Ecstasy running through their veins, she is left immobilized. Poor little flower, unwanted and unsure of what to do after the deed. She knows this is a business that needs to be done. The delicate flower goes back to the music that lies between the rays of lasers and the ground. The self-named Rose walks among the crowd knowing that she has lost part of herself on the act. She smiled at everyone that looked at her lustfully. She’s used to everyone looking at her like if she’s an object. She’s the main flower of the garden. She has something that everybody loves: pureness. She’s the purest flower you can see. Angelic, like an act from God. Her high heels, the lack of clothing, her wavy dark brown hair, and her famous red lipstick are what also makes her memorable. You see her going up the stairs to the dance hall. Every step, every movement hypnotize all the eyes that chase her with their vision. She goes with the symphony and the rhythm takes control of her body. She spent the rest of the night dancing to the public, while valuable paper comes to her direction. As soon as she was done for the night, she left everyone in a trance. She grabbed her trench coat and walked home like every night at 4am. The garden was starting to close and the sun will soon come out. Rose doesn’t look back, in fact, she will soon be at her apartment. She is a fragile flower working in a dangerous place, but nobody knew her like she did. She stumbled across a little garden, but this one was different. Her garden was her family. Her lovely wife, that stayed home watching over her daughter Lily, was sleeping on the couch. The exhausted rose walked to her bathtub and steamed the pain away. Bubbly showers, an aroma covered her body. Tip toed to her sleeping wife on the couch, kissed her sweet lips and whispered: happy anniversary. Daisy smiled before opening her eyes. She was surprised she remembered since she has been busy on the brothel, The Garden. They bloom together. Rose helps Daisy stand up, making her wife’s pregnant belly noticeable. Her son to-be, Roswell, will be strong and will lead on a successful life or at least that’s what Rose think. She also thinks that Lily will be a great Botanic like she says she will be. Both go to their bedrooms and enjoy what’s rest of the night and forgetting about the loud sensual music, the lights, the lust and the dangerous feeling and has convert it into silence, love and safety ‘till she wakes up and relive it every night. The Garden is now a part of her until they don’t need her which will never happen. She’s the rose that they claimed as theirs. Sick bees, productive, but dangerous with just a sting. A touch with so much pain, it’s better being fragile and not do a sudden move or just step away and not be noticed. They take advantage of all those flowers and take what’s left of their sanity and brightness, leaving a big emptiness inside them. Luckily for Rose, she has her family to fill it up with beautiful memories of sunsets with them, Daisy supporting her and loving her, not even The Bees or The Garden can’t destroy it.