Christopher Grove -- Fiction Audiobook Demo 2018
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM) North American (US New York, New Jersey, Bronx, Brooklyn) North American (US Western)Transcript
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these heroic Happy Dead By Luke Mogensen Penguin Random House Audio I was staring at a brown sky just moments earlier. A researcher from the United Nations Ornithological Department had told me that fecal particular from the city's open sewage system made up an alarming proportion of the atmosphere in Kabul. The researcher was the sort of person who would say, If you really want something to write about or you're looking for a story one if I would tell you as if before meeting him, you had lived in darkness, scribbling claptrap of zero consequence to anybody. It invited me to lunch because he had some urgent information regarding birds. Something to do with the great migrations above the Hindu Kush. The desertification of Iranian wetlands, mass extinction. Have you ever seen a Siberian crane? He asked me. No, you haven't. No one in Afghanistan has seen a Siberian crane in the past 70 years. I pretended to take notes. My note pad back then was mostly pretend notes. Many of the pages featured detailed sketches of me killing myself by various means. One especially tedious interview with a mullah, Another ******* mullah holding forth behind a vertical index finger had yielded a kind of comic strip of me leaping from a skyscraper, shooting myself mid air and landing in front of a bus. Time and the riddle by Howard Fast Audible Studios. The management had finally produced a record player, and I had them put it out on the terrace. It was getting hot in the living room anyway, so we folded back the big double doors to the terrace and eased the increasing congestion in the living room. Jock Lewes, the radio disc jockey, was persuaded to run the photograph, and Jose tried to teach the go go girls from flamenco steps to the beat of rock and roll. Then I saw my wife lists, and I had to push people aside to reach her. She was with two pugs, one an ex lightweight on the other, an ex heavyweight, and she yelled across to me, I brought some quality to your crummy party. She was lit already. Jane Pierce pulled me assigned and demanded. Monty, what about this? What do we do? What about what This crazy party? There were already 91 here by head count and look at the doorway. It was something to think about. They were coming through the door now, in an almost steady stream. I recognized to movie stars, a member of What's my line and the new parks commissioner. The quality was good. It's quite a party. If you look on it as a competition, I suppose so. I just hate to think of what the price per minute is at this moment. I didn't have time to go out and shop a buck liquor or anything like that. It's all hotel rates. And have you ever looked at the catering shade of this hotel? No, you should. And where do we put them when it banks up solid, they can't get in, That's all. That's all. Look, Jane, you can't do anything and I can't do anything. That's the way it is. Let it run its course. The thing that puzzles me, Jane said, is this a few hours ago and he decided to have a party. Now everyone in the world knows about it. How does that happen? Word of mouth. Year of help. Well, what do you want me to do? Drop dead, she said pleasantly. When I think it's something else, I'll tell you. Among The Wild by Carl Pettit. Audible Studios The first time my uncle hit me, my parents have been in the ground less than a week. His knuckles were cold and hard and he didn't spare a blow. It cracked two of my ribs and black and both of my eyes. I swore I'd never let him strike me again. But is this day neared its end. Heat crept up, taking me off guard and knocked me down. I lay in the shallow mud, went clay, launched inside my nose, my nostrils utterly blocked. I opened my mouth and inhaled some of the mire and then spat it back out. If not for the ache of my previous injuries, I might have enjoyed the cool water trickling across my skin. As the days were unbearably hot, a soft shadow swam about the water, my uncles shadow. He stood over me and glowered as silent as ever. I took a second breath and another real of silt leaked inside my gaping mouth. I had found the only damp ground this withered desert had to offer. My uncle took a step back and allowed me some space to move. I rolled onto my side and blew the Tony jumble out of my nose. You best stay down, boy. My uncle warned me. Fiery green eyes seized beneath their heavy lids. Stay down and I won't hit you again. A driver of one of the wagon stood beside him and nodded his head in agreement. So this is the world of men. I thought that should have remained a child.