English Irish Female Young Adult eBook Narration
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EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
Irish (General)Transcript
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Chapter one static. The roaring sound of white noise burned within my ears, each decibel becoming a little less consuming as the thumping in my head increased, pushing the hissing, unidentifiable sounds away, driving out the extra chaos. Until the world came into some semblance of focus, the sound of static reformed into the rhythmic beat of raindrops, a drum to the incessant ringing that never ceased. What the **** had happened? It was several moments before I blinked away. Enough confusion to register. Something was very wrong, as if waiting for the opportune moment of awareness. Pain lanced across my chest, my lungs constricted. Panic chased through me for a moment. As I fought to suck the reluctant air into my lungs, I feared this was the end. But then a wash of air expanded in my chest, and I was gasping, hungrily, drinking in the oxygen my body needed, pushing down the pain. Each time my rib cage expanded with air feeding my exhausted brain, details began to surface through the haze. Panic tried to grab me in its icy grip as the desperation of my situation came into blurred, disjointed focus. Just breathe God, it hurt. Concentrate stay awake. I blinked, pressing my eyelids together forcibly, as if the strength of this action would be enough to dispel the fog and confusion that settled around me like the rising mist. I was upside down the way my arms hung limply above my head should probably have been the first indication, but instead it was the agonising pressure across my shoulder from the seat belt that caused the realisation to finally dawn. The bent and twisted metal of the car groaned, and the drip, drip, drip sound, I thought was rain was nothing so innocent. I could smell it now, through the scent of earth and metal was the stifling odour of petrol. My shoulder screamed in protest as I fought against the pain, dragging my hanging arms up to grasp my seatbelt. The only thing pinning me in place suspending me in this death trap beneath me was Anna, her body resting at an unnatural angle As she lay twisted against the roof. I blinked away tears. I don't know why I was crying, whether it was for her or myself. Maybe it was just the pain, but I could feel the dampness running across my forehead. I held my breath trying to silence the sobs. I needed to be quiet. There was no way of knowing who was outside. If she had been on to me, others probably had been to. I forced my weight eyelids open, unsure when they had closed. My gaze once more fell on the mangled party girl, her short sprays of red and blue hair twisted in the same unnatural angles as her body. Even though Anna had been nothing but a hateful ***** from the moment she first laid eyes on me, she didn't deserve this. Images of her yanking the wheel ordering me to turn back flashed in my mind, increasing the ringing in my ears as the memory of how I ended up like this returned. The last I heard, she was partying in Europe with some rich playboy. Her way of giving her boyfriend the middle finger after he'd cut her off. I hadn't even realised she was coming to the celebration. And I sure as **** didn't know why she was in my car. What I did know, however, was that the knife resting near her grotesquely angled body sure as **** wasn't mine. I tried to remember if she pulled it on me. As thoughts of the past merged with the fog of the present, I opened my eyes again. It seemed darker now than just seconds ago. ****. I needed to stay awake. How long had passed since I sped out of the open gates. How long had I been lying here? Waiting to be found being found was the last thing I needed. I tugged on my belt trying to free it from the buckle without joy. Each second that passed, the scent of fumes became more consuming. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered. The engine was still running that the mist rising was not caused by rain, but films pain from another desperate tug against the buckle. Send dark moulds across my vision. It was stuck fast. I gritted my teeth stretching and twisting through the agony. I reached down until my shaking hands clasped the knife, sawing it through the taught belt. I hit the ceiling with a thump vomit, spearing from my lips as every part of my body screamed against the impact. My trembling fingers blurred in and out of focus as I looked for a way out. Dark fluid on my fingers glistened in the pale light from the dashboard blood. I was bleeding, my hand lifted, finding a mattered wound on the side of my head. The memory of being slammed against the driver's window as the car rolled resurfaced with whatever contents had been left in my stomach. I don't know why I reached out to see if I could find a pulse. The unnatural angle of Anna's body, the way her neck was twisted should have told me everything I needed to know. But I wasn't exactly thinking straight. Everything seemed disjointed. One second I was reaching out the next, my fingers were at her neck. Time seemed to skip and jolt, and I find myself in the middle of doing things I didn't even remember starting. Weak coughs burned in my throat. As the fumes become overpowering, my leg kicked out, connecting with the splintered window. I could see my blood engraved into the spider web crack long strands of my brown hair, trapped in the clotting fluids that streaked its surface. I kicked again, my strength waning, each strike becoming weaker. I gritted my teeth. No, I was not weak. I had not survived to give up here. My foot struck again, this time with more power. I felt the slight give out of the window. Just a little more. Come on, I could do this. I fixed my gaze on the small panel near the door as I continue to kick breathing through the explosion of pain ricocheting through my torso from each jarring impact. Where the **** were my airbags? I don't know why The thought crossed my mind now of all times, but one of the reasons I bought this damn car in the first place is it was meant to be one of the safest with front and side airbags. And after the years I'd had, I sure as **** deserve to feel safe somewhere. Perspiration trickled down my skin as I kicked out again, another blank moment, returning the memory of hammering the unresponsive brake. While Anna wrestled for control of