English, Accents include British, all American dialects
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General) North American (US South)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
There's something about vintage vinyl. The tattered jacket worn with age, vibrant with art. Even after 50 years. The feel of the record, the weight in my hand as it slides out of the sleeve and onto the turntable in a world where everything is instant, easy just to click away. The physical act of dropping the needle is a small sort of rebellion. A cathartic release. I close my eyes as it hums along the groove crackling and imperfect and raw. Creedence. Clearwater at their finest three decades before I was born, no matter the age. It's my favorite album. A perfect reincarnation of time and place and feeling that seems more real, more vibrant than anything in the here and now. The swamp rock sound settles deep in my bones. As raspy vocals layer over a sharp iconic riff painting a picture of lyrical nostalgia. Vague enough to be absolutely anywhere clear enough to take you straight to Green River. Even here in my room, I feel the sun on my face, the cool water sweeping in around my ankles between my toes. It's a place of pure abandon, a place that doesn't exist but every fiber of my being yearns to have that kind of freedom to know what it's like to be a rebel. My eyes snapped to the window in the driveway beyond straight eyes and arrow. The limestone laying glows white in the moonlight pointing the way to the flame with its secluded location and rough crowd. The high school hangout is an unsuitable place for respectable young ladies according to Mama Pearl, but the label only serves to increase the appeal. The flame is more than just a place to party out in the woods. It's forbidden fruit and much like eve, I can't wait to take a bite. A thrill shoots through me at the idea of showing up and shocking my classmates, especially Eli. I saw the challenge in his blue eyes during fifth period. What about you, Miss Sun? He said jotting his chin in my direction. You coming out tonight? I shrugged and fiddled with my paper hating the way my face heated at the question and wishing I had the nerve to say yes, wishing I had the nerve to say anything at all. But who cares what Eli Lela thinks? He's just like every other redneck guy at school who dips and cusses and wears thread, bear jeans tucked into broke down cowboy boots, river rats. They call themselves with Eli at the helm. He probably wants nothing more out of life than a six pack of beer and a good time. But I do care and that's the problem. There's something in the tilt of his head, a sparkle in his eye like he holds the key to a great secret. And curiosity has always been my achilles' Heel.