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Additional details: You will need to submit audio with no vocal errors (i.e. no repeated sentences). You must have top of the line voice over equipment to be considered for this project. A sound designer will be assigned to your audio to take care of clicks, pops, breaths, etc.
Looking forward to your audition! 2015-01-19 19:10:13 GMT 2015-01-27 21:01:07 (GMT -08:00) Pacific Time (US & Canada) Yes (click here to learn more about ) Closed - Note: This project was manually closed by the voice seeker before it reached its original deadline. 2 2 0 direct invitation(s) have been sent by the voice seeker resulting in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far. Voice123 SmartCast is seeking 100 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 2 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Before I lost my courage, I rushed inside the house, turned the locks, and leaned against the door. I tried to steady my breathing and push away the regret that threatened to consume me—regret at my decision to do this.
A dark, silent house stared back at me, almost taunting me.
It was too late to turn back now. I was in. I’d already broken the law. I might as well follow through with the rest of the plan.
“Are you in, Retro Girl?” My friend Jamie’s voice sounded through my Bluetooth headset.
“I’m in, Girl Genius.” Jamie had picked her code name herself.
“Everything clear?” she asked.
“What’s clear is the fact that I’d make a terrible, terrible criminal.”
“That’s a good thing, Hol—I mean Retro Girl. Be careful.”
I nodded. “Roger that.”
In the delirium of a restless night, this whole scheme had seemed brilliant. But the fact remained that, in order to execute my plan, I’d just broken into someone’s home. I’d utilized the skills my locksmith father had taught me, though I was certain he’d never dreamed I’d use them this way. I’d become a masked vigilante of good deeds, only without the mask.
My heart slammed at a quick beat into my chest, each thump reverberating all the way down to my bones. I pinched the skin between my eyebrows as I tried to rationalize my actions. This wasn’t just a haphazard stranger’s home. And I wasn’t breaking in for nefarious reasons. That was the good news.
The bad news had generated my new life mantra: engaging in random acts of kindness whenever possible. And not just any ordinary random acts of kindness. Extreme random acts of kindness. Life was too short to do anything halfheartedly, after all.
To lay it all out, I’d just broken into the home of Katrina Dawson, one of my former social work clients—but only so I could clean her house and surprise her. I wanted to help. The idea had started innocently enough when I’d sneaked in to clean my brother’s house—a drive-by good deed, as I’d called it. He’d been thrilled, especially when he’d found the nice, anonymous note I’d left, explaining I didn’t seek recognition but only wanted to make his day brighter.
Cleaning Katrina’s house would help her and add a touch of quality to her life. I knew it would. She was a single mom, she couldn’t catch a break when it came to getting a decent job, and with a whole gaggle of kids, she barely had time to brush her teeth, let alone clean her home.
A clean residence could do wonders for a person’s spirit.
“You still okay, Retro Girl?” Jamie asked in my ear.
“I guess. What’s it look like outside?”
“It’s all clear. A neighbor three doors down just went inside. He didn’t even look my way. Good thing I’m driving the ghettomobile. It blends right in.”
“Here goes nothing, Girl Genius.”
I took a deep breath, grabbed my bucket of cleaning supplies, and plunged into the darkness. I planned to focus on the kitchen and bathroom since they usually needed the most attention.
I pushed up the sleeves of my black T-shirt. I’d abandoned my trademark dress in favor of something more sensible. I didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself in the run-down neighborhood. Pulling up in my ’64 1/2 powder-blue Mustang—Sally, as I affectionately called her—and stepping out with a vintage frilly dress on just wasn’t a smart idea.
I could do this, I told myself, a feeling of false security washing over me. I’d clean, leave a sweet note explaining I was a friend doing a random act of kindness, and then I’d hop in the van and head home. I was making a big deal out of nothing.
That’s what I told myself, at least.
I waited until I was away from the front windows before I turned a light on. Before I’d come inside, I’d put my gloves on. I never cleaned without them. Nothing was less appealing than smelling bleach on your hands three days after the fact. Plus, since I was officially breaking in, the gloves just seemed like a good idea.
I set my bucket on the countertop and looked at the mess around me. Dirty dishes in the sink. Junk on every visible surface—everything from schoolbooks to groceries to toys. There was something splattered on the linoleum floor, crayon marks on the wall, and this morning’s breakfast—at least, I assumed the food was from today—was still on the little table in the corner.
The house smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned in a while, a mix of trash that desperately needed to be taken out, rotting food on the plates in the sink, and laundry that had been sitting for too long. I’d noticed that on my last visit here. But the main thing I’d noticed had been the look of hopelessness in Katrina’s eyes. Hopelessness about changing her life, about getting ahead, about catching any breaks. No one should have to feel like that.
As I picked up my first plate, ready to wash it, I realized that I was breaching an uncountable number of professional standards. The good thing was that, even if I was fired from my job as a social worker, it wouldn’t matter.
“Girl, what is that noise?” Jamie asked.
“It’s the water running.”
“Well, can’t you help a sister out and turn it down some? My ears will be ringing for the rest of the night.”
Just then, I bristled. Why did I feel like someone was watching me? The thought was crazy. I was the only one here. I’d watched Katrina and her family leave earlier. She worked the graveyard shift and took her kids to a sitter’s.
“Girl Genius, something doesn’t feel right.”
“You broke into someone’s house. Maybe that’s it.”
“But I broke in with good intentions, so that makes it okay, right?”
Jamie chuckled. “You just keep telling yourself that, Retro Girl.”
Three months ago, my job and my reputation would have mattered. Three months ago, I’d had a different outlook on life. I’d thought I had forever left.
But sometimes a routine visit to the doctor changed a girl’s view and made her realize that she could take chances, that life was too short not to take risks.
My name is Holly Paladin, I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been given a year to live.
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