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AWMiller_Generic Fiction Reel 2021

Talent Online
Voice Over • Audiobooks


A collection of audiobook samples

Vocal Characteristics


English (North American)

Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)


North American


Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
are you Dead words stung me like a B, and I was startled to find a young girl poking my leg with a stick. She was no more than six or seven and had blue button eyes and pigtails that bounced with a buttery shine in the distance. I heard the worrying sound of a machine, a sand cleaner. The tourists would follow soon taking their places like actors to a stage. I began to sense where I waas the beach, I muttered, shutting my eyes. Just a few drinks, I remembered saying. Was it 45? There's no knowing when a blackout is going to hit. Wave crashed in a gulls call went through me like electricity. ****. Not again, Mr. Did you hear me and my dad? I repeated her question. His sunlight bled through my islands. Jill. I shook briefly. My head rocked in. My gut was sour, forcing me to leave the memory of yesterday. I tried to roll over but felt something dig painfully into my side. I catch the neck of a bottle. Evidence appeared into the new day, bleary eyed, having no idea how I ended up here. I searched from a cigarettes finding a crushed pack, I decided to leave them in my pocket. Gentlemen, he greeted us as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Welcome to infinity. Thanks. Glad to be here, I replied, seeing as I was the closest to the man, what exactly is the infinity? Why? It's the finest hotel in the country. Of course, sir. He answered his tone, conveying the well, duh. Quite properly and perfectly, I let it slide out of relief. It looks like you two could use a room, a good meal and a bath. Probably not in that order, either, Charlie quipped. We could also use some directions to the nearest gas station in the quickest way back to the interstate in the morning, I added. Well, we have plenty of fuel here, so we'll be happy to fill her up for you when you park it in the garage below, the old man said with a wave of his hand at Charlie to leave the keys in the ignition. We'll bring your luggage up to your rooms for you as well. Where were you two boys heading? Phoenix? I answered, reaching back for my wallet to tip him, only to have him wave off the gratuity. Suddenly a car slowed down on the street and then pulled over ahead of us. We stopped in our tracks. Hey, faggots! The driver yelled to us from the open car window. You know, they don't allow homeowners on this side of town. It was Gary, our arch enemy, and it's stupid cronies who all look like they should have graduated from high school years ago. Gary and his barbaric toadies made it their mission in life to make our lives miserable. They hated us because of the music we listen to, how he dressed and how he looked. Break dancing, boomboxes and rap music didn't make sense to them. And they took every opportunity to let us know that they were older, bigger and usually outnumbered us. We stood together, giving them ah, hard look as they got out of the car. The **** do you want, jerk? Steve said, There are four of us and only three of you. You're outnumbered. Although we got pretty used to these scenes, I would usually start shaking and would have to put my hands in my pockets so others wouldn't see. We move closer together as they approached us. Burlington, Iowa Once a beautiful, bustling river town now lay dark and silent, ravaged by time in decay. A light mist rolled off the Mississippi River into the streets and a low hum in the air slowly grew into auroras. Headlights pierce the fog. The lights bobbed as a black muscle car traversed the abandoned river cities. Rolling hills, the engines rumble, quieted to a per as the car 1971 Plymouth Roadrunner rolled to a stop in the middle of Jefferson Street. For a moment, the driver sat behind the wheel and scanned the street for any source of life as the muffled whale of guitars escaped the vehicle. Satisfied that he was alone, he cut the engine, plunging the city into inky blackness. Once more, the door creaked open and a tall man in a long, brown duster step from the vehicle. Matt Freeborn scratched his head, ruffling his shaggy ginger hair and listened. He heard nothing, but the fishy smell of the Mississippi assailed his nostrils. The water's distant shimmer reflected what meager moonlight shone down on the derelict city. It did nothing to banish the long black shadows