Audiobook Sample - The Things I Came Here With
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.
Andrew reading the things I came here with Alison. When I was about six, we moved to Alison there. I was born under a bridge beside the hospital. I'm just kidding. But it was under that bridge that I first listened to Def Leopard photograph soon replaced We will rock you as the best song I had heard. I was excited to move to this house, a bungalow at the end of a long dirt road, small barns and a long narrow stable nestled around it to one side and directly across lay forest and to the other side fields. The property also included a smaller wooden house. Kelly was passionate about horses and this was a perfect place to raise them. Our parents also gave Joe and me a small black pony which we named Black Beauty. Of course, we used to ride her all around the property. We have a photograph where Joe is up on her back and I am pulling the reins leading her around the yard. It's a good photo. A lot happened to this house that still resonates in me many crucial events. A lot of smiles and a lot of tears. This place was magical for me. From the sun coming through the trees down to the shadows of the woods. The past lingered all around from a rusted relic of a half buried truck tangled in the thick bush to the old medicine bottles buried in the undergrowth. Our slender fingers gripped at what the past had discarded and we felt, wondering at what might have been here before us. We'd pry the treasures from their mossy coffins in the dirt and hold them to see the prisms within. See the light dance through the different shades of emerald and sapphire, such strange shapes, some with hard defined lines, almost decanter like others corked and rigid and others still holding their tenuous scent. We would walk along the winding dirt road beneath the canopy of lush trees toward the main road, passing old Benny's house on the way. I never did see his face. He was only folklore. One of the ghosts in our story, Joe told me he was real mean and I believed every word he said once Joe came flying into the house wildly spitting about how Benny had run over our dog Becky's paw. When we heard this, we knew there was only one thing to do. We snuck around his house through the trees, threatening to throw rocks that never left our hands through his windows past old Benny's house, we would leave the road, hop down into the woods where the ferns were plush and green and rolled across the forest floor deep into this section of forest. The trees were weak and let me tell you, there isn't anything in this world as satisfying as kicking down a dead tree. When you're a young boy, from the thud of your first blow to the crack of what's left of the bark, the tree folds and slowly falls between its standing neighbors and is swallowed by the ferns. We would bob and weave like soldiers through the trees until we found the skeleton frame of the old slaughterhouse remnants protruded like broken bones from the busted foundation mossy hung from the rotten posts. My eyes were watchful there where your shoes would break through the rotting floorboards to reveal the scattering Centipedes and spiders. The structure had a heartbeat. There was never any wind and it always felt as if there were shadows standing in the pines. But as long as my brothers were with me, I was safe under my breath. I would sing photograph sometimes on days of true adventure, we would press on past the slaughterhouse to brave the land beyond. And if we did, then we would get to a place where the landscape began to change. The trees became denser and we'd see more conifers. The forest floor was softened by a top coat of pine needles. It was like walking on a sponge in an arboreal fun house. The shadows lightened as we would push on until the trees opened up on a large clearing the day, Joe and I first found that place. It was early spring and we were frozen and soaked from trudging through the murky forest as we entered the circle with the dense evergreens standing guard all around. We could see the last remaining patches of snow glinting like crystals among the field. Little wafts of steam rising into the temperate air where the snow had melted. I could smell the warmth of sun on the grass arching out from the earth. We lay in these soft earthy beds, letting the heat from the April sun dry our wet shoes and cold cheeks. Listening to the wind from that day on this became our spot and we returned many times. It was here that I let myself daydream. I would imagine a great white horse I would lay in the grass, the blades brushing against my legs and watch the trees bend gently against the blue sky. The horse would emerge from the darkness, a transcendent beast but gentle and shy. I would hear its heavy hooves boom in the dry earth as it would shake its mane and snort. It would draw closer until its great head was looming over me. So close that I could see the deepness of its eyes, like little black planets with tiny white stars glimmering in the centers. I'd climb upon the great beast and we would ride around the edges of the clearing. Minutes would turn to hours or so. It seemed, and the shadows would grow long and lean into the sunlit grass. When we could feel the cool on my skin, we knew it was time to return home.