"What are some of the ways that Daisy is 'uncomfortable in the human world,' to quote Koopa? What's an incident or reoccurrence from her life that might have clued her in that she's not quite human?"
I had always had this idea in the back of my mind, so it felt like the first real opportunity to finally explore it. Daisy is just such a unique character with a rich history and destiny that could have been the focus of a much better film or even sequel. I wanted to try my hand at doing her character justice.
However, for the past week I found myself with ideas, yet no overall story. I just didn't know how to tie the events I had in mind together. Finally, just before heading to bed last night, it hit me: Mother Rita. Rita is named in early scripts as the woman who raised Daisy at St. Theresa's Cathedral and was even given an important scene in which she returned to Daisy the crystal and pod. If any character would have the perspective on Daisy's 'strangeness' in our world it would be her.
So, here it is. Brief, yet an effective start. I plan on continuing the story at least once more, so feel free to share any thoughts or comments if you'd like to read more.
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No story that begins with a child abandoned on a doorstep can be a happy one. This was common thought for many people. It represented a life interrupted before it can begin, entered into a broken system with no hope of a future beyond it. It was a tried and very true cliché.
Mother Rita had seen many such infants abandoned at her church, deposited without so much as a farewell knock or shamed note. They would come sometimes only hours after birth; other times days or weeks later, once the mother realized she honestly couldn't handle it. Rita could empathize with the latter more so than someone who never bothered to try. She herself would always try. It was in her vow, bother personal and in the eyes of God.
Others in her position would have long ago hardened to the sad fact of abandonment. Rita, however, could never refuse the cries of a child in need. These children were as if her own from the moment they were found. She would commit herself towards preventing the cliché of a troubled life coming true. It was love that was her deepest vow.
Rita would never be so tried before or since the night she found herself caring for the child left on the doorstep of St. Theresa's Cathedral in the year 1973. It was raining that night. You couldn't see ten feet ahead because of it. It was a miracle that she had heard the frantic beating of the church door between the peals of thunder at all. Or perhaps it was just that she had been awake all night, kept from sleep by some disturbed feeling of a grave injustice about to unfold. When she heard the rapping at the door she knew the premonition was proven true.
The child was unusual. How else could one describe an infant girl hatched from an egg incubated within a metallic pod? It was something far beyond her experience. She and the other Sisters might have called the police, tabloids or even the Vatican right then if not for one thing: Rita knew the child's mother.
Or, at least she felt she did. There seemed to be a connection between the newborn and the young woman that Rita had met in Central Park several months ago. The woman, who never gave her name, had an otherworldly beauty about her. She was just so classically composed, yet also deeply intelligent and as inquisitive as a child. She would stop among the trees, the gardens and especially the flowers, touching and smelling them as if she had never seen any before. The daisies always seemed to hold her attention the most.
After weekly walks through the park together the young woman simply stopped coming. Rita had begun to worry once she hadn't seen her for several weeks, though she finally returned as spontaneously as she had disappeared. It was a brief encounter made all the more short by a feeling of dread. She was in trouble and Rita knew shew might never see her again, though she did her best to comfort her.
It was then that the young woman admitted that she wasn't from here… Not from New York or even this country. Somewhere else entirely. She wouldn't say more than that, but she left with the promise of returning as soon as she could. Rita hoped despite desperately for it to be true.
Finally, on that terrible night in the rain, there came a panicked beating on the door. Rita rushed to answer, expecting the young woman; instead, she found the pod. She didn't know what else to do but to take it inside, setting it on a table. It opened on its own, revealing an egg that began to hitch.
Once the newborn girl was revealed inside, Rita realized that the woman wasn't from our world at all. No, somewhere far away. Was she an angel? A demon? A creature from the depths of the Biblical era? It wasn't her place to question the possibility, nor did she want to. She knew the young woman as a friend. Beyond that nothing else mattered.
Instead, Rita swore her fellow Sisters to secrecy. The egg was quietly disposed of while the pod and crystal were hidden away as church relics. She determined herself to raise this strange child as best she could. It was as beautiful as any other she had found and so deserved the same love. It was the least she could do for a lost friend.
She named the baby girl Daisy.
