Strange the Dreamer Prologue
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.
strange, The Dreamer by Laney Taylor. Read by E. W. Crandall Prologue on the second sabbath of 12th moon in the City of Weep. A girl fell from the sky, her skin was blew, her blood was red, she broke over an iron gate, Crippen it on impact, and there she hung impossibly arched, graceful as a temple dancer swooning on a lover's arm. One slick final anchored her in place. It's point protruding from her sternum glittering like approach. She fluttered briefly as her ghost shook loose and torched gender buds ranging from her long hair. Later they would say these had been hummingbird hearts, not blossoms at all. They would say she hadn't shed blood, but wept it, that she was lewd tongue in her teeth at them, upside down and dying, that she bombed a serpent that turned to smoke when it hit the ground, they would say a flock of moths came frantic and tried to lift her away. That was true, only that they had into prayer, though the mouths were no bigger than the startled mouths of Children, and even dozens, dozens together, could only pluck at the strands of her darkening hair until their wings sagged sodden with her blood. They were pearled away with blossoms as a great Shoate gust came blasting down the street, the earth heaved underfoot, the sky spun on its axis, a queer brilliance lance through billowing smoke, and the people of weep had to squint against it, blowing grit and hot light in the stink of salt pure. There had been an explosion. They might have died all and easily, but only this girl had shaken from some pocket of the sky. Her feet were bare, her mouth stained Samson, her pockets were full of plums. She was young and lovely and surprised and dead. She was also blue blue as opals, pale blue blue as cornflowers, or dragon fly wings, or a spring not summer sky! Someone screamed. The scream! Drew others. The others screamed to not because the girl was dead, but because the girl was blue, and this meant something to the city of Weep. Even after the sky stopped reeling and the earth settled, and the last fumes spluttered from the blast site and dispersed. The screams went on, feeding themselves from voice to voice. A virus of the air. The blue girl's ghost gather itself and perched bereft upon the spear point of the projecting final, just an inch above her own still chest, gasping in shock. She tilted her invisible head and gazed mournfully up. The screams went on and on and across the city, atop a monolith wedge of seamless, mirror smooth metal. A statue stirred as though awakened by the turmoil, and slowly lifted its great horned head.