Mavis stared unblinking at the television while the newsreader reported on the latest antics of politicians, protestors, the Police, Putin and nuclear war. The grim news of the latest price hikes on fuel and food presented with as much passion as reading a supermarket checkout receipt. Understaffed hospitals, a shortage of teachers, and babies dying through neglect in maternity wards were all thrown in for good measure. Images and graphs flashed up on the screen and her eyes glazed over. She dunked her cookie in her cup of tea to the correct saturation point before popping it into her mouth, then wondered if they’d have more rain tomorrow.
She sighed and tried to tune out as her husband, Gerard, vented his spleen on every topic.
“Damn politicians are a joke. Look at them … all plastic smiles and false promises. Look, Mavis, look at him … a right weasel!” He pointed at the image on TV with venom. Gerard’s face crimson, spittal exiting his mouth like spray from a water cannon. “That one, I wouldn’t trust an inch. Talks out of both sides of his mouth …and fancy ‘er being made Prime Minister, are the people who voted for her senile …?” He continued to rant, posing questions, without waiting for an answer.
Mavis worried about Gerard’s blood pressure. She picked up her knitting which rested in her lap and inspected it for dropped stitches. “What time does ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ start tonight?”
Gerard paused midflow then looked at Mavis and blinked. “What?”
“Strictly … you know, the dance show?”
“Yes, of course, I know. But the world’s falling apart and there could be World War three–”
“Well, there’s no good you getting yourself in a lather over everything. All this continual doom and gloom is like white noise.”
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Next week’s prompt: Shadow