Audiobook/Narration Demo
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Teen (13-17)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
the Burlington Northern South, bound by Bruce Holland Rogers. Her name was Christine. He didn't know how to talk to her. So I wrote her a poem in which he compared her to the Burlington northern South, bound out of Fort Collins. He told her about the way he used to stand on the tracks in the dazzle of the headlight. He liked to step aside and stand on the Thai edge to feel the thunder in his bones. Between the quaking of the cinders and his joy, the engine would almost bring him to his knees. The diesel throb in his guts would ebb until it was only sound. And then the cars, some shrieking on their springs, would clatter, clatter, clatter, clatter on by. He choose one car, and at a trot he would swing aboard the ladder. He'd feel the night air in his hair, and the cars nearest him would have a musical their own, a rhythm he could never hear if he only stood near the track as each one past the horn would sound for the last intersection, a song Sweet is jazz. Then, from even 50 cars away, he would feel the vibration of the engine digging in. He would dream for a moment of hanging on of riding the couple ing platform through the night, riding for weary hours in a white knuckled crouch until the daylight would show him the red hills of New Mexico and the smell of juniper would be in the air. And then he leave the dream to notice how fast the ties were flying beneath him. He'd lean out into the wind at the edge of town, and he'd launch himself into the void and land running with a jar he would feel all the way up his spine, a shock you would feel as a flash of white and a taste of electricity. He'd run and run blindly and sometimes stumble in the cinders and scraped his knuckles and bang his knee when he could stop at last, to hear the blood rushing in his ears. For a long time, while he felt the train rush on and recede, he'd watch the stars wheel a while, and when he'd walk home there'd be a ringing in his ears, but gently, he tried to put this in the poem. It was four pages long and ended I want to ride you home, Christine and beyond. I want to ride you into mornings sharp and cold and blue and never run the same track twice. He never heard a word from her, not even to acknowledge that she had received the poem. What woman wants to hear She is like the Burlington Northern South bound dream traders By Wayne Thomas Batson. Caylee was not in a room. Patches in her pink blanket were missing as well. Archer check the blue bathroom and found it empty. He ducked around the door frame of his little brother's room. Hey, Buster, have you seen Caylee? Naw, Buster said, his eyes never leaving the game on Established. Whoa! Almost a wipe out. Archer frowned and called up the hallway. Galea, Where are you in here, Archer? She called. Her tiny voice sounded bright in pixieish dad's room or mine. He thought, knowing Caylee, probably mine. He was right. She and Patches in her pink blanket were snuggled up on Archer's bed. Dad says it's time for you to go to bed, he told her. And aren't you a little old to be sucking on your thumb? She popped her thumb out of her mouth and said, It's an acquired taste, right? Hey, Archer, how come you got ashes on your table rashes? He said. I don't have any right here, she said, pointing with patches. Dolly hand See, Archer did see there were four distinct, irregularly shaped piles of gray white ash. The tokens of doom, he thought, have turned to ash. He swallowed. It seemed ominous, but what it meant exactly. Archer had no idea. Electrified Sheep by Alex Bursa Benjamin Franklin's rise to fame was due in great part to his electrical research. But in the late 17 forties, when Franklin first applied himself to electrical research, most European scientists regarded him as little more than a colonial upstart. They believe the most important contribution he could make to science would be to tell them what happened if a large electrical shock was given to that uniquely American bird, the turkey, rather than tackling the challenge of electrifying a turkey head on, Franklin started with hens and worked his way up to the larger bird. First, he assembled to large laden jars, put a hand in position and touched its head to the jar. The jars, discharged with a bang and the hen flopped over dead. The experiment had gone off without a hitch, and to his delight, Franklin discovered that the flesh of the bird cooked up uncommonly tender. Franklin next knocked down a second hen with the late in jars, but instead of letting it die, he tried to revive it by picking it up and repeatedly blowing into its lungs. After a few minutes, the bird groggily regained consciousness and let out a little squawk. Delighted. Franklin carefully placed it down on the floor, whereupon it ran straight into a wall. It was alive, but the electricity had blinded it. Nevertheless, this was the first recorded case of the use of artificial respiration to revive in electric shock, victim and accomplishment. Franklin seldom gets credit for. People are happy to picture the future founding father of the United States flying a kite in the lightning storm. But giving mouth to beak resuscitation to a hen probably doesn't seem is dignified. Following his success with the hens, Franklin moved on two turkeys