Project Main Details
For the male position, we are looking for someone who not only performs the dialogue well, but can also make the narration conversational (since it is written in the first person present tense). The more it feels conversational and emotive, the better.
For the female position, we are looking for someone who can perform the dialogue well. They will have to play antagonists, love interests, and other strong female roles, so it is paramount that they have range in their delivery.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BOOK BLURB Set in a world that could be closely described as Marilyn Manson’s steampunk wet dream, ‘SOB’ (‘Sins of Brother’) reacts a testosterone and anguish fueled plot with all the sarcastic wit a clinical pessimist can muster. The readers journey through a punchy first person narrative that stretches over 166,181 words, challenging their morality and stomach relentlessly through every story arc. Expect a dark road with comedy, tragedy, and even a bit of romance! Our tale revolves around Theo, a 20 year old boy with a peculiar knack and a truckload of baggage. Orphaned at a very young age, he is doing everything he can to protect himself and his sick brother, Yomi. As the pair try their best to bury their macabre past and scrounge up some sort of happiness in a resoundingly cruel and twisted world, said ’cruel-and-twisted’ world once again echoes what it has been cackling for their entire lives. Yomi is dying. There is a cure, but his brother’s mortality has a steep price tag. One neither of them can afford. But Theo isn’t going to let something as trite as morality get in his way. Defying every voice screaming sense into his ears, he recklessly strikes a boneheaded deal with a ruthless loan shark. A boneheaded deal that forces his hand into innocents’ pockets. A boneheaded deal that finds him standing underneath the executioner’s gallows. All is lost. Even if his brother recovers, the cold-blooded mobster will find him and extract every coin Theo couldn’t pay in his blood. All is lost. The hangman rests a noose around his neck. The trapdoor gives way. But instead of greeting the Grim Reaper, he finds himself face-to-face with something else. Something that can give him a second chance. Something that might just lead to that ‘happily ever after’ he so desperately craves. Driven by his bullheaded and often ruthless obsession, Theo embarks on a dark and twisted adventure; one that constantly demands: “How far will you go? What will you become to save the only one you love?” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- SAMPLE CHAPTERS CHAPTER 1: PICK A SCAB ANY SCAB “Leave her alone” mom screeches, her bloody mouth spraying crimson with each syllable. More trickles down her wrists as she viciously struggles against the abrasive ties binding her to the window sill. Ashido retreats to the far corner of the room, shadows enveloping the 8 foot behemoth. Savoring the misery he zestfully causes, his gaze darts between me and my mom as we watch my 6 year old sister bleed out on the floor. Michiru is lying on her stomach, wrists shackled and slit behind her back. Blood has soaked her white night gown scarlet and has begun to pool around her, reducing her terrified cries of pain to a hollow earthy groan. “Please, let them. I made the deal-” my mom whimpers desperately, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. “Please. They had nothing to do with it- PLEASE” she continues frantically, but Ashido’s sadistic grin just widens. “JUST LET MY CHILDREN GO!” I’m doubled over on the cold stone floor, unable to recover from the barrage of cinder block-like fists and knees he just pummeled me with. However, even over the pain, I notice it. The instant when I am the only one left groaning in pain. My mother sinks to her knees, moaning at my sister’s limp, blood-stained corpse. I want to scream, or cry, or react in anyway appropriate for a 12 year-old that’s just lost his baby sister, but I can’t. I’ve physically shut down, too shocked to do anything but lie on the floor and stew in the misery. My mom’s moan embitters to a sanguinary growl. She savagely struggles against her ties. The rope’s fibers bite deep into her wrists, exposing flesh, but she vehemently continues laboring herself free. Overcome by a maternal bloodlust- SNAP. Before I know it, she snatches up one of Ashido’s toys and charges at him. Clutching the broad blade with shivering scarlet hands, she maliciously slashes at the monster. But he’s too quick! With an amused smirk, he lazily bats the blow to the aside with his meat cleaver. THUD. Cursing in inaudible fury, she grunts to free her machete from the floorboards. Ashido turns to me expectantly. “What about you, Theo? I just killed your sister.... Nothing?