English, fiction, Retail Audio Sample for thriller
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Poe hunched over a computer in the corner of his Harlem studio apartment, silently tapping at the keyboard. A pungent smell of rat poison mixing with the oppressive summer humidity hung over the room. Po was oblivious to the stench and everything else about his surroundings. A blindfold covered his eyes. As he faced the computer screen, he also wore earplugs and blue plastic gloves that stickily adhered to his hands to stifle any possible light blinds were drawn, casting the bare room into pitch darkness. The only sign of light came from the screen illuminating his masked face that glowed like some ghostly image in the night. Poe was frustrated and hesitated for the umpteenth time that evening, searching for the right words to finish his chapter. A writer in search of the truth. He bitterly told himself Ann's story was coming too slowly. He needed resolution, but Anne was a stubborn one refusing to die. Poe had taken seriously an Old New York Times profile, an up and coming writer recounted how he obliterated all sensory distractions to fully immerse himself into his story. And so ***'s own experiment, not that it was doing him much good. A pile of crushed paper was proof of his deep writer's block and he blindly slammed the computer in frustration, almost knocking the machine to the floor. It was just as well that he couldn't see the screen. Whatever words already existed there were worthless. The ear plugs and plastic gloves and blindfold and failed to do the trick. Just too many disturbances floating in his head. And then this incessant noise coming from inside, a long wooden box tucked into the corner of the room, hands, banging and muted screams were getting on his nerves. He had grown used to her cries, but this was a bad time for such histrionics. The rocket had even penetrated his ear plugs. He was exasperated knowing that he only had himself to blame. No one else was responsible for the 30 year old hysterical woman bound and stuffed inside the narrow sealed box for these past five days. His plan had gone. Well, her kidnapping easy peasy. She was some school teacher from Queens visiting the city when he came upon her that night leaving a comedy club on the upper West side. She seemed to be having a great time getting away from the baby and hobby for the weekend. The woman just wanted to break free. That's what Paul thought. Anyway, maybe with a little more attention and street savvy, she would have noticed the black buick trailing her on her way to a friend's apartment where she'd been staying po hustled up to the building. The woman was there waiting for the elevator. He offered a wide too smile at the locked front glass door, rubbing his fingers together, signaling a problem. He had forgotten his keys. Could she let him in? The woman wavered, cautiously smiling back and then nodded her natural trustworthiness in the man's apparent charm, swaying her decision, but no sooner had she opened the door. Then she found herself dragged by her hair down the grime ridden floor. The Chloroform did the rust the few passers by gave the drunk couple a wide birth as they staggered from the building into the parked Buick po made his way to Amsterdam Avenue. Stopping the car once to inject the woman starting to stir with a powerful dose of PHENobarbital. Then the hassle back at his Harlem apartment managing to half carry her up the stairwell to his third floor apartment expected that Ann Sweney would be dead by this time, clearly underestimating her resilience. The jumble of items in her pocketbook filled him in about her life. Pictures of Dylan, her husband, Amy, the adorable two year old and a puppy. A golden retriever named Annie, just the cutest family. Paul thought he had checked up on the woman the previous night after her screaming subsided, he opened the lid of the coffin like box to find that she was still alive. Her terrified eyes bulging from her head. Poe leaned over to brush away several large water bogs crawling on her neck and face that had made their way through the air holes. They reminded him of the Death Beatles in one of Edgar's stories.