the vehicle, I accompanied my desperate attempt to shove the window free. A rush of cold air finally rewarded my efforts. The sweet taste of fresh air was like a glass of water in the desert, a promise of salvation. The dull thump of the window as it pushed free. Told me we'd come to rest on something soft. I looked at the empty window pane. Uh huh. I'd expected it to shatter twisting. I grabbed my purse. Rummaging through it, I grabbed the only thing I'd need before tossing it next to Anna. I plan to dump it in the river along with a blood stained shirt, knowing the currents would wash it up. But it may as well stay here now. I needed to get moving. I couldn't afford to linger. Not with the engine still running and the petrol leaking. I registered the sound of a slight crackle, remembering I had heard it before. Damn, I really need to move. Grabbing my duffel bag, I dragged myself onto the soft grass. Staggering towards the bank would roll down my arm wrapped around my throbbing ribs as I fought my way up. By the time I reached the road, smoke was billowing from the wrecked shell, sending a beacon of white smoke high into the sky. I had chosen the back roads for a reason. I had wanted to leave quietly. I hadn't wanted anyone following me, but that smoke would be seen from miles. I need to move. Before some good Samaritan thought to investigate, I winced with each step. My body throbbed with pain, but I knew better than to linger better than to stay on the roads. If anyone saw me, I'd never be allowed to leave. Anna had done me a favour. When they found the burnt out car, they'd assume it was me who perished in the fire. I heard the dull thump of the distant explosion I had to keep moving. This was my only chance. One bus became 22 became five until all I remembered was a blur of swaps, and changes along the way had picked up a hoodie, sliding it from the top of a poorly supervised bag at the bus station. It was a man's body, probably about five sizes too big, given the way it's dark. Grey fabric hung on my slender frame, but who cared? It was warm and covered the bloodstains and bruises. Better yet, the hood was large enough that with it up, I felt as though I'd sunk into obscurity. My entire body hurt. I don't think I recall ever hurting this much, But pain was deceptive. Memories of it became diluted over time. What was agony to endure eventually became a bitter memory. I look forward to when this pain was in the past, when I didn't have to fend off the urge to vomit in fear of being made to leave the boss, my arms wrapped against my burning ribs, hoping to calm the tremors. I just couldn't. Still, despite the sickening, stagnant air of too many hot and sweaty bodies, all crammed into such a small place, I couldn't stop shivering. I'd ask the lady in front to crack the window, hoping some fresh air would quell the nausea. But all I had been rewarded with was a glare. It wasn't until I stepped foot off the bus and began walking down the winding country lane. I realised where I had been heading. The energy of the land seemed to vibrate beneath my feet. Or maybe it was still the tremors. But just seeing the rise and fall of the nearby cliffs and mountains as they stretched across the land was empowering. I hadn't been here since I was 15, but the air still smelled the same I remembered as a child begging my parents to bring me here, but they had always been to busy looking after my sister. She was their priority, and they had no problem letting me know that I was a disappointment, not worthy of their time. They'd never wanted a second child, and they made sure I was aware of this fact every day of my life, every single day. Nothing I had ever done was good enough in their eyes. But if Dana's so much just wiped her ours, it was a feat to be celebrated. She had always been there. Golden girl. The sun shone from her backside, and even her vomit smell like rain bows in their eyes. She could do no wrong, even when she started hanging out with the wrong crowd. When she started acting strange, they hadn't been willing to see the truth. It was only when they found her overdosed in a pool of vomit. They remembered I existed, but only because they needed someone to blame. I've been telling them for months she had a problem. They have not been willing to listen, but when that happened, it was suddenly my fault because I hadn't been looking out for her. Me Look out for her. How would they expected me to do that when the only words they bothered to speak to me were those warning me to stay away from her and not drag her down to my level? My level? You think I was some kind of trouble maker? A miscreant? I wasn't. But I just never been enough for them. I wasn't the smartest person in the world. I knew this. I struggled with pretty much everything that wasn't maths. But I dragged myself up from almost failing every class to a C plus student. And I was damn proud of myself. I was the only one even my teachers couldn't see from my sister's shadow. But Donna Donna had been brilliant. No matter what she turned her hand to, she succeeded. Her mind was an amazing place filled with ideas and solutions. But it was also a trap, a place she would lose herself in until she reached an answer to whatever had been troubling her. To be honest, it wasn't even being pushed aside so they could nurture her that it hurt. It was the way I always felt like I was in a strange measuring contest where, no matter what I achieved, I always fell shy. When I was 13, I had brought home an award for a science project. My heart and soul had gone into it, determined to make them proud, make them see me and what have they done? They had dismissed it as if it was nothing. After all, my sister was only a year older than me, and she had papers published in journals she had never placed. Third since we were little. My parents did the best they could to keep us apart. In fact, the only people who had time for me back then were my grandparents. How I looked forward to the school holidays at eight years old, I had caught the bus over to them, making the four hour ride alone. The worst part was, my parents hadn't even noticed I'd left. It wasn't until Gramps called to see if anyone was meeting me at the bus station when school break was over, that it dawned on them. They hadn't seen me for a fortnight, and despite their empty words, no one had been waiting. I made my own way there. I was expected to make my own way back to