Like Clockwork
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (South West - Texas) North American (US General American - GenAM) North American (US Western)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
and to the Clockwork Man was given a heart of flesh agreeable to the gears within him, to pump his oil like blood through a wrought iron body and over his heart was mounted. A glass door hinged with brass and padlocked shut so that all in town could see he born organ much like their own. Dr. Horsemen saw what he had made, and he pronounced it good, talking the locks key into a front pocket of his waistcoat. It would take only a single bullet to shadow the glass and puncture the clockwork man's heart, leaving him rigid as a statue. But the good doctor considered it worth the risk to allay the fears of superstitious townsfolk. His creation was no monster, it was vulnerable, and it served a purpose, taking the place of a beloved blacksmith who had passed away that winter, and a Rose Asif, itinerant man of the special cloth who wrote across the barren wastes into town and saw an abomination which the townsfolk had considered a thing of dread. Curiosity, assets will was a thing of steel. No one questioned him. He commanded good doctor horseman's ankles and wrists be tied with stout lengths of rope to four different horses in the town square. This is what we make of your devilry, Asif cried, and he fired off his Colt revolver. Two explosions in quick succession. The horses bolted wide eyed. The townsfolk screamed as Dr Horseman's arms and legs tore loose of his torso, trailing behind the animal's hooves in the screen of dust. All could see what was left of the doctor, bloody and wrong as he thumped onto the ground and rolled over in the dirt. Yet death did not come to him. Quickly. Standing in the shadows of the smithy shop, the Clockwork man watched through eyes like marbles. They carried swirls of blue, contrasting with the black iron of his face and the limbs that protruded from frayed denim overalls. You thought you could play God replace a man with a machine s efs boot heel, rolled the doctor onto his back, just convulsing. Doctor horsemen gazed upward, meeting the eyes of his judge and jury. The blistered townsfolk crowded around the spectacle like thirsty horses to water. The man of the special cloth held up a hand, and they froze in place. Listen now, Asif said, instrument of Satan speaks. Dr Horseman's head jerked forward, and he spat a mouthful of blood onto his waistcoat. The key, he gasped, his head fell back into the dust, and these mutilated torso lay still. What's that? He said? Murmured the crowd. The man of the special cloth had heard, so he knew not what the good doctor meant. The clockwork man had also heard, and he knew the meaning of the words and where the key was kept in the pocket of the bloody waistcoat. Now for the creature! Shouted Asif, spinning on his heel. With the colt raised, he stood head and shoulders above. The townsfolk pressed close around him, and when he came halfway through a complete revolution, his eyes caught sight of the clockwork man lingering in shadow. The town spoke turn to follow acids gays, and they released strangles of horrors. The machine emerged carrying a massive hammer in his iron fist, his joints clanking against one another, sunlight glinting on the glass door that contained his thumping heart of flesh. Dr. Horsemen had not gifted the creature with speech, but even if he had, the clockwork man would not have known what to say. seeing his creator lying in such disarray. Do you see? The man of the special cloth called out? And the townsfolk nodded as if they knew what he meant. It knows it should die. He cocks back the hammer of his revolver and took game at the pulsing organ behind glass, as should every abomination he fired. The townsfolk cringed at the blast of the 45 some of them let their astonishment be known as the Clockwork Man brought up in arm to deflect the round, it glanced off him like granite. He did not slow his approach, pacified the blacksmith's hammer in that iron fist and pulled the trigger again twice, shots as close together as before, when the clock workman deflected them as well. The town spoke, scrambled to turn tail and scatter. Only the man of the special cloth remained rooted either by fear or determination, with one last bullet in the cylinder of his peacemaker. Come meet your doom, Gollum. He did not fire. Not until the Clockwork Man had come within three yards and drop the hammer into the dirt, reaching with his right arm of iron for the shoulder of his left That was when Asif emptied his gun of the last shot, shattering the glass door and puncturing the heart of flesh inside. Oil splattered outward in the clockwork Man's gears shuddered to a halt. He froze like any clock that could no longer run. There he stood, transfixed in time, the gap clear to see where he had tourney, his left arm free, The blue marble eyes focused not on the man who had shot him, but on the good doctor, lying forgotten in the dust without arms of his own. The man of the special cloth stared as if he himself had been turned to rusted iron.
Tags
Cowboy, Everyman, Narrator, Storyteller, Alpha Male, Abrupt, Aggressive, Articulate, Authentic, Booming, Commanding, Conversational, Endearing, Measured, Charismatic, North American (General), North American (South West - Texas), North American (US General American - GenAM), North American (US Western)