Inversion 1 Looking Through Mirrors Retail Sample
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
In version one looking through mirrors, written by Michael cruiser, narrated by Jamie Lynn Marcos. Book one of the Inversion Series. My psychiatrist asked me how I felt. I initially answered that I was scared, alone, terrified, confused and hopeless. Later on, I could truthfully answer that I felt angry, loved, confident and purposeful. The doc said that this proved I was growing into the new life. I was forging my past forever gone to me. But is it? I still get visions that he claims are simply products of my imagination. There too fantastical to be true, he says. In these visions, I see another person, her eyes burning through the darkness, challenging, powerful, unyielding. If she's really me, then who am I? Why am I? Who are you? I whisper. The person staring back in the mirror never answers. I awoke into a nightmare, gasping a desperate first breath as an infant might. The sensation of falling and spinning was making me nauseous. Meanwhile, at the end of my bed a blurry white sheet was moving wildly. I guess my foot underneath, it was twitching like a trapped animal. A moment later the twitching spread up my leg into my whole body. My cry to the white shapes around me joined a chorus of urgent voices, metallic, clanking and loud popping. Then nothing. I became aware of a dim orange light shining from the other side of my eyelids. I raised my right hand to my face, rubbed my forehead, and only then dared to open my eyes. A thin slit. Time must have passed. I felt almost normal. My bed had been raised in position before a window with its white curtains drawn. Once I adjusted to the light I felt as if I were seeing for the first time. A joy so pure! I started to cry. I turned my head and gazed into a long white room with a shiny gold colored floor and tall windows. A soft, beautiful, hazy glow surrounded everything at each window, where other beds like mine, each with a human lump under the sheets. Some patients were moving slowly within the confines of the sidebars. Others just stared at the ceiling as the old man two down from he was doing, he didn't even blink as a group dressed in white uniforms rushed into the room and quickly surrounded his bed. They spoke in a language I didn't understand. Then a woman pushed a rolling cart loaded with equipment to his bedside and began attaching wires to the man's chest like a taboo. She commanded. I heard a thud in the old man's back arched than a paused as they checked him, eager to vu said this time with less emphasis, the same routine. A thud arching back. Another pause. There was no urgency now and the group started to drift away. One young man, with a dark, scruffy beard remained, however, and glanced at me. I felt no emotion from him. He leaned on the bed rail and shifted his attention to a cellphone. I'd witnessed a horror. I was only now understanding the old man had died was I in a room where they put people expected to die? Another young man who wore a blue uniform in a blank expression, pushed a rolling stretcher up to the dead man's bed. A familiar, metallic clanking sound echoed as they folded away the bed rails before transferring the body. The routine looked well practiced, which horrified me more than seeing the dead man's limp arm slip off the stretcher as they wheeled him from the shiny, beautiful, sun filled room. I fumbled for the yellow palm sized device hanging from my bed rail and press the red button. As I'd seen others do. Death is here. Death is here. Death is here! I whispered manically in seeming reply. A female voice said close to my ear. There are no stars. My mind froze and shocked horror.