Asante Jones Audiobooks Narrator Demo Reel
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
riptide Oregon, 1983 between a fence there, Katrina learned to fear the bomb. Two weeks after her mother died, she fell into that fear like someone slipping into bed after a hard day's work fell into it with a relief that boarded on gratitude. When she thought of the bomb, she felt like someone who was gravely ill witnessing a terrible and violent event, a merciless distraction, but at least one outside of her own body. When thoughts of her mother came now thoughts that made her ache and curl up in bed like a plant without sunlight, she read the looming error. She read about mutually assured destruction M. A. D. And at night those three letters ran the plain song of their zipper teeth along her heart as she stared at the ceiling, wishing for sleep. But and this was the important part. It took up too much room to worry about anything else to feel sad for herself to miss her mom. Those three letters M. A. D. And how they spelled the end of everything. The book lay under her bed and sometimes it felt like she slept above a bomb for all the power it had. The thing she hated most about the Soviets in the United States. Both was there babyish Nous. There was a lot about negotiations in the book and she could picture it all too well. The two countries discussing things in a big room somewhere. Everyone with their own glass of water by their hands. Old white men in suits trying to work out trades and practically the same way that she and sam had bartered the gross parts of their school lunches when she was a baby back in first grade, United States. We want you to reduce the number of your SS 20 missile launchers in europe. Okay. You have 243 of them. And we want you to only have 75 Russia. Okay. If you also only have 75 launchers for your tomahawk cruise missiles there as well. United States, Fine by us, Russia, ha! Except we both know that your tomahawks carry four warheads compared to the one warhead of the SS 20. So you would have like 300 warheads to our 75 cheater. Trina knew they did not actually talk like this, but still practically Scott Mullin. Chapter one drop the bottle scott. Ran his hand over his scalp, his skin was warm. He left his baseball cap in the car, imagining this task before him would take less than a minute, But based on the thin film of sweat forming on his bare head, he must have been standing in front of his bosses fancy house for closer to 10 minutes. How could 10 minutes have passed. He felt the heat from his head transferred to his palm as he looked down at the pool of liquid at his feet. Do not move. The baritone voice filtered through. A speaker was forceful and severe scott started to turn freeze. He froze his left hand in midair above his head. His right hand holding the bottle of water remained at his side. He waited. He heard a car door open and slam, followed by another open and slam, footsteps up the driveway. He didn't want to move his head partly out of fear of getting shot, but mostly because he was good at taking direction and had been told to freeze. Although his eyes were peripherally scanning his environment, He presumed the men behind him were cops and this would be sorted out with a question or two. one set of footsteps told him one person was approaching, Unless one cop was carrying the other cop scott almost laughed out loud at this image. The footsteps in the sand thing when you only see one set of footprints. It was then that I carried you. He felt both comforted and irreverent, imagining one cop carrying the other drop the bottle. The voice was still loud but no longer distorted as the guy was now standing a few feet behind him. Lawman Chapter One live from the outside illuminated the dust in the air inside the booze killers. **** lamented. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath him as he took stock of the place. There wasn't much inside other than a bar, some tables and chairs and boots towards the back. The lighting was dark and dingy. The air smelled of cheap alcohol and stale tobacco smoke. There was a piano in the corner with digital keys that auto played since shanti grass music softly some of its keys noticeably off pitch. Behind the bar stood a woman with sun bleached hair. She looked like she might have been beautiful in her youth, but now her face was weathered from age and hard living. She was cleaning the glasses. Declan approached the bar, her blue eyes gazing at him suspiciously. You're in the wrong place called world. And the woman said, not if this is my office, Declan replied. In that case, I'm exactly where I need to be. However depressing that is. And why would someone like you need to be here? The woman asked. Unless you're lost. I'm looking for somebody man by the name of Braxton Berringer. I was told he comes here often. Woman raised an eyebrow. You got business with Beringer? She asked. I do. Is that business, debt collection of revenge? Um, neither actually, Declan said as he took out his badge and set it on the bar. I'm here on a work related matter. The woman squinted at the badge and smirked. Should have known, she muttered, You look like a suit. Which are you? I am I I? S as of yesterday, I'm a galactic ranger ma'am. Declan said his patients beginning to wear thin. I was told to report to ranger Beringer only. Apparently ranger Barringer neither likes to work from his actual office nor sees fit to tell anyone where he's going to be. So here I am trying to track him down so I can actually get started on my new job. Now, if you wouldn't mind, could you please tell me if he's here rex Chapter One, **** Neanderthal insists, more commonly referred to as the Caveman, has been extinct for 40,000 years. There are several theories explaining the hows and whys they evolved into **** sapiens. They were killed by **** sapiens. They were abducted by aliens, experimented on and transformed into **** sapiens. They all clubbed each other to death. Regardless of the hypotheses, one caveman has miraculously managed to survive. His name is Eddie Figley and he is currently grinding his heel into TJ Beaumont Temple.