Audiobook Demo Fiction
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EnglishAccents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
able cradles, Pip, rocking back and forth, whispering to himself as she lies dead in his arms with an arched back. He size and lifts her stiff body into the hall of his rowing boat. Layers of blue and white chipped, paint covered surface, grimy rope, securing it to a grass stain trailer. No more than a metal frame in a pair of rubber wheels. He climbs up into the boat and sits on the single seat. A pair of ors, kept in place by rusted pivots, rests on either side of him. He looks down at the dog and reaches into his leather jacket for his pistol. He turns it in his hand. Thin grey ripples glide along its barrel. He opens the cylinder and takes out the bullet. A tight, shuttering breath catches in his throat. He inspects the bullet for a long moment, takes in its shape, its potential and size. Blowing on it. He places it back and clicks the cylinder shut, hand shaking. His eyes stare back at him in the reflection along the barrel, cold and distant, thick concrete wall stand silent around him, a cracked window held from shattering by rusted wire mesh Let's in adult trickle of light in the corner to his right lie the remains of a recent fire, blackened wood and grey ash. A pile of grey pine branches rests next to it. The roof above the fire gapes half collapsed, revealing the last flickers of sunset. A bundle of blankets lies along the right hand wall, crumpled in a heap on top of his federal. A glimmer of light catches the corner of his shopping trolley and disappears. The garage is steel shutters hang open behind him, able turns and looks down at Pips, body, shaking his head at her wiry legs and brindle, for he looks outside. Gray clouds blot out the sky, the pines across the way. Lean, gaunt in lifeless, thin, twiggy things. The same gray is the sky. The other trees loom green and wild, their branches twisting and spreading along the ground, climbing the sides of his garage and obscuring it from the highway. Beyond the smell of damp for and moss hangs in the air. He removes his tattered baseball cap and runs his fingers over his matted hair, a tremble courses along his spine. He considers his pistol again, bouncing it in his hands for several minutes before placing it back in his jacket, getting to his feet, He steps out of the boat and reaches into his trolley, a cage on wheels filled with odds and ends. He leans in, pulling out a plastic sheet green and stained with brown and gray patches. Dust slides from its surface. He unfolds it and drapes it over the boat, covering pips, body protecting her. From the approaching night, he pulls down the steel shutters. Ah, hollow rattle, followed by a crash. As steel meets concrete, he flinches at the noise, his head tired and body soar. Squinting in the dim light, he goes over to his bedroll and shuffles beneath blankets and old coats. He stretches out and lies on his back for a long time, staring through the hole in the roof of the emerging stars. Wisps of thick clouds Eddie across the half moon as the night grows darker and the clouds drift away, Unable to sleep, he lets out a sharp breath and gets up stepping over to the boat. He pulls the plastic sheet aside and looks down at Pip. She is still dead. He strokes her for feeling her ribs beneath his fingers. You feel wrong, he whispers, chewing his bottom lip. He climbs up and sits in the boat, resting a hand against her cold body. His other hand wanders to his pistol. Again. He grips the handle and shivers at the cold air against his chest. Shaking his head. He gets down from the boat and crawls back onto the bed rule.