On a very sunny and warm English morning, Englishman James Wallace was walking out of his very English house on his way to his very English car wearing his usual (and very English) hat and coat when he noticed a simple thing he had never seemed to notice before: a beautiful flower. He wanted to pick it very much, but it was located inside Ms. Parson’s (his neighbor’s wife) personal garden. Of course James would’ve never even considered trespassing into it hadn’t it been for the flower. He could not clearly identify it: he was no botanist and was quite far away, but he could very well see its soft, peach-coloured petals and its slim, vividly green stem. He could see every curve it had to offer, the rounded petals slowly mowing along with the breeze, floating in the air like fresh linen on a clothesline, their surface dotted with glassy beads of fresh morning dew. “It must be a daisy or a chrysanthemum”, he thought, his eyes still stuck on the delicate shape playing around the yard. He wanted very badly to pick it, even more so than before. He nearly fantasized about cutting its delicate stem and bringing it home, putting it in a vase on the fireplace or on the dining room table. He could almost see its colour matching perfectly with the warmly brown wood of the salon. Without even noticing, he walked quickly over to the flower, leaping over the small, white, picketed fence surrounding the garden. It was even more beautiful up close. Its curved shape, young, growing leaves and pink-streaked peach colour left in his mind a deep, burning desire. Not only did he want to pick it, he also wanted to eat it. The intricate vase in the salon he fantasized about mere seconds ago was utter rubbish. His only desire, no, his only need, was to eat the flower. “Oh, it’s definitely a daisy”, he thought. The tiny, tender leaves and the budding petals with a nib of red on the tip, the slight resistance it would give under your tooth until it would surrender and release its sweet sap, it all seemed so delightful, so liberating…
''He had actually done it. It was a mad thing to do, but he had done it. He had captured her. He had taken her home, had washed her a bit, had touched every single bit and had eaten her… Ms. Parson would soon come out in the yard and scream “Daisy, oh Daisy, where’s my sweet little Daisy?”, but it would be too late. James Wallace had already raped, murdered and eaten her daughter and she was every bit as sweet as he hoped she would be.''