A Day Of Nothing
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
a day of nothing. Waking to black and white yet again, he wrenches his mind into focus. Bank Holiday Monday, a day of nothing closes his days to the form of traffic and the cheerful bloody birds. For seconds, the ringtone confuses him. He changed at the same time, deleted her number. He liked to switch off forever, executes an act of absolute vitality to the ******* thing. But he needs it for work on his parents. He knows that it's her she never uses. His landline likes an instant response on DH. He always obliges. I think I'm in love, Jamie, she immediately says. Are you around this morning, closing his eyes, This box of cool a fly? Why the **** does the chatter of hope come from? He slumps opposite him on the sofa, threats her naked legs through his. And then he tries. You can't block the smell of her lemon shampoo nor the balm of her soft flesh against his closing his eyes. He lets its hole. Jamie. Did you hear what I said? She asked. Oh yes, he's listening. He likes the sound of a voice. Let's it wash over him without taking in a word. Well, what do you think? She's pairing at him. Her face, bear of makeup. She has dark Hollows beneath her eyes, and her chin is blemished with spots. I think you should get more sleep, he replies. He watches her lips shape the words from his bedroom. Open a window. Jamie, she's saying. Let in some fresh air. Same as always. A glance up before she climbs in the car. A smile, a small wave, a parting gift. Remember me? Think of me, Want me the window? Stay short. Looking down on his T shirt, he studies the orange stain. An amoeba of Greece surrounds it. Last night's chicken tikka masala. For now, his heart is in spasm. He's glad he was dirty and smelly, his bloody elated. He wasn't a sap. Clenching his fist, he punches the and heads for the shower, the sun shining. It's bloody shining outside. He pelts for the 142 books. What doesn't give a toss when the smoking driver slows down yet doesn't hold, Keep some walking down Wilmslow Road stop to stop his shirt's stuck to his back. Finally, he's so close to town that the fair is not worth it focuses his eyes. Jim and I cafes changed hands. Townley building is being demolished. Another Tesco metro, right next to an lt a cycle shop warehouse in more show and empty Lloyds TSB. All the things he'd looked at last week but didn't see closing his eyes. He smiles. He hasn't looked immobile for hours. Cannot people the size? The woman asks. She's pretty, even takes the close to the cubicle and hangs them with a smile. Call if there's anything out she made. He pulls on the jeans and stares at the mirror. A man he loads scapes right back, discussed, blocks his throat. He can't breathe. He can't swallow type bloody jeans and Selfridges, too. He hates fitted ******* jeans, but he's trying the moment just for her. The smack brings him back a wilful flock against the image, everything O cati. He hates beyond the door, lessening his eyes to Mira. He breeds, say, for a red smear on the glass. Life's back to great Couldn't be better, he replies. The one for two trundles home. He's had painfully throbs. He's tired, weary of life, being on repeat, fed up of being so bloody predictable. Closing his eyes. He pictures torment, captured in monochrome anyway, always kicks in sooner or later slide by slide like stone over his on the sofa, tiptoe kisses at the door. Why even t her twisted in slim fingers, occasional tears, his hand vibrating with the Judah of the boss. He stares at his mobile. A smug icon of an envelope winks. But it isn't from her, she told her latest news. His usefulness, for now, has expired. The Texas from his mother, a skill acquired from months of waiting at Christie's message after message mother to son until the medics gave up. Don't forget dinner that's next in line. Can you believe was still way too sure someone's jumped the queue? Alice is a which we'd come private. The consultant seems nice. You all right, James? Haven't seen you in ages. That's a Zillo. Son becomes rain without warning. Flattening is her dripping from his nose, his shirt pluses to his chest and his teeth chatter. But he doesn't feel that his mind is in overdrive, keeping him warm. Why didn't he listen this morning? The who what when? Especially the who? Who is she falling in love with this time, Angus, she said. Who the **** is Angus? And then what's the point? Nothing you can do. Emasculated populace. The need to puke stops him show. Leaning against the wall, he heaves out the bile on some poor *******'s steps to his cellar. Stripes of cooler explode at the back of his eyes. And with it comes clarity, a way to stop the endless bloody cycle of conflict. The wanting, the need. The lost, corrosive lost. Simple as that you could do it. He really can. His mother's at the sink. She doesn't turn around, and he's glad anything to postpone her painted cheerful face a little while longer. Dinner's on the table in five minutes, she says to the soap bubbles. Why do you always leave it so late? James. Let's say hello to dad first, Be careful. Those stairs. Alice is, er, video. There, in the attic room, he started shrink again, another tiny poker into yellowing flesh. He hates him for dying, for losing his strength. He loads the wasting stranger left behind. I wasn't going down, he asks. Better for seeing you. Soon he puts out a hand, his flesh lis grasp strong, so closing his eyes. James sees nothing but black wishes. He could pull away from the steady grip, the stifling room, his sickly house, and he knows it's coming. He wants to cover his ears and boat, but his dad squeezes laboured much worse than before, James. So promise me you'll look after your mother and your sister when I'm gone, This movement behind him, a gentle hand on his back. Well, let me looking after Jamie dot Don't worry. How will? Stripping back his island, he turns to his sister. What we don't do your face? She asks, her forehead creased Alice geysers that explores the court with soft fingers. What's going on, Jamie. How did you do it? It wasn't there. This morning, his knuckles bone white on the bannister, he went to his sister at the top of the stairs. The butter of his heart burns his ears. The resolve is still there. He can do it. He can. He pulls back against the wall paper to let her go first. But she stopped in the London, perhaps her arms around his waist, and leans her head against his chest, a moment on hold. Sweating profusely, he inhales the sweet smell of lemons. Her breath strokes his cheek. I will look after you, Jamie. I promise, She whispers. A rainbow of fantasies shoots through his veins. He had a plum. He knows he had a plan, but he's lost it for now. Pulling away, she takes his hand. Come on, little brother Dennis waiting. Did I tell you this morning that Angus words thes really tight designer jeans and she smiles a smile with white even t?
Tags
Characters, Father, Mother, Aged, Annoying, Believable, Caring, Condescending, Flirty, Raspy, Sick, British (General)