Story Time!
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Dexter Is Dead by Jeff Lindsay. One. It wasn't supposed to end this way in a flash of steel. Yes, flurry of gunshots, of course, of strangled moans and English size lending with the distant wail of sirens. Certainly a properly dramatic ending with the good body counts. A funeral struggle against impending doom, even a dash of treachery, Absolutely. And then the fatal blow. A few moments of anguish, the last side filled with regret for things undone and paid the black a fitting end for a life of wicked pleasure. But not like this. Not with Dexter in Dorantes, horribly wrong, slandered, unjustly accused of doing terrible things that he did not even get to do. Not this time. That is this time, this one catastrophic, multi homicidal time Dexter is as innocent as the driven snow. Or perhaps the scent on South Beach would be more. Although truth be told, nothing on South Beach is really innocent. Any more than Dexter, whose catalogue of Wicked women sickle works, is, to be fair, quite lengthy. It just doesn't include anything from current events. More the pity not this time, and not like this not locked away in the tiny chill, ill smelling cell and Turner guilt Word, Knight Correctional Center. And on the top, for at that special purgatory reserved for the most heinous and unrepentant monsters, every basic freedom ripped away every moment, waking and sleeping subject to scrutiny. Dexter's entire world reduced to this tiny cell no more than a thick steel door and even thicker concrete block walls, broken only by a slim slit that lets in light but does not let out site a narrow metal shelf with sin and battered thing on it laughingly referred to as a mattress. I think a toilet. So Dexter's world and no more than this. No connection at all to the outside, beyond the narrow slot in the door that delivers the officially nutritious meals. No Internet, no television, no radio, nothing that might distract me from the contemplation of my many uncommitted since course. I may request reading matter, but I have found through bitter experience that the two most popular titles in the library are not allowed and don't have it recordable, lamentable, even pitiable. Poor sad sack Dexter tossed on the sterile institutional scrap heap