test cap ass ai transcript
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Transcript
Messenger of fear they are pay By Michael Grant My eyes opened.
Speaker A:I was on my back.
Speaker A:A mist pressed close all around me, so close that it was more like a blanket than a fog.
Speaker A:The mist was the color of yellow teeth, and it moved without a breath of breeze, moved as if it had a will.
Speaker A:The mist swirled, the mist swirled slowly, senselessly, and it touched me.
Speaker A:I don't mean that it was merely near to more and therefore inevitably touched me.
Speaker A:I mean that it touched me.
Speaker A:I felt my face like a blind bursting night.
Speaker A:It crept up the sleeves of my sweater and down like and down the neckline.
Speaker A:I found its insinuating way.
Speaker A:I found its insinuating way under rough denim and sipped almost like a liquid along bare skin.
Speaker A:Fingerless, it touched me.
Speaker A:Eyeless, it gazed at me, it heard the beating of my heart and swept in and out of my mouth with each quick and shallow breath.
Speaker A:The mist spoke to me, worldless, soundless, and yet so that I understood, and it said, shiver.
Speaker A:I shivered and goosebumps rose on the insides of my arms and on my belly, and the mist laughed as silently as it had commanded me.
Speaker A:I called out.
Speaker A:I called out, mom.
Speaker A:But the mist would have none of that.
Speaker A:I took my word, stopped it, flattened it, made a mockery of it and echoed it back to me.
Speaker A:I felt something prickling and tickling the side of my face and turned my head to see that I was lying in grass of such a color that it could never have known spring.
Speaker A:It was the great rain of bread, mold the color of decayed life I could own.
Speaker A:I could see only the nearest tox, those pressed closest to my face.
Speaker A:How had I come to be here?
Speaker A:And where was here?
Speaker A:I searched my memory, but it was a box of old photos printed on aged cold paper.
Speaker A:Here a face, there a place not quite real, too faded, too fractured, too far away to be real.
Speaker A:Pictures, snatches of conversation, distorted sounds and sensory echoes, the soft scraping of paper, pages turned by an unknown hand, liquid forth from a bottle, the strike of a match, the smell of sulfur.
Speaker A:I had the thought that then.
Speaker A:I had the thought then that I was dead.
Speaker A:It was not a certainty to me, but an uneasy possibility, a doubt, a guess whose truth I was not willing to test.
Speaker A:Why were my memories so far out of reach?
Speaker A:I had a life, didn't I?
Speaker A:What was a person?
Speaker A:What was a girl?
Speaker A:I had a name, of course I had a name.
Speaker A:Nara.
Speaker A:Yet even that, seemingly, yet even that seemed unsteady to me.
Speaker A:A fact, perhaps, but a shaky fact.
Speaker A:The word Nara did not carry with it some snot of emotion who was a flat thing without debt or shape.
Speaker A:Just a word, Mara.
Speaker A:Was that me?
Speaker A:Let it be me.
Speaker A:Let it be me.
Speaker A:Because I needed a name.
Speaker A:I needed something definite to hold on to.
Speaker A:I raised my hand to my face.
Speaker A:I watched the fingers appear, swirling through the unnatural.
Speaker A:I raised a hand to my face.
Speaker A:I watched the fingers appear, swirling through that unnatural mist.
Speaker A:I touched my face and felt fears.
Speaker A:I touched my face and felt tears.
Speaker A:I clawed my face and felt both finger and cheek felt.
Speaker A:And therefore I lived.
Speaker A:I lived.
Speaker A:Then, as if discouraged by my discovery, the mist began to clear.
Speaker A:It withdrew from me, sliding away from my flesh like a wave retreating into the sea.
Speaker A:I wanted to stand up.
Speaker A:I did not want to lie there any longer in the dead gray grass.
Speaker A:I wanted to stand and see.
Speaker A:And then one ran far from this ascending land.
Speaker A:Run, run, far from this unsettling nightmare.
Speaker A:Running would awaken me, and all of it, all of my memory, all that I was, would become flooding back.
Speaker A:It must.
Speaker A:I was shaking so badly that the simple act of standing erect became a challenge.
Speaker A:My limbs did not want to cooperate with each other.
Speaker A:Then I made a mess of it, rising first onto hands and knees and then stumbling, nearly falling, before finally rising to my full, unimposing hall.
Speaker A:I was in an open place.
Speaker A:It was dark, darker than it had been in the mists and most starlight still less moonlight shone down from above.
Speaker A:It was not complete darkness.
Speaker A:Patterns of gray and black and black on black steel emerged as I looked around me.
Speaker A:There was a building.
Speaker A:It had been there the last time I looked.
Speaker A:No light escaped that building.
Speaker A:Nothing about that building called to me to approach, except for the fact that it was the only object in sight.
Speaker A:I moved one foot and a nitre.
Speaker A:That fact, the fact that I could put one foot in front of another let me take a deep breath, a less agitated breath.
Speaker A:To move was to live was a mom.
Speaker A:To move was to choose a path, and that meant I still had move.
Speaker A:To move was to choose a path, and that meant I still had some volition, some control, I felt.
Speaker A:And I knew.
Speaker A:Hadn't there been some blossom in class about the definition of life?
Speaker A:And hadn't it been that sensational movement, something else?
Speaker A:Had there been a class, a school?
Speaker A:Of course.
Speaker A:No doubt.
Speaker A:So why couldn't I see it in my mind?
Speaker A:Why, when I asked myself that question, was the only image like a stock photo, photo filled with unfamiliar, filled with unfamiliar, too bright, too pretty faces?
Speaker A:Was I dead?
Speaker A:Never mind, Mara, I told myself, trying to accept that name.
Speaker A:As the truth.
Speaker A:Never mind, Mara.
Speaker A:You can feel and you can move.
Speaker A:You can choose, Mara.
Speaker A:I could go in a different direction.
Speaker A:I could choose not to talk to that building, that outline of black against black, that shadow within shadow.
Speaker A:My feet made sounds like sandpaper as they brushed in the breather glass.
Speaker A:My feet made sounds like sandpaper as they brushed, as they brushed the brittle grass.
Speaker A:The structure was taller than a house, narrow and long.
Speaker A:There was a suggestion of high windows ending in pointed arches and a suggest and a suggestion and and a suggestion to suggestion suggestion two of a strong, heavily timbered door and above that door atop the building a suggestion two of a strong and a suggestion two of a strong, heavily timbered door.
Speaker A:And above that door atop the building a sort of tower, a steeple.
Speaker A:It was a church.
Speaker A:That knowledge should have reassured me, but instead it drove a spike of cold terror into my belly.
Speaker A:For I knew one thing.
Speaker A:This church was no place for comfort and peace.
Speaker A:There was a solemn, silent hostility to this structure.
Speaker A:It was not calling me into God's presence, it was warning me to go away.
Speaker A:Yet at the same time I could now feel the door drawing me to had a strange gravity, a force perhaps unknown to science, that pulled me toward it not by magnetism but by acting on night fear, turning my fear into a Botox.
Speaker A:I had to know what was inside that church.
Speaker A:I had to know, though I feared the no man.
