I am proficient in English language and accents including British
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (General) Indian (Hinglish) North American (Canadian-General) North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
This is a notebook recording of the story, the horrid Children house. But what it's doing Chapter one. He didn't want to do his homework. He hated the big science and math textbooks. Sometimes. I had thought about dropping out each page Every one of them one x 1. He wanted to rip them out and crinkle them up and tossed him into the fireplace. He'd be so happy watching them smoke and boy, except he didn't have a fireplace in his bedroom. It's also a pretty with bookshelves. That's where he kept all these board games and puppets and action figures and toys, soldiers and costumes. Everything was all jump together as if we were living in a big closet. Maybe that's why he spends so much time gazing out the window. There's one window that looked out on his back yard. The grass was oil in the back. There were a few low evergreen bushes and his mother had a small vegetable garden behind the wooden shed, that was all the yard was pretty bad. No swing set alone for nature, no past you, no place to sit in the sun or play Well, his parents didn't like him to play outside and they definitely didn't like it when he sneaked out the battle and took himself for a walk in the woods. The backyard ended at the woods. So it was a short walk to the tall tangled trees, the cool darkness, the tangy piney smells, the crunch of ted brown leaves under rescues they like to hide back there and Britain. He was an explorer in a New country. You might guess that he had a good imagination and you'd be right. He imagined that no one had ever worked there before. He was the first, he was discovering new lands and claiming them for himself. He battled the wild with people. He defeated them, he destroyed them. Then he moved on to discover even more land. He had to sneak out to do his exploring. Mother and father said it was dangerous in the woods. His father wouldn't go there without this hunting crossbow mother forbid him to go past the backyard. That's why he cased out the window so often right now. Too shiny black crows fighting over a warm in the grass. He liked to watch them fight the way the flap their wings so furiously and picked at each other. They like to see them back and back and back that the feathers flew and blood started all over the cross sometimes. He imagined the sockets in the backyard at the edge of the woods. Kids his age who were coming to visit him. He imagined they were his good friends and they were coming to play games and watch him to a puppet show and share secrets and vowels, a popcorn with him. He wanted to be a normal 10 year old. He thought he could be a normal 10 year old. He loved to go to school and our friends and go toward the parties and sleepovers. But mother said he was better than that. She said he had a special green that must be nurtured. He didn't really know what no judgment and he refused to look it up in the fat dictionary. They made him deep on the corner of his mahogany desk. If you have a special brain, he didn't want it, could give it back. He traded for normal plain. No joke. Sometimes he played a game he invented called the brain game. He asked himself really hard questions and then made up relief to put answers. I didn't know why, but I thought it was very funny. His stupid answers always grab them up. He liked to make up games and I'd like to put in place with his toy soldiers and spaceman. That was normal and they well those too close but really having a battle. The fresh reading and going the heads off. They made such a racket. He didn't hear his bedroom door open and I didn't hear his mother walked into the room. Why are you studying? Her voice made him jump. He nearly banged his head on the window. His mother had a big, powerful voice. She never responded everything about her was back. She was told dollar than his father. She had broad shoulders and big hands and she walked heavily as if she was wearing boots, even when she wasn't he thought she was kind of pretty. Her eyes is really great and she had a cold stare but her wavy blond hair was nice and when she smiled her whole face crinkled up, the only time should look gentle. He turned away from the window to face her. Just taking a break, he said he got the cold silvery stare. I heard you playing a game before. You're wasting your good brain. Get to your studies. She pointed to the stack of textbooks on his desk. The great scientist of it, she said, let them wait. He thought what he said okay and he shuffled over to the desk. He slid into his big black leather desk chair and opened a science book. She stood there watching him, her arms crossed in front of her white sweater. He pretended to read. He suddenly had an idea for a new puppet show. Do puppets fighting to the death every day. You need to expand your brain, Mother said every day your brain will grow bigger. That made him snicker. It sounded like a horror movie. The brain that wouldn't stop growing. He wasn't allowed to watch horror movies but he read about them. Finally Mother's throat to the door. She closed it behind us. As soon as she has always gone he stood up and walked over to his prophet shelf. He had my unit and hand puppet And the set of finger puppets his grandmother sent him when he was six. It was a very good puppet collection. He likes to collect things that made him feel like his room was crowded and then he wasn't so lonely. He picked up his sad clown puppet. It had a bright red and white striped costume with red ruffle around its neck, but it has the saddest frown on his face and little teardrops under the size. He named the puppet droopy. Yeah. He carried droopy to his desk and made him sit next to his science textbook. We'll read it together. They told him that's what friends do. They shake things. He started to read. But voices outside the bedroom don't make him stop and look up. Mother and father were in the hall. They were arguing. This happened a lot. They were talking in hushed Westport's. They didn't want him to hear but the westwards, but loud enough he could hear every word. Why don't you let him be normal, father demanded. Mother didn't reply. Father continued. You're turning my son into a freak. He's our son. Mother said, I don't care. I don't like what you are doing to him. You have to let him go to school and be with other kids. He's not like other kids. Mother insisted he had heard her say that so many times. He imagined himself grabbing her arms and shaking her, shaking her and sink. Yes, I am. Yes, I am like a duck. It. The cruise finally stopped coin. He could hear his parents hushed voice so clearly now. He's too smart for the other kids. Mother said he has to study, he has to use his brilliant mind. You're ruining him. Father told her even through the tech door, he could hear the anger and father's voice. He pictured his face hard and tight, 100. You're turning him into a freak. He's a weird little freak. A door slammed. He jumped to his feet. He let out a horse cry of anger. No, I'm not. He screamed at the door. I'm not a freak, not a freak. He crapped droopy. He squeezed his clothes body with one hand and ripped off one of his arms. Not a freak. Not free. He told off groupies head and tossed it in the trash basket. He tore off a leg, that another arm pulling and tearing and screaming. He ripped the strip costume to shreds, His chest was heaving, he couldn't catch his breath. He ripped and applauded the puppet. It felt good. It really did.