-” “DON’T” snarls mom, still trying to re-equip her weapon. “DON’T you even look at him” “Delicious as your reaction was, I’ve seen everything I want from you. Goodbye”. Before she can react, Ashido casually jerks his hatchet.Mom’s head hits the ground. Her decapitated, blood-gushing trunk follows. The electric numbness sizzling my nerves has just kicked into another gear. As I lie on the cold floor, I realize the beast intently eyeing my physically and internally crippled carcass. “Come on Theo. You have to give me something. I have just orphaned you" Ashido clucks his tongue, frustrated at my apathetic demeanor. “Anything?” Deceptively swift for a man of his daunting stature, he pounces on me. Grabbing a tuft of my hair, he wrenches me to my knees and holds his cleaver to my left eyelid. “Why don’t you cry for me a little?” he glows, dragging it down my face, carving a gash down to my jawline! I feel the warm blood on my face but don’t respond. This fucked up reality has confined me to my own head. Ashido’s eyes itch with discontent. Irked he arches up and takes a deep breath- BANG!!!The door suddenly explodes open. Dawn’s pink light pours in, encasing a sinister shadow. Another player has entered the game. An amused smile creeps onto Ashido’s face, but before he can continue- CRACK! Ashido is shrieking on the floor. He covers his bloody face, trying to keep his shattered jaw from falling off. With no one holding my head up, I collapse facing the door, staring at the shadowy figure. The very one who’s staring right back. A pillow smacks me in the face. “Shut up dumbass” Ayame groggily groans. “It’s 3 in the stupid morning”. I’m lying on a wet pillow, brow moist with sweat, staring up at my pissed off cousin. “What’d I do ?” I moan, tongue lazy with sleep. “You were screaming in your sleep again. Aren’t you a little too old for night terrors?” she sneers. I stay silent, but I know she’s guessed what I was dreaming about, because I can sense her voice soften “Oh well. Since I’m up, wanna late night snack? I think we’ve got some-”. I merely roll over, not in the mood for share time. She’s trying to come up with an apology, but it wasn’t her fault. “Go back to sleep. We have to be up in a couple of hours” I say in a pseudo-sleepy voice, “and screw you very much for the pillow”. Grinning sheepishly, she retreats to haggle a few more hours from the sandman. Leaving me wide awake. Afraid to go back to sleep. Afraid to re-pick that 8 year old scab. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER 2: FML “Right. I’m off to work” my cousin scurries around the cramped bookshop as she collects her things “I should be back before midnight. So we can celebrate your birthday then”. Her eyes scan the termite molested bookshelves. “D’you know where my cap is?” I resentfully pull out the plush something-skin cushion from beneath me and fling it at her. “Thanks. Mrs. Sarcosta is coming over nine-ish to get her copy of Cuddly Dudley’s Delights. Tell her that we tried our best, but couldn’t get all the tartar sauce stains cleaned out. Also, we don’t stock her special request order, but she may want to ask at Broad Betty’s Brothel. Oh, and she’s probably going to bargain for her book restoration, but don’t let her push the price under 2 grails. Tell her we had to replace the spine and hard covers. It looked like a dog chewed on them.” “She probably did it. Trying to get at the sauce stains” I grumble, making my mood crystal clear. The sun was barely up and I’m supposed to rot behind this dusty counter until well after it sets. “I’m tired. Its barely morning and I only got a couple hours of sleep”. “Its not my fault you came back at 2 in the morning” she retorts. “Anyway, how else are we supposed to pay Carvallo? Remember the last time that creep was here?” Don’t remind me. That asshole runs a local gang, and through them, everything that goes on near Monger’s Street. Since book reselling and restoration is a relatively slow business, Ayame and I had recently failed to comply with their “protection premiums”. His lackey dickheads took that as incentive to punch me through the window and curbstomp my face. Ayame’s expression softens. “I know it’s tough, but those motherfudgers are going to be back next week and we’re still 150 grails short”. I maintain my dejected expression...hold...hold...but sigh compliantly. “Don’t worry. Stefano’s Patisserie pays pretty well, and if you add on what you’ve been making here, we should be alright”. Concealing a lead pipe in her boot, she wraps herself in a moth eaten cloak. “Right, I’m off then”. “You take care out there”, I mutter, trying to mute the concern in my voice. “Aww, what a sweetheart”. