A Pretty Girl is Like Melody

[Another challenge from ISCRIBLR.  The word is “melody”, which I misread to “malady” and produced a light opera on the subject.  You’ll have to be satisfied with this:]

To say that Melody was a pretty girl was an understatement; however, to say she was a very pretty girl was an overstatement. Her attractiveness was in a very narrow range… hard to define. You just had to see her to understand. She had white hair and was very short; in fact, police had fired shots at her more than once thinking that she was a Morlock. Her smile could light up a room. And, if her smile failed, she always had matches because she was an arsonist… but only in her spare time. It wasn’t as if she burned things every day. Burning things was a hobby. Melody had a career.

They called her a “stripper”, but that wasn’t entirely true. She was a dancer, whose dressing room was the stage. And, she danced freely, like no one was watching… and poorly, like no one had ever taught her. She also sang like no one was listening… at least I think she did… I was kind of distracted. I first met her when she danced, pale white, with white hair and piercing eyes that were as blue as the leaves of a tree.

I tipped her often during her performances… sometimes with actual currency… other times with Pringle’s coupons. She thanked me no matter what I gave her. If I gave money, the thanks came in the form of a smile and a “thank you”. If I gave coupons, her thanks came in the form of a violent assault with a glass ashtray… but the thought was the same. I’d like to say that she was wooed by my infinite patience but she sicced her dogs on me.

One day Melody left town without a word probably because of an earlier accident when her tongue had been torn out. I wanted to follow her, but, word was she’d gone to a lawless place where western technology is unknown and I didn’t want to go to Canada…