Coupe De Ville

Okay, so first thing you gotta do is forget that Disney movie. She was nowhere near that bad. They weren't those cute puppies, first off--I bet you'd be driven to murderous lengths by a neighbour with a hundred goddamn dogs yourself. Besides, he never took care of them, which is why there was so many. Hell, he didn't notice until she'd popped off half of them, and that only because she was curing the pelts. She figured, why let 'em go to waste? Songwriter? Ha! At best he was a hack.

The name he didn't invent, and neither did she. Her parents didn't speak much English, and thought it sounded just as fine as any other name, or even better. She hated it in school, until she learned the art of taking pride in being an outcast, when she embraced it with open arms. Her parents were dead by that time, but they left her enough that she was set for life. She moved into that big house on the hill and happily shut herself off from the world.

She had the "Siouxsie" look long before it ever became popular, but she certainly wasn't as haglike as they portrayed her. Underneath all that, she was actually fairly attractive. What? Hey--I'm not telling. Not for me to tell. Ask her yourself if you want to. Ha--didn't think so. No, she's not dead, but she'd like people to think she is.

One other thing they got right is the dogs, sort of. At least, the fact that they could talk to each other. She could hear that, not to mention hundreds of other things that we just don't register. Probably one reason she's such a recluse. She winces whenever a car drives by, and takes potshots at them if she thinks she can get away with it.

What? Oh, yeah, the dogs. Right bastards, really. Especially that big horde her neighbour had, cause they all ended up pretty feral. About as interesting to listen to as eternal four-year-old children, except with a pack instinct. She says it's pretty horrid, and what drove her over the edge.

Nah, she just settled out of court. She gave 'im a bunch of money, and made 'im sign something so they couldn't take it to the papers or anything. He drank himself to death with it, but when they found the story they thought it was fiction, and eventually cutified it enough to be marketable. She figures she's better off just letting people think so.

So why'm I talking to you, then? Well, hell, I didn't say I liked the bitch, now, did I? Our relationship? Well, it's a bit complicated, and mostly none of your business either.

Okay, so this won't get you a goddamn Pulitzer or anything. Sue me.

[Based on the words:

Set
Cruella
Hill
Cone]

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The Den of Ubiquity/ Aaron V. Humphrey / alfvaen@gmail.com