The Table- A Short Story
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
and espadas production a short story yo you Mr broom? There's nothing in there. The other radar called back which is a table in a spoon, leave it. We've got to go. The two men's boots studded on the ground as they rushed from room to room. Their torches sputtered and threatened to die. But they continued their aggressive base, swords drawn, ice alert, the Tory Truman part. I'm taking that spoon we found much yet we're going to lose what we do have by taking the risk to come down here. He dashed across the room to the low table where a spoon was centered perfectly atop it. The spoon was ordinary with absolutely nothing special about it. It would have felt slightly warm to the touch though if the intruder hadn't been wearing gloves. If the other robber wasn't making so much noise in the other room you would have heard the table make a noise. If it wasn't preoccupied robbing an old dungeon, he would have felt the air was extra code in that room. But he didn't. He touched the spoon key, he touched the spoon. He just took the spoon. He was going to die and the many years of this dungeon lay abandoned. The table mimic had been alone. It had come here long ago and search for something. He didn't find it. Instead, the dungeon entrance collapsed and crumbled in behind him. He spent weeks crawling the corridors in the pitch black like a spider with some of its legs plucked off broken mentally and fully drained the table collapsed. Hello? Do you need a friend? Table perked up or what was left of it? He could have sworn something had spoken in this pitch black maze. He scoured the room, straining to see through the black. Then he saw it The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen by 10fold a wooden spoon sat on the counter. It seemed to beckon him, and he scooped it onto its leg, playing it ever so gently onto his table top. Over the next cascade of years. The spoon stayed firmly rooted to the table as if by magic. It never fell off, but it never spoke again. May not have ever spoken in the first place. The table mimic didn't care that spoon was now his only friend in this grim new home. They spent ages patrolling the halls together, killing stray mice, breaking things and listening to the silence. The spoon never even twitched. It gave no sign. It was ever even alive. But table was satisfied. The spoon was all he needed. Spoon was his world, every minute was spent with it, and it was everything he could have ever wanted. Years felt like seconds as they danced through life in perfect harmony. And now it was taken, spoon was gone. The very last threat of table sanity that had been saved by spoon. It broke. Table was broken fully and completely broken without spoon. His only friend, his love of his life. Table swore revenge. You okay in there! The second raider called already got the spoon. You worry too much, you know the first from another room. Be quiet before I take your spoon and a pale you with it. The two sprinted out of the room and around the corner, through the red, swarming his vision table leapt onto one of the intruders, crushing him to the floor, the snapping sandwich reminiscent of breaking a rat spine. The other robber stopped moving, stunned. He never stood a chance, and hispanic screams echoed through the dungeon table. Sifted carefully through the one man's pack and he saw spoon, spoon was broken, cracked clean in half. It was all his fault. He'd killed spoon. What had he done? The ground spot underneath table. For the first time in his life, he felt unsteady, then table collapsed and died from a broken heart. Both spoon and table pass on to the next life. And it was beautiful. The end