Journey to the Afterlife Sentence to IPA
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Description Info Download Parts (15) Audio Readings IPA Script
This sentence to IPA exercise is based on sentences extracted from the story of Otzi the Iceman's final day. The goal of this exercise is for students to write out the correct IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet) transcription of each sentence. This exercise is a great way for students to practice their pronunciation skills and deepen their understanding of English language sounds. By writing out the correct IPA transcription, students can learn to recognize and produce the sounds of English accurately, which will help them to communicate more effectively in English. Whether you are a language learner or simply looking for a fun way to improve your pronunciation skills, this sentence to IPA exercise is a great option.
This is a fictional account of Otzi the Iceman's final day, from when he woke up to when he died on the mountain. Otzi wakes up feeling uneasy, sensing that something bad is about to happen. As he climbs higher into the mountains, he feels like he is being followed. Suddenly, he is shot by an unknown attacker and struggles to escape through a fierce blizzard. After collapsing again, he builds a fire to keep warm but knows the end is near due to the severity of his wound. As he lays there, he reflects on his life, his legacy, and the afterlife before slipping into eternal slumber. Otzi, also known as the Iceman, is one of the oldest and most well-preserved human bodies ever discovered. He was found in September 1991 by hikers in the Italian Alps, near the border between Italy and Austria. Otzi's body was found in a melting glacier, at an altitude of around 3,200 meters above sea level. He had been naturally mummified by the ice and was remarkably well-preserved, with much of his clothing and equipment still intact. Scientists believe that Otzi lived during the Copper Age, around 5,300 years ago, and was likely a hunter and gatherer who roamed the highlands. Otzi's remains have provided valuable insights into ancient life, including information about clothing, diet, and medical practices.
I woke up this morning feeling uneasy, as if something bad was about to happen. My body was sore from the long journey I had undertaken the day before, and my head was pounding. I wondered if it was just the weather or if something more serious was wrong with me.
I rose from my sleeping place and stepped outside to take in the fresh mountain air. The view was stunning, as always, with the snow-capped peaks of the Alps stretching out before me. But today, even the beauty of nature couldn't ease the nagging feeling of impending doom.
I decided to set out on my journey anyway, hoping that the fresh air and exercise would do me some good. As I walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being followed. Every time I turned around, there was no one there, but the sense of being watched persisted. It was as if something, or someone, was trying to warn me of danger.
As I climbed higher into the mountains, the weather turned for the worse. A fierce blizzard blew in, obscuring my vision and making it difficult to see where I was going. As I trudged through the blizzard, my thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in my shoulder. I stumbled forward, dropping my walking stick as I clutched at the wound. I could feel the warmth of my blood trickling down my arm as my vision blurred and my legs gave way.
I knew immediately that I had been shot. Someone was out there in the storm, hunting me down like an animal. I tried to crawl away, to find some shelter, but the pain was too much. I could feel my strength ebbing away as the snow continued to fall around me.
I didn't know who had done this to me, but I had my suspicions. There were rival tribes in the area, and we had clashed before over hunting grounds and resources. Perhaps one of them had decided to take revenge on me, a lone traveller in their territory.
As my consciousness faded, I saw a figure moving towards me through the blizzard. I couldn't make out their features, but I could see that they were carrying a bow. They must have fired the arrow that had struck me down.
I tried to defend myself, to fight back, but I was too weak. The figure loomed over me, ready to deliver the final blow. But then, something strange happened.
The figure hesitated, as if unsure of what to do. They seemed to be studying me, perhaps recognizing me as a fellow human being, rather than an enemy to be killed. In that moment of confusion, I managed to struggle to my feet and lurch away into the snowstorm.
I don't know how I managed to survive, to escape with an arrow in my back. Perhaps it was sheer adrenaline, or maybe it was the spirits of the mountain looking out for me. But I staggered on through the blizzard, desperate to find shelter before it was too late.
Eventually, I collapsed again, this time in a small hollow in the ground. It was sheltered from the worst of the storm, and I managed to build a fire to keep warm. But I knew that the end was near. The wound in my shoulder was too severe, and I could feel my life slipping away.