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I just want to make sure that slice of log cake you promised me makes its way home. Without the icing smeared off”. She rolls her eyes, “Happy birthday again”. “Remember. End Piece” I call out after her. The door swings shut. I stall for a moment, then walk over to the front door and peep through. As I see Ayame briskly walk down the cobblestone street and disappear down the murky lantern light, I discard my façade of bleary-eyed laziness and dart towards the bookshelf at the far-end of the shop. I grab a hold of the planks and start pulling myself up. The planks creak and groan under my weight but I carry on. I stretch my hand up and start feeling the top shelf for my kit. Nothing but cobwebs and dust. The wood groans dangerously beneath me. I left it here! I know I left it here- but just before the cracked timber can succumb to my weight, my hand stumbles across the bag strap. I immediately drop off, dragging the bag down with me. The landing bites into my knees, but I ignore the pain. No time for kissing ow-ees and nursing boo-boos. There’s too much at stake tonight. I zip open my bag and check if I have everything I will need for today. Rope. Explosives. A skanky blue dress. Concluding my supply check, I zip my kit shut with a grim finality. This is really happening... Hesitating for a moment, I punch in the code to Ayame’s cash till. 1018. My birthday. As I glance in at its contents, I feel horrible. About lying to Ayame. About the position I’m probably going to put her in. But I’ve got no choice. Taking a deep, raspy breath, I reach out and plant the brown envelope inside. The annoying PING registers the till is once again locked and my ass is roast-ward bound. There’s a 98% chance that my birthday will also end up being the day I kick it. There’s a good chance that the next time my cousin sees me, I’ll be grey and powdery in an urn. That’s if my bullet riddled corpse doesn’t dissolve in the sewers… But this is the ass wipe of a hand fate has dealt me. I shake off as much of the fear and dread as I can and exit the shop. As I disappear down the murky street, a “Closed for business” sign bids me farewell. Considering the sheer idiocy of my plan, I might as well hang that sucker around my head ------------------------------------------------ I believe some introductions are in order, so uhhh wassap. Name’s Theo. Theo something. I know. Pretty stupid that I don’t know my own last name, right? The truth is I don’t remember. Trauma does that. Apparently, it’s supposed to be "your mind’s way of protecting you from events that are too horrible to keep replaying in your head. I dunno. Maybe I’m just stupid, because if that were true, how come I remember everything that happened that night Ashido slaughtered my family. Or every terrible thing that has followed. Honestly, the only silver lining to the shit storm that is my life has to be my little brother, Yomi. He’s the only thing that’s kept me sane over the past 10 years. The kid was 3 when it happened, so he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t wake up cold and sweaty in the middle of the night, screaming and cussing at some warped remix of the blood bath. If there was ever a thing I could be grateful for, that would be it. Our “friends” and “neighbors” afforded us all the sympathy due to the newly orphaned, but the omnipresent hard times charged kind action with a price no one could afford. We were alone. Evicted and helpless, I took Yomi and left our home town of Myrea for the shit-tropolis, Windson. I thought we had some distantly relatives out there. And who knows, maybe they'd take us in, right? Our family was never rich or anything. In fact, we were a tooth scrape from skint. So it wasn’t a shock that our inheritance was little more than the clothes on our back, the lint in our pockets, and whatever gunk we could scrape off the kitchen floor that wasn't caked in blood. No money for trains, carriages, or even a fuckin' piggyback ride, we walked for weeks. Hoping to make it to Windson. Hoping for some kind of future in which we still had a pulse. My shoes wore off my feet. My back was peppered with pebbles from sleeping on the hard ground. I don’t think there was a single night where I slept with a full stomach or a single morning where I woke up to find that sleep had not soothed our aching tum tums. Shit, even a gang of highwaymen tried to mug us. However, after figuring out they’d just wasted their time on a bunch of broke homeless