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Submitted to Contest #242
Note: America, Unvarnished is intended as a primarily auditory experience, so we strongly suggest you listen to the podcast if possible, as there are instances of emotion and tone and sound design that cannot be effectively conveyed through text. Transcripts for America, Unvarnished are put together by a team of volunteers, dedicated to keeping this podcast as accessible as possible. Please email us at unvarnished.america@gmail.com if you are interested in offering your services to our ongoing backlog transcription project. S3 Ep13: Met...
Shortlisted for Contest #241 ⭐️
There are few places Belinda Blackwell likes to lay down to rest more than upon her husband’s chest. He hadn’t been expecting her. Belinda hadn’t been expecting to be home so soon, either– what with the unpredictability of her father’s illness demanding open schedules from his children, someone on-call at all times lest the old man die without one of them there to hold his hand. When Oscar had come to join them a week early— something about a case closing timely and a stiffening in his shoulders when Belinda enquired about her sister-in...
Submitted to Contest #238
“Lori, I don’t…,” Andrew trails off, sighing heavily. This is miserable. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to say no to her in this moment– if he ever did.He had called her from a motel room outside of San Antonio, accepting the charges without even asking how much they’d be. He just wanted to hear her voice. “Where in the world is Andrew Brown?” she’d asked as soon as she picked up the line. For a moment, he’d considered lying to her. He could be vague, distract her with stories from the road until she’d forgo...
Submitted to Contest #220
The day the stranger blows into Anton's Pass, a dust storm is rolling across the desert. Dolores trudges through town, the neck of her poncho pulled high over her nose to fend off the sand already gathering in the air. Wren had tried to warn her against making the delivery until after the whole thing blew over, arms crossed in the doorway of the barn, looking up at Dolores with a pinch between her ginger brows. “Honestly, Dori,” Wren had said, “Shepherd will survive without a fresh shipment of tomatoes for a few more hours. God...
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