Audiobook - Horror, Suspense, Creepy, Crazy, Maniacal, Brooding, Teen
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
One on top of another. I nailed the boards, window by window door by door. There will be no more floods, invaders, visitors, men at midnight, no prayers, curses or father, son and holy spirit to rule over us. Only a God with the power to dissolve within infinite matter would have been capable of eliminating all the evil in the world. That is what we ourselves will do and over our house shall descend. Only clouds of flies coming in search of what is left. When I finish, Father, I lie down next to Sarai, remove her woolen glove and clasp her decrepit hand because I'm no longer afraid of her dead skin because everything that rots is sacred. Everything that rots is called life. Isn't that right? Father? The resurrection of our flesh is a miracle. There is no spirit that ascends only a body that breaks down and descends in spirals through the earth forming a more perfect and symmetrical existence. Nancy approaches now it is she who watches me? She perches on my chest and we are one. The oder is slow to take effect on me. But the night's darkness has started calling to them before I close my eyes, a frenetic sound takes over everything in the distance. I hear a knock on the door and my heart which was fading, pounds loudly for a few moments. But the sound has begun to turn into an echo as if coming from a dream. And inside my head, everything fills with the sacred sound of fluttering winks hall to music. Hallow to melody that whispers, like listening to the consciousness of the earth itself. Like hearing thousands of frightened hearts beating around you all visceral, all pulse and all else in the world go silent. I hear only the insects and a whistle that comes from within a sharp whistle that sends me to sleep and turns everything damp, forcing me to relinquish my words and liquefy my insights. It comes from this dying body and the sense toward that which sinks, which is the earth, which is Cicadas, which are wings, which is my mother's voice. A stream of water like a whisper. I'm the queen of the arthropods, but this isn't actually my mother's voice. No one remembers the voices of their dead.