My role as a frightened child in the independent podcast written by Lawrence McNamara. The child had witnessed the death of his loving parents by a group of sadistic raiders. His cries echo throughout the night as wolves begin to close in. He is later found by our main cast and carried to safety.
English (North American)
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
celebrating their victory over the defenseless polluters soon to become true wasteland Raiders killed the few remaining survivors and disappeared to the west, looking for fresh targets. As darkness fell, there was a movement under a pile of ready blankets, partially hidden by an old wreck or vega. A small child, no more than three years old, crawled out into the dying light, Bobi Daddy! The child tottered over to the family's tent, nearly stumbling over the broken toys before finding his mother's body laying next to his father's. No child in the wasteland is immune to the knowledge of death even at such a young age, but he still reached down and tried to get his mother to move healthy. A small child ran over to his father only to experience the same. Tears leaked from his eyes as he sat down between the two bodies and held their hands like they had done so many of the times in the past, the wolves are beginning to circle the camp, drawn by the smell of fresh blood. As the night grew darker and the fires began to die. The child could hear their growls grow closer in the deepening gloom letting go of his parents hands. The child wiped his nose and stood up, grabbing a rock from the ground above him atop the pile of dirt. One of the wolves looked down upon its new prey. The pack was hungry and this would be a tasty treat. Do you hear that? Yeah, maybe someone's still alive. Could be a wolf, Get the rifle crap! All right. Give me a minute grabbing their weapons and making sure they were loaded. The two men walked carefully towards the sound, turning the corner, martin flinched as a rock barely missed his head. A flurry of rocks followed. Both charlie and martin ducked behind the trash pile for cover. What the heck? Hold up. I'm going to take a look, charlie peeked over the pile, get away, ducking down to avoid another set of rocks. Charlie swore under his breath and looked over at martin. It's just a kid, A young one and his parents pretty sure they didn't make it. No, no. What are you gonna do? You know what I'm going to do the right thing, handing the rifle to martin. Charlie took a deep breath and stood up. The first rocks came quickly, but he ignored the sting and walked up a few steps before putting up his hands, son. It's okay, we're not the bad men, we're not here to hurt you charlie, let the kid throw more rocks, waiting until he finally got tired and when the kid ran out of rocks he fell to his knees crying. Charlie walked up slowly then scooped the boy up in his arms and hugged him. The child screamed and pushed against charlie trying to get away, but charlie just held him close, looking down. He saw the boy's parents, he recognized them from one of his visits. They didn't talk much, but he remembered they spent a lot of time with their kids, the same one he now held in his arms.