Audiobook Demo
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
words Woman by a Bastille A long phone call ensued in which I valiantly tried to convince the photographer that he had toe walking by foot. Our conversation went something like this. Hello. Look, I'm hiring a helicopter today and I'll be over to shoot you about 11 a.m. He began energetically. There's no place to land that. I advised. No place to land it. Aren't there any fields around there? No, Only woods. Don't you have a front lawn? He persisted. Or a backyard? No Onley trees. How about our farm? Is that our farm around there? No, no farms. We have the figure something out. I can't waste all that time driving there. The closest clearing I can think of where a helicopter woodland is a single tennis court at a hotel about eight miles away. I could meet you there and drive you to Black Bear Lake. It's only mile and 1/2. Walk to the cabin. A pause walk a mile and 1/2. What is it with you people and walking? This is from solemnly swear by Joe Paraiso. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline, but I didn't see any trace of smoke or fire. That, at least, was a good sign. The front end of the vehicle was completely smashed in, similar to a compressed accordion. Long scrape marks, having been noisily embedded when the car went skidding on the cement, ran the length of the SUV on all sides, including the roof. There were small pieces of glass everywhere. The one thing that was more abundant in the broken glass was blood. It seemed to be everywhere. Large, dark red pools of blood met and converged into one on the floor and under the front seats. That's when I noticed movement inside the SUV. I stepped up onto the running board and peered in through the broken window, and I saw a scene that would forever be embedded in my mind. A man and a woman were trapped in the SUV. The man was almost on top of the woman, and they were both drenched in the bright red blood majority of which, I soon realised, belonged to the woman. The man was holding a jagged shard of glass in his right hand. He was using it to slit the woman's throat from ear to ear. Instinctively, I reached in and grabbed his right arm while frantically yelling for him to stop. I managed to pull his hand away, but my own hand and arm were instantly covered in the woman's blood. And then the man slowly turned around, looked at me with bulging, bloodshot eyes, and he started to scream. This is from the Tiger by John Volant. The tiger closed the gap in a matter of seconds, so cool if didn't even see the final leap. I stepped back, he said in closed my eyes for an instant. They say that when a person is in this type of critical situation, his whole life rushes through his mind. That didn't happen. I had just one thought that this tiger kill me right away so I won't suffer. The tiger knocked me down. My left leg was bent any bit into my knee. For an instant, he and I were looking into each other's eyes. His eyes were blazing, his ears pressed back. I could see its teeth. I thought I saw surprise in his eyes, like he was seeing something he hadn't expected. He bit me once, twice my bones were cracking, crushing. Everything was crackling, he was holding my leg, sort of like a dog shaking his head from side to side, the sound of a heavy cloth ripping. I was in excruciating pain. He was eating me, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.