tabloids - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
On the days of fearful headlines, when there was doom and gloom right next to pictures of perfect cakes and elicit gossip, everyone in the supermarket looked as if they were under a grey cloud. There were few smiles, less emotional generosity to children, more casual fights between the couples as they walked the chilled aisles.
On the days of good news, of anything to celebrate, it was different and the whoever the folks were that wandered about, the effect was the same... more smiles, more casual caring and emotional attentiveness to others. It was as if a monster that had lurked had gone away and instead a fairy had come to grant them an inner rainbow.
I would wonder if those inch high words of fear or love, coming and going as some chaotic pendulum might, were giving a sort of pseudo-bipolar to us all. I saw those strongly emotive words hitting our brains, stimulating regions that cause hormones to be produced, changing our moods and altering our brains without the bother of a doctor's prescription, consent or anything so mundane as all that.
She spread the tabloid newspaper in front of her with the same pleasure she spread nutella on her toast every morning. She knew it was mostly fiction, but she didn't care. It was better than a broadsheet to her, juicier, sweeter. She poured over the pages of gossip and scandal, lapping up every unsavoury detail. She loved this only second to the real neighbourhood gossip of divorces, affairs and wayward teenage antics.
He loved how the tabloids described even the most salacious details of the private lives of the rich and famous. He felt like it was 'one in the eye' for the common man. He felt that they deserved it for courting celebrity and fame, but he jealously guarded his own privacy. He kept his own phone number strictly unlisted and grew the hedges around his home so high that no-one could peer in. He even felt some-what violated when the newspaper boy arrived with his latest serving of gossip right to his doorstep every Sunday morning. But he soon forgot about that once he was pouring over the print, imbibing the scandal, revelling in the embarrassment of others. Then at work on Monday he would repeat the latest diatribe of news, telling it like it was his information to spread