I was going to die alone on this mountain, with no one to comfort me or ease my passing. As I lay there, waiting for death, I thought about my attacker. Who were they, and why had they tried to kill me? Would they ever be brought to justice for their crime?
As my consciousness began to fade, I thought of my family and friends back home. I hoped they would remember me fondly, and that my legacy would live on through the tools and artifacts I had left behind.
But most of all, I felt a sense of peace knowing that my journey had come full circle. I had lived a long and full life, filled with adventure and wonder, and now it was time to join my ancestors in the afterlife. I knew that my spirit would return to the earth and become one with the mountains and forests that had been my home for so long. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the fire wash over me as I slipped into eternal slumber.
/ ˈaɪ wəʊk ʌp ðɪs ˈmɔːn.ɪŋ ˈfiːl.ɪŋ ʌn.ˈiː.zi / əz ɪf ˈsʌm.θɪŋ bæd wəz ə.ˈbaʊt tə ˈhæ.pən / maɪ ˈbɒ.di wəz sɔː frəm ðə ˈlɒŋ ˈdʒɜː.ni ˈaɪ həd ˌʌn.də.ˈteɪkən ðə ˈdeɪ bɪ.ˈfɔː / ənd maɪ hed wəz ˈpaʊnd.ɪŋ / ˈaɪ ˈwʌn.dəd ɪf ˈɪt wəz dʒəst ðə ˈwe.ðər ɔːr ɪf ˈsʌm.θɪŋ mɔː ˈsɪə.rɪəs wəz rɒŋ wɪð miː /
/ ˈaɪ rəʊz frəm maɪ ˈsliːp.ɪŋ ˈpleɪs ənd stept ˌaʊt.ˈsaɪd tə ˈteɪk ɪn ðə freʃ ˈmaʊn.tɪn eə / ðə vjuː wəz ˈstʌn.ɪŋ / əz ˈɔːl.weɪz / wɪð ðə ˈsnəʊkæpt piːks əv ði ælps ˈstretʃ.ɪŋ ˈaʊt bɪ.ˈfɔː miː / bət tə.ˈdeɪ / ˈiːv.n̩ ðə ˈbjuː.ti əv ˈneɪ.tʃə ˈkʊdnt iːz ðə ˈnæ.ɡɪŋ ˈfiːl.ɪŋ əv ɪm.ˈpend.ɪŋ duːm /
/ ˈaɪ dɪ.ˈsaɪ.dɪd tə set ˈaʊt ɒn maɪ ˈdʒɜː.ni ˈe.ni.weɪ / ˈhəʊp.ɪŋ ðət ðə freʃ eər ənd ˈek.sə.saɪz wʊd də miː səm ɡʊd / əz ˈaɪ ˈwɔːkt / ˈaɪ ˈkʊdnt ʃeɪk ðə ˈfiːl.ɪŋ ðət ˈaɪ wəz ˈbiːɪŋ ˈfɒ.ləʊd / ˈev.ri ˈtaɪm ˈaɪ tɜːnd ə.ˈraʊnd / ðə wəz nəʊ wʌn ðeə / bət ðə sens əv ˈbiːɪŋ wɒtʃt pə.ˈsɪ.stɪd / ˈɪt wəz əz ɪf ˈsʌm.θɪŋ / ɔː ˈsʌm.wʌn / wəz ˈtraɪ.ɪŋ tə wɔːn miː əv ˈdeɪn.dʒə /
