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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Mythology · #1003149
The death of a beloved public figure sparks horrendous over-sentimentality.
"A Nation In Mourning"
"Our Stace Passes Away"
"PM declares Two Minute Silence"
"Garden of Remembrance..."
"Commemorative Funeral Mugs. Only £7.99"
"A Great Loss"
"A Black Day"

The general reaction of the country to the unexpected death of Anna McManus was equal to that of a swamp that has just swallowed an ill-placed statue.

There were plenty of waves and slopping about, yet know one was prepared to do anything about it.

She, the deceased, 31, was deeply involved in many people's lives. She was born the youngest daughter of a Scottish scholar and a Parisian onion seller or something. She embodied the rags to riches plot line with perfection. She was the first of her mother's line to ever attend university and she left at the head of her class. And most importantly, she became the nation's sweetheart in a time when the world was dazed and confused and obviously in need of a piece of skirt to acceptable oggle at everyday at six.

She read the early evening news everyday for two years before her death. She had a charming face, and put it the best use in all situation. Her deep brown hair, flecked with hazel, swept around her little jawline endearingly. Her mouth spoke slowly, but smiled quickly. Her large eyes attracted trust in times of need, humour in times of tension, and desire in times of want.
She dazzled the cameras daily, and drew attraction to wherever she visited.

She was the ready-made, hand-painted media model of what all England wanted to be seen as.

She was used mercilessly.
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