orphans, they took their frustration out on us. Needless to say, by the time I finally reached my somehow-related family’s door, I was cold, hungry, miserable, busted up, and just plain beaten. “Please” I croaked, trying to keep my pain from resurfacing, “Can you- I think. I think we’re related to you...somehow” and I froze. I didn’t know what to say. What did I expect the bearded, gruff-looking man before us to do? Times were hard. It was near impossible to keep yourself from going to bed hungry, never mind adding another couple of mouths to feed. Why would he take in some kids who claimed some supposed blood relation? There was no shortage of other gutter punks who’d claim the same thing. “Stupid, stupid, stupid”, I angrily thought to myself, “What was I thinking? It was a mistake coming here-” But before I could turn around and leave, the man wrapped me up in his warm, hairy arms. “I’ve been looking for you two! Everywhere! But your bloody neighbors let you guys leave. Idiots! They should’ve been looking after you till I got there. Yoko would’ve had my neck if she knew”, he hugged me tighter. “I’m relieved you took such good care of Yomi, Theo. Come out of the cold. Come. Come. You kids like meatloaf?” If Mizuda hadn’t taken Yomi and me in… Our uncle was a widower. Ayame was his only family, but he used to say that day, it grew by two. The next few years were nice. Our uncle raised us along with his daughter.He had the same ambitions for us. The same love for us. However, although he wanted us to become something more, an empty coin purse forced us to hit the clock too. While we kids would run his shop, Golden Book Resellers and Restoration, he would work double shifts at the local foundry. Life wasn’t easy, but we got by… for a while. Shit went down. The sort that makes you feel that whoever writes your fate is a cruel douchebag with a little too much free time. When Ayame and I were 15, we were left alone again. Mizuda died. The foundry’s management threw around “deep sympathies” and “unavoidable accident”, trying to cover their ass from the fact they had skimmed on basic safety measures. Their greed on saving a couple of extra grails on chintzy-ass heat sensors cost Mizuda his limbs and Ayame her father. But what difference does it make? Who could we have complained to? How could things possibly get worse? And it was like the sky darkened. The ground tore apart. Fire and brimstone exploded out and ol’ red and horny himself jumped out and laughed “Watch this”. Coughing up blood, inches from being another statistic, my uncle…. My uncle let slip that Ayame was sick. She looked fine? Sure. But behind the bright eyes, a terrible a hereditary fucker was about to ravage and rob her off her sight. Too much? My friend, we haven’t even started… According to Mizuda, he had been sneaking Yomi medicine to suppress a lung-festering illness without his knowledge. However, the virus had grown immune to the medication. And although he’d been desperately searching for an alternative treatment, the doctors kept maintaining there was none. The disease would malignantly take my brother’s entire respiratory system, reducing him to a broken lump painfully gasping for breath until even that was impossible. See what I mean? You could wipe your ass with toilet paper and sell it as my memoirs. And I’m not even the tough one… They’re stronger than me. Both Yomi and Ayame seemed to handle the news much better than I did. I’m not going to lie. I’m not going to say that I had a golden life defining moment, in which I manned up, grew a pair, and decided to rip fate, destiny, and the Universe a new one.I didn’t. Instead, I responded in a much more human way. I became scared. Fucking terrified. Maybe had I not been, I probably wouldn’t have resorted to today’s genius brainchild. After Mizuda was buried, I continued Mizuda’s crusade of finding a cure. After incessantly pestering almost every doctor in Windson, one of them gave me the same “no medicine” spiel, but followed it with “there is a trial therapy going on that could help”. According to him, it was conducted at a clinic on the southern slopes of Mount Cayvive (which in laymen’s term means ‘really far away’). The only reason nobody was telling me about the treatment was because I didn’t look like the kind of person with the 45,000 grails to pay for it. They were right. I was the kind of person who'd never even seen anyone with that much cash, let alone have it. But I didn’t care. I was hell bound on saving Yomi. I would move any mountain, deal with any devil- Aaaaand that is where I stuck my pee pee into a hot kettle. Stupidity and desperation, can anyone tell me the