pleased her parents by watching T.V with them as soon as she’d hastily
scribbled her homework. Malory had never liked the comedies her parents lived
for. She liked the mystery of a good film-noir, though her parents now deemed
them inappropriate, thinking that they’d give her dangerous ideas.
disliked the comedies because she believed they turned your brain to rubber. The
themes and plots were obvious, the jokes overused. The canned laughter in the
background after every ‘funny’ part insulted her, as if suggesting the viewers
were too stupid to know when to laugh.
wasn’t one for magazines either. Stories about real people could sometimes be
okay but the celebrity stuff often made her angry. Interviews she could cope
with. Poorly researched, often untrue
paragraphs of gossip snatched from phone-hacking and hiding in attics of celebrities,
notebook full of prying and false stories was taking things much too far.
might seem a dramatic way of looking at a gossip magazine, but ever since her
‘depression’ had ‘started up’ Malory had begun to see the world like the
aforementioned Film-noir. Counsellors, doctors, psychologists and ‘specialists’
had tried to shove themselves into her life, while friends and even family had
backed out of it. Backing out was a nice way of putting it. Fled, screaming in
disgust was a more accurate term.