just to show the woman who's in charge. "What's you waiting for? Get on out here." She stood fast. He started toward her and when he had travelled halfway inside Daisy reached behind a pole, retrieved her Momma's double-barreled shotgun and brought it to bear. He halted and his mouth dropped open. "What the?" He studied her hard for a moment; she appeared calm. "All right," he said to himself then declared, "We're gonna get this settled right now! Woman, you only thought you got a whupping last night." He squinted and gritted his teeth.
BLAM! Ernest's eyes flew wide open as he was blasted off his feet and landed spread eagle on his back. His wife held in check the second shell then casually walked to him and stood at the foot of his bloodied body. The man was gut-shot and sure to die soon. Disbelieving, he glared back at her. Daisy said loud and clear, "And this one is for that other thing you done to me," as she squeezed off the second round twelve inches below his belt line. BLAM!
That afternoon she dug a new Honeywell, tossed the dead bastard in the old one and shoveled in all the barnyard crap she could find then added the dirt from the second outhouse hole on top and packed it down. "'Til death do us part, husband."
Two months later a deputy sheriff came knocking at her door inquiring the whereabouts of Ernest. Had she seen him recently? The man hadn't picked up his mail and the postman was afraid he had died inside his cabin - it had occurred before to single residents on his route. The lawman checked his property inside and out for an explanation to no avail so he came to Daisy on account the postman said he had seen him or his horse at her homestead many times. She informed the officer Ernest had left his livestock with her to tend while he visited his ailing mother back home in Alabama and hadn't heard from him since which made John Law happy because the man had left the state and wasn't the County's concern anymore. The deputy told Daisy he'd put a hold on his mail and check back with her at a later date but he never did.
Many indistinguishable years passed
Thirty-six to be exact and in 1962 she turned sixty-seven. Daisy endured many aches and pains as we all do with advancing age but was still strong as an ox. Even so, some very important things had improved: She hadn't traveled to the Market in decades since she worked out an agreement with the owner and his son to send someone to her farm and collect, transport and sell her goods on a weekly basis for reasonable fee. If Daisy had tried bartering herself she would have failed miserably - no one would buy from a person with her demeanor. She also established a standing order of staples with the local grocer for deliveries and everything became so much easier when the County provided her a free, multiparty, rural phone line slated for the economically depressed residents (another government program). The many new conveniences had bettered her day to day life but she had been feeling poorly for several months and slowing down occasionally hadn't changed her condition.
Then one fine summer afternoon Daisy was trekking toward her roadside mail box mounted fifty yards from her cabin - the postman normally delivered at one p.m. therefore she went at three so as to avoid him seeing her or his trying strike up a conversation. When she was less than ten feet from it her body seized up, her knees buckled and fell face down in the weeds and soft dirt.
It was a rare occasion for the postman to be running late but this day was one of them. He saw her right off and rushed to help. "Oh, no," he exclaimed. She had no pulse... or was there? What was that strange vibration in her wrist? Mobile phones hadn't been invented yet and he didn't have a shortwave radio nor was anyone out and about to help him. Maybe she was still alive, he couldn't be sure. They were only a mile from the local Community Hospital so he dragged her into his truck and sped to the Emergency Room.
The receiving physician soon determined she had experienced a stroke and her circulatory system was in fibrillation. The paddle boards shocked her back into a steady but weak rhythm. The medical team had saved her life but due to other aneurism complications Daisy slipped into a coma. The hospital staff feared using more extraordinary means for revival would result in death. After stabilization they began checking out of area consultants regarding how to proceed and also initiated a search for family members which eventually eroded down to: Did anyone know her at all? Consequently, she was placed in a coma life support holding program for several months which resulted in the constant status: no better, no worse.
Six months after Daisy hit the ground the National Cerebral Research Center in Maryland requested her transfer to their facility. They presented their own in depth search results for relatives or legal representation - there were none, then offered their own well-documented, unparalleled credentials in health care. Would the County please release her to them and relinquish their financial expense? To which they responded, "Oh yeah, gladly," thus saving the local taxpayers globs of money and Daisy was transferred to Maryland in a good condition, comatose state. There, the researchers and physicians agreed after total, comprehensive testing she was too delicate for their current procedures and elected to place her into their one hundred year-long suspended animation program which basically passed the buck to future generations.
2065 a.d.
Daisy was still alive. She had been revived from suspended animation in 2062 and placed into another coma so the researches could restore vital body functions. Like an old car: some parts worked and some didn't but they were repaired sufficiently so as not to have the clunker die on the road. Three years later, they drew her into a conscious state to evaluate if further surgical corrections were needed. To their joy, the very senior citizen pulled through in much better shape than expected. Her left side motor functions were consistent with a typical surviving stroke victim: partial facial, arm and leg paralysis. She was propped up in a wheelchair, spoke in a series of slurred grunts and had only 50% vision in her left eye. The doctors were ecstatic - 170 years old and could still think and communicate! Especially since all the previous subjects who had been stored in the 1950's and 60's experiments had died soon after being awakened from their deep sleep.
Another year of fine-tuning ensued and during the process hundreds of medical personnel from far and near came to observe and offer their input, after all this would go to the top of their résumé. Daisy improved a little more... but suffered greatly because her nervous system had been damaged more than they assessed and what they deemed minor complaints from her were dismissed because any report of real progress resulted in more funding for the Center. They placed her into an electric, motorized scooter so she could move about for therapy, supervised of course. This brought thousands more amazed spectators to the research facility and the money poured in: the ultra-rich had visions of living forever.
Then one day a new escort arrived at her lab where she lived 24/7 so the researchers would have easy access for their experiments. The lady appeared to be in her late-sixties, still over a hundred years Daisy's junior, was genuinely friendly and enjoyed guiding her charge about the hallways for the Monday thru Friday daily sessions of exercise. After a few weeks of this routine the woman stopped in front of the elevator and said, "How about a treat today? If you won't tell, I won't either," and directed her into the open doors. The escort said, "Penthouse" as a joke and off they went.
It turned out to be even better. Daisy glided out into a beautiful garden terrace where many of the building's workers came to peacefully reflect or eat their home-brought lunches beneath well-spaced gazebos. Everyone could view the entire city, a spectacular sight from forty stories up... and even stand right up to the buildings' outside edge which was surrounded by a six foot high plexi-glass wall. This immediately became her favorite place. After two weeks of this routine she had met everyone there - several times; her escort enjoyed showing off the star product of medical research. On the down-side, the gawkers constantly made stupid remarks such as: "Hi Daisy, can you HEAR me? You look good today, barely over a hundred and fifty," and laugh at their own witless quips. "Bye old girl. Catch you again when you're two hundred." Her escort, a mere Mover couldn't challenge their insensitivity
; the ridiculers were all superior in position and pay grade. Daisy hated them all. Why did they have to ruin this beautiful place and didn't let her just enjoy it?
Another tormented day on display came and another seemingly endless line of fish-eyed, official guests. She sat in her vehicle and stared at the floor, not responding to any hailing, questions or comments... then at the end of the line came four teenagers voicing their mind-less, insensitive comments. The first said: "She's supposed to be a great aunt of mine from a dozen generations ago. So what?" The second responded, "This woman looks like a frickin' shriveled-up, dying of old age animal in a zoo." The third agreed, "Yeah, Dude, somebody should do her a large and put the bitch down." Finishing their evaluation, "This scene is so boring," assessed the last of them - a snooty fourteen year old girl. They moved on not realizing or caring Daisy could hear and understand their every word. These children had now risen to the top of her Most Hated List.
Two days later, Friday afternoon after more examinations and being poked by needles for blood tests, she sat in her