/ əz ˈaɪ klaɪmd ˈhaɪər ˈɪn.tə ðə ˈmaʊn.tɪnz / ðə ˈwe.ðə tɜːnd fə ðə wɜːs / ə fɪəs ˈblɪ.zəd bluː ɪn / əb.ˈskjʊər.ɪŋ maɪ ˈvɪʒ.n̩ ənd ˈmeɪk.ɪŋ ˈɪt ˈdɪ.fɪkəlt tə ˈsiː weər ˈaɪ wəz ˈɡəʊ.ɪŋ / əz ˈaɪ trʌdʒd θruː ðə ˈblɪ.zəd / maɪ ˈθɔːts wər ˌɪn.tə.ˈrʌp.tɪd baɪ ə ʃɑːp peɪn ɪn maɪ ˈʃəʊl.də / ˈaɪ ˈstʌm.bl̩d ˈfɔː.wəd / ˈdrɒp.ɪŋ maɪ ˈwɔːk.ɪŋ stɪk əz ˈaɪ klʌtʃt ət ðə wu:nd / ˈaɪ kəd fiːl ðə wɔːmθ əv maɪ blʌd ˈtrɪk.l̩.ɪŋ daʊn maɪ ɑːm əz maɪ ˈvɪʒ.n̩ blɜːd ənd maɪ leɡz ɡeɪv ˈweɪ /
/ ˈaɪ njuː ɪ.ˈmiː.dɪət.li ðət ˈaɪ həd biːn ʃɒt / ˈsʌm.wʌn wəz ˈaʊt ðər ɪn ðə stɔːm / ˈhʌnt.ɪŋ miː daʊn ˈlaɪk ən ˈæ.nɪm.l̩ / ˈaɪ ˈtraɪd tə krɔːl ə.ˈweɪ / tə faɪnd səm ˈʃel.tə / bət ðə peɪn wəz tuː ˈmʌtʃ / ˈaɪ kəd fiːl maɪ streŋθ ˈeb.ɪŋ ə.ˈweɪ əz ðə snəʊ kən.ˈtɪ.njuːd tə fɔːl ə.ˈraʊnd miː /
/ ˈaɪ ˈdɪdnt ˈnəʊ ˈhuː həd dʌn ðɪs tə miː / bət ˈaɪ həd maɪ sə.ˈspɪʃ.n̩z / ðə wə ˈraɪ.vəl traɪbz ɪn ði ˈeə.riə / ənd wi həd klæʃt bɪ.ˈfɔːr ˈəʊv.ə ˈhʌnt.ɪŋ ɡraʊndz ənd rɪ.ˈzɔː.sɪz / pə.ˈhæps wʌn əv ðəm həd dɪ.ˈsaɪ.dɪd tə ˈteɪk rɪ.ˈvendʒ ɒn miː / ə ləʊn ˈtræ.vlər ɪn ðeə ˈte.rɪt.r̩i /
/ əz maɪ ˈkɒn.ʃə.snəs ˈfeɪ.dɪd / ˈaɪ ˈsɔːr ə ˈfɪɡ.ə ˈmuːv.ɪŋ tə.ˈwɔːdz miː θruː ðə ˈblɪ.zəd / ˈaɪ ˈkʊdnt ˈmeɪk ˈaʊt ðeə ˈfiː.tʃəz / bət ˈaɪ kəd ˈsiː ðət ˈðeɪ wə ˈkæ.rɪ.ɪŋ ə baʊ / ˈðeɪ məst həv ˈfaɪəd ði ˈæ.rəʊ ðət həd strʌk miː daʊn /
/ ˈaɪ ˈtraɪd tə dɪ.ˈfend maɪ.ˈself / tə faɪt ˈbæk / bət ˈaɪ wəz tuː wiːk / ðə ˈfɪɡ.ə luːmd ˈəʊv.ə miː / ˈre.di tə dɪ.ˈlɪ.və ðə ˈfaɪn.l̩ bləʊ / bət ðen / ˈsʌm.θɪŋ streɪndʒ ˈhæ.pənd /
/ ðə ˈfɪɡ.ə ˈhe.zɪ.teɪ.tɪd / əz ɪf ʌn.ˈʃʊər əv ˈwɒt tə duː / ˈðeɪ siːmd tə bi ˈstʌ.dɪ.ɪŋ miː / pə.ˈhæps ˈrek.əɡ.naɪz.ɪŋ miː əz ə ˈfe.ləʊ ˈhjuː.mən ˈbiːɪŋ / ˈrɑː.ðə ðən ən ˈe.nə.mi tə bi kɪld / