Narration Sample: Red Glove
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.
I don't know. There's a day or night when the girl gets up to leave her minnow silver dress swishes against the tops of her thighs like Christmas tinsel. She opens the hotel door, has struggled to remember her name. So you'll tell your father the consulate about me. My lipstick is smeared across her cheek. I should tell her to fix it, but my self loathing is so great that I hate her along with myself. Sure, I say. My father never worked at any consulate. He's not paying girls 100 grand a pop to go on a goodwill tour of Europe. I'm not a talent scout for America's next top model. My uncle doesn't manage you, too. I haven't in arid at a chain of hotels. There are no diamond mines on my family land in Tanzania. I've never been to Tanzania. Is it just a few of the stories My mother has spent the summer spinning for string of blonde girls in the hope that they will make me forget Lila, they don't. I look up at the ceiling. I keep on staring at it till here. My mother moved in the adjoining room. Mom got out of jail a couple months back after school let out, she relocated both of us to Atlantic City, where we've been grifting rooms and charging up whatever food and drink we want to them. If the staff gets too demanding about payment, we simply move on down the strip. Being an emotional worker means that Mom never leaves a credit card at the desk, as I think that she opens the door between our rooms. Honey, Mom says, as though it's not weird at all to find me lying on the floor in my boxers. Her black hair is up in clips and wrapped in one of her silk scarves, the way she always wears it. When she sleeps, she's got on the hotel roof from the last hotel tight, tightly around her ample ways. You ready for some breakfast? Just coffee. I think I'll make it. I push myself up and pad over to the complementary pot. There's a bag of grounds sugar and some powdered creamer sitting on a plastic tray Castle. How many times do I have to tell you that it isn't safe to drink out of those things? Someone could have been brewing meth in it. Mom frowns. She always worries about the weirdest things. Hotel, coffee, pot, cell phones. Never normal stuff like the police all order us both up. Coffee from the kitchen. They could be brewing that there too, I say. But she ignores me. She goes into a room and I can hear. Make the call. Then she comes back to the doorway. I ordered you some egg whites and toast and juice. I know. He said you weren't hungry, but you need to keep up your strength for today. I found this. The new mark. Her smile is big enough that I almost want to smile along with her. That's my mom. Red Glove by Holly Black First Chapter.
Tags
Mother, Teenager, Believable, Calm, Casual, Gritty, Husky, Low Pitched, Motivational, North American (General)