Female English Narrative Audiobook
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Teen (13-17)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
wildwood by Colin Meloy, Prue fought the urge to cry. She could feel the sobs coming from the pit of her stomach, and her eyes started to well with tears, her fingers clenched around a tusk of grass and squeezed as she willed her mind to quiet. She felt with her tongue the spot on her lip where there was a small bulb of blood and licked it clean. The air was still and the light was flat as the early afternoon sun began to dim. She thought about the note she had left for her parents that morning. Back later, it had said, despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn't help but stifle a laugh. She pulled herself up from the ground and sat on the edge of the ravine, dusting the stain of dirt from the knees of her jeans. A squirrel popped its head from behind a rotted tree stump and looked at her quizzically. What do you want squirrel? She jeered, she laughed to herself and said, I suppose I should watch what I say. You probably talk to do you. The squirrel said nothing. Great. That's actually a bit of a relief, she said, propping her chin in her hands. Though you might just be the quiet type. She scanned her surroundings and then looked back at the squirrel, which had cocked its head to the side, studying her. So what do I do now? Asked Prue. My brother was kidnapped by birds. My friend was captured by coyotes. She snapped her fingers, and I nearly forgot my bike is broken. Sounds like a country song if country songs were really, really weird. The squirrel suddenly straightened and froze, its ears twitching beneath the hush of the breeze, and the tree branches came an unexpected sound, the putter of a car engine. As it grew louder the squirrel dove from its perch and disappeared. Crew jumped up and started running toward the sound, fighting her way through the fallen tree branches and brush. Stop! She shouted as the sound seemed to grow louder. The woods were particularly dense here in the hillside, steep, and Pru's run became more of a desperate stagger. As she tried to reach the sound, a hedgerow of blackberry brambles bloomed in front of her, and she dove into them, feeling the thorns tear at her coat and hair. Her eyes closed, she fought through the bushes, flailing at the stinging branches until suddenly she was released from their clutches and she fell forward onto the first level empty ground she'd seen since entering the woods. She looked up to find she had fallen onto what appeared to be a road and quickly approaching along this road was what appeared to be a van. Prue leapt up and waved her arms frantically, and the driver slammed on the brakes, the vehicle's tires skidding in the dirt of the road. It was a bright red cargo van, and it looked like it had seen better days. It was of an indeterminate age, though the amount of rust and scraped paint on the sides suggested it had seen its fair share of punishment. The side of the van was emblazoned with a strange crest that Prue did not recognize. As she stared in disbelief at this mysterious vehicle, she heard the distinctive click of a shotgun being cocked. She looked to see the driver's side window being hastily rolled down and a grizzled, balding head emerged, eyes squinting down the site of a massive double barreled rifle that looked to be of civil War vintage. Make one move, Missy and I'll fill you full of holes, said the driver, prove through her hands into the air. The driver cautiously lowered the rifle and gaped at Prue.