difference? Because after what I resorted to, I don’t think there is one. Blinded by some paternal fury. Obsessed with his safety, I was driven to deal with the vicious loan shark, Dwight Agnello, and dive into his sea of debt. I never told Ayame or Yomi about it. Didn’t want to worry them. Didn't want their feet up my ass, because we've all seen what happens to the mangled corpses who couldn’t cough up. The therapy itself was mildly invasive and would only last a couple of hours, but, in order to ensure his symptoms to wouldn’t resurface, Yomi would have to stay at the clinic for 2 years under the doctors’ close observation. Although Ayame and I could go and stay with him, the trip to and back would only further drown us in debt... So, roughly a year ago, Yomi left us. While I was left to pull us clear of Agnello’s jaws, Yomi was bound east towards Mount Cayvive and, hopefully, health. While Ayame grinded away her shifts at bakeries and kitchens, I would work the counter at Golden Books. On slow days, I’d do some odd jobs (cleaning, “delivering packages”, whatever it took). However, it soon became clear that we were going to fall well short of the mark, and without some sort of divine intervention, we were fucked. Luckily, I do have a supernatural power. SURPRISE. Well, OK, that’s sort of an exaggeration. It’s more of a knack, really. I can flick through any instructional book and perfectly replicate the actions described inside. Nobody apart from Yomi knows about it. He says that whenever my ability kicks in, my eyes roll completely back until you can only see the whites. He was so freaked out the first time it happened, he thought I’d been possessed by a ghost. The name stuck. However, Ghost does have a lot of downsides. Although I can absorb the information by tearing through the book, I don’t really understand any of it. So, for example, I could copy sewing patterns I’d read about, but Ghost couldn’t help me understand anything. Also, whenever I “absorb” a book and learn a new skill, I get really ill. Runny nose, nausea, fever. The works. Normally it wears off after a day, but the thicker the book, the longer I feel like ass. Similarly, right after Ghost kicks in and I complete the task, I immediately feel mentally and physically drained. I guess it’s like I’m being taxed the effort I’d need to do the job on my own. Ghost or no Ghost, as Agnello’s deadline loomed closer with each second, I realized morality had a price I could no longer afford. If I wanted to live, I would have to accept it. Become just another thing “wrong with this country”. If you’re judging me, then, allow me to counter with the eloquent words of Aristotle. “Better to be kicking ass, than kissing it”. I started pouring over books on sleight-of-hand tricks and pickpocketing. While Ayame was off at work, I would close Golden Books early and merge into the dense throngs that dwelled in the marketplace. By the time I’d leave, my pockets would bulge with anything my sticky fingers would cling to. You wouldn’t believe the crap some of these people carry around. I would need to sift bank note and coins out of disgusting amalgams of fruit pits, bronze veneers, and some very bad smelling lint (which I now suspect to be belly button fluff). However, despite my moral denunciation and monetary promotion, Monger Streets friendly neighborhood thug-allo, Carvallo, was becoming increasingly greedy. His exorbitant extortion schemes just deepened the squat hole Ayame and I were trapped in. Five-fingered discounts would no longer cut it. Something drastic had to be done. So here we are. Remember that line about desperation and stupidity. Class, let’s apply that crucial concept here once again.Your teacher is going to attempt something few have the balls and lack of brains to attempt. Today, I am going to attempt what no one with a pulse or their insides left inside their body has accomplished. Today, I’m going to rob this country’s richest mobster blind. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER 3: KICKING THE JUNKIES' NEST Ghost kicks in. My eyes roll back and I mechanically start exploring the side of the wall for crags and crevices. Any sort of holding to help me scale the 10 story building. Although the early morning drizzle has dampened the bare concrete stretch, my ability allows me to effortlessly climb the cold, slick stone and hoist myself onto the slate paved roof. The second I’ve finished my ascent, Ghost wears off. My eyes set into their normal position and an impromptu wave of exhaustion hunches me over. Suddenly sweating profusely and gasping for breath, I notice that my fingers are throbbing painfully. Swollen little sausages peppered with terracotta shards... And the horse has barely left the gate. This is going well. As I recuperate, my eyes trail over the sprawling shit-tropolis that is Windson. The looming sun beneath the horizon casts a red sheen over the dark city, almost seeming to acknowledge its diabolical constituents. The endless skyline of twisted towers and derelict buildings perforate the omnipresent smog clouds that hover low over the city. Since its birth, Windson has proved a breeding ground for desperation, as well as the social predators that prey on it. Cobblestone streets snake their way between the crime hives, gang dens, and brothels, creating an unnavigable labyrinth that spawns only the worst. Rapists, murderers, and bankers, as well as the ugliest STD factories ever to drunkenly burp “Come hither”. Treading warily, I make my way across the rickety, slanted roof, careful that my footing doesn't slip me 6 feet deep, hundreds of feet below. Sucking up a hollow breath, I approach the edge. Ghost, you're up. Next thing I know, I’m sprinting towards the edge. Before the gravity of my stupidity can hit me, I’ve already jumped off the roof. A quick glance down sends a tickling sensation down my navel. Fuuuuuuuck. Thankfully, Ghost has the steering wheel. It carries me across the urban valley and wedges my fingers into a taller building. Suddenly, my ability wears out. Weakness washes over me. I'm dangling hundreds of feet over solid fucking concrete! As my lapse of exhaustion takes its toll in me, so does my weakening grip. Gravity's prying me free- Crap crap crap crap! Plummeting down, I sober-the-fuck-up and jam my limbs into the wall, desperate to stop my descent. Luckily, my hands sink into the top of some window’s wooden frame. Although the abrupt stop sends painful jolts down my arms, it beats being a human hacky sack. As my legs squirm 8 stories above hard pavement, I feel my torso throbbing with pain and dread. I’m out of options. There’s no way in hell I can climb all the way back up. And if I wanna go down, I’ll be on that elevator in 5 seconds anyway…. I could try to force my way into the building… But I’ve got no idea what’s inside. Judging from its cracked walls and blotted out windows, it seems abandoned. Almost haunted. Then again, certain death vs. uncertain death? Feeling stupid that it took me so long to decide, I try to use my knees to lift open the window, but it seems to be nailed shut. My grip is loosening! Lactic acid and rocky shards are searing into my fingers. No time for manners. Clutching onto the window, I arch my hips back and push off slightly. Then, swing my knees straight into the glass pane-CRASH. My hands give way, but my momentum carries me through the broken window. I crash on all fours, panting hard as the sharp debris bites into my knees and elbows. A slight chuckle escapes my lips as I start to pick out the larger glass fragments. I was almost about to consider myself lucky. However, my grim mirth is slapped off my face with my even grimmer surroundings. I’m at the end of a long dark corridor. The murky green wallpaper has partially peeled off the walls, exposing their insect and mold interiors. Chunks of floor are missing, revealing some abyss that leads God-knows-where. Dull shades flicker out from the open adjoining rooms, casting an eerie glow on an already pant-shittingly fright sight. And believe me, it’s not what I see that’s scaring me. It’s what I don’t… There are voices. Muffled behind the doors and walls. Scratching. Whispering. Gurgling. Giggling. Screaming. Giving scared shitless a whole new meaning, I push on towards the other end of the corridor. Careful not to arouse any attention, I softly trot towards the far stairwell. When I reach the first open door, I try to keep my head straight, but curiosity overpowers my better judgment and I catch a glimpse of what’s inside. Some middle aged woman is lying face down on the floor. A rusty metal syringe half-stuck in her forearm. Throaty giggles leaking out from behind her scattered mop of filthy hair. Shaking, I trudge past the deeply unsettling scene. There’s one last open door between me and the stairwell. The screaming and whimpering coming from it is just as skin-crawling as the dull thudding causing it. Once again, curiosity wins and ends up biting me in the ass. “Get off me!They’re eating my legs.” a large man inside screams. “Someone, please! Get these rats off me! They’re eating me alive!” He swings a bloody crowbar at the rats scurrying around his feet. Except there are no rats. The Angel Dust strewn on the ground is also coursing through his veins. Mercilessly whispering nightmares in his ears. Cringing, I press past the gory sight of the hallucinating soul beating his own limbs raw. At the rate the pool around him was deepening, he’s already dead. I’m almost at the stairwell but before I can leave the corridor, the floorboards behind me creak. My head snaps back and I’m staring into yellow, bloodshot eyes. It’s her…. That crone from the first room. “Wuz tha’ you moanin’? ” Yellow, uneven teeth bare at me. “Why’d you sound s’sad? C’mere. I’ll make ya smile”. She jerks the syringe out of her forearm and charges at me. “Fuck no”, I blurt out, scrambling onto the staircase. I bolt upwards, 3 rotten steps at a time. Suddenly, the wood gives way. Shit! My leg is wedged knee-deep in the stairs. As I struggle to free myself, the homicidal hag is already rapidly closing the gap between us. Crack! The wood around my leg splinters and I wrench myself free. However, just as I resume my hasty attempt at fucking off, the bitch dives at my feet. Her hands wrap around my right shin, tripping me onto my front. I see her raise the needle above her head, but before she can jam it into my leg- CRACK. The heel of my boot drives into her face, shattering her nose. I don’t care what the publicly correct thing to do is. I’m in no mood to play nurse with some crazy junkie bitch. Fuck it, I follow up with an even harder kick in the face. Her grip loosens and I jerk myself free. Breathing hard. My thighs are cramping up. DONT YOU DARE EVEN THINK ABOUT STOPPING!! After bolting up over a dozen steps, there’s a massive chunk of staircase missing. There’s no way I can jump across it. Fuck-piss-balls-taint- hello! My frantic gaze snags on a door right before the gap. I clutch the knob, but it pops off. Cussing, I try to force it open. No luck. No time. The wild cackling behind me confirms my fear. Although her face is splattered with blood, her intoxicated state has vaccinated her from pain. She’s fixated on me. Obsessed with dragging me into her world. Before I can react, she tackles me into the door. Something cracks. I think it’s my skull…until I hear the door topple under both our weights. Landing hard on my head, I roll back. Although I feel like someone is whisking eggs in my head, I suck it up and scramble onto jelly feet. As the world starts to come back into focus, I realize I’m in a similar corridor to the one I just fled from. A wise man once said that insanity is repeating the same thing again, expecting different results. Then again, that guy probably wasn’t being rundown by some crazy evil psycho-bitch the second time. Still hazy, I start sprinting towards the window at the far end of the hallway- but she grabs me by the collar. Screaming wildly, she tries to jam her rusty syringe into my neck, but before she can shish-kebab my throat, I ram my elbow into her eye socket, adding more color to her already red face. I bite myself free of wrinkly clutch and resume sprint towards the window. Ghost, get me the fuck outta here!!! Before I know it, it’s launched me through the window. I’m falling! Wind is whipping through my hair. “Balls”, “Shit” and “Crap” are flowing from my lips. It doesn’t last. 2 stories later, I land onto the roof of a lower building. My knees buckles under the weight of my descent. The pain rolls me me onto my back. Breathing hard, I close my eyes. She’s gone- But that screaming… I open my eyes. SHIIT! I roll to my side just in time and avoid her torpedoing into my skull. Breathing even harder but….in no rush to get up. The sickening crunch registers what the blood and brain spatter confirms. 2016-07-04 02:21:31 GMT 2016-08-28 21:00:00 (GMT -06:00) Central Time (US & Canada) Yes (click here to learn more about ) Closed 2 2 27 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 50 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 2 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
• Audio files must be delivered via FTP/Dropbox/Google Drive/cloud
For the male position, we are looking for someone who not only performs the dialogue well, but can also make the narration conversational (since it is written in the first person present tense). The more it feels conversational and emotive, the better. An example may be from Chapter 2's " I believe some introductions are in order, so uhhh wassap. Name’s Theo. Theo something".
For the female position, we are looking for someone who can perform the dialogue well. They will have to play antagonists, love interests, and other strong female roles, so it is paramount that they have range in their delivery. Therefore we encourage them to only submit dialogue and conversations, not narration.
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