The old man walked through the field at the back of his farm until he reached Daisy May, who was resting peacefully behind some bramble. He put down the carved pumpkin he was carrying and reached for the flag, still crisp from when he had placed it on the truck during the 4th of July.
“It’s Halloween, Daisy May,” he said. “I brought you a present.” He picked up the pumpkin and placed it on the rusty old truck’s hood. He shivered. “It’s getting chilly, Daisy May. Pretty soon it’ll be Christmas. I’ll be sure to bring you some holly. You’ve always liked holly.”
He looked inside the truck and smiled at his beautiful wife Daisy May, who was resting peacefully on the bench seat of the truck with the same name. The truck she had sat in years ago when she had suffered a fatal heart attack.
He reached in and caressed the hair that was eerily still attached to the skull. “See you later, Daisy May.”
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