DELIVERING VIRTUE, Narration with Original Music
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (US Western)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
When I opened my eyes, the girl was walking away leaving me in an embarrassing state of undress and near rapture. The thunder of Thurman's voice shook me from my reverie. You have a large raindrop. Mr Rain tattooed upon your chest. I peered down awkwardly at my tattoo trying to focus. Yes, I said, I do. What does it mean? I tried to remember. It was not something I thought about most of the time. Oh I said my mother had it put there when I was a child as a mark of my birthright so that I might someday receive my legacy without question of who I am. Thurman nodded. Then he turned to the girl who stood beside him. I heard him say, are you certain? The girl gazed back at me over her shoulder, those translucent blue eyes. Then she nodded. The raindrop said Thurman is the final proof of the prophecy. It seems you're birthright Mr Rain is more miracle than you might have expected. A bobbed my head. Well, I said some people would not recognize a miracle if she were to step right up and kiss them. It was of course an imprudent thing to say. And I regretted it directly after shooting me through with one last disapproving look. Thurman led Dolan and Benjamin to the side to fill out paperwork. I buttoned up my shirt and put my disheveled and shaken self back together. I stole a glance at the girl, but even after our intimate interaction, she did not return my attention. She seemed done with me. I know it sounds pure ale, but I felt slightly somehow jilted as if I'd been used up and cast off all in one swoop. No matter, I told myself we will get to know each other over the long course of our journey. Old Sarah and the girl, I still had no name by which to call her were fussing over the bundle. And that is when it occurred to me that their actions were somewhat peculiar. The old lady gently bounced the package a couple of times rocking it back and forth. And then weirdly, the girl bent into the bundle with her face kissing whatever was inside. She had tears on her cheeks. I'd seen religious rights where a believer laid her lips upon a relic or a talisman. Such devotions often move the devout to a passion. And so I assumed perhaps that that was what I was witnessing. Now, then Sarah came to me with the bundle. You too need to get acquainted. She said, and then she carefully placed the bundle in my arms. This she told me is our little virtue. Of course, it had been a baby all along. I should have known by the way they could and worried over it, but I had spent no time with infants. And so I beg excuse for my stupidity. I gazed down into my arms bedazzled. I had never held a babe. The child one could clearly see was a girl, small and light. She seemed made of feathers. She sucked her tiny fist and stared up at me with a pair of fresh at blue eyes. I already knew those eyes. They were the young woman's eyes in miniature. They seemed to peer directly into my deepest regions. They seemed to know me better than I knew myself from nowhere. A fathomless sadness washed inside of me. A wave of inexplicable nostalgia and loss followed by a flood of joy. I do not know how to explain it entirely. It was such a push and pull. I've since tried to understand, have gazed into the moon and struggled to write it down but have yet to find the appropriate string of words to express that ineffable moment. No poetry it seems will serve. Have you ever changed a soil diaper? Asked Sarah. I stared at her. Not quite sure. I was hearing her right. No, I mumbled dumbly. Well. She smiled and patted my hand with her wrinkled fingers. It is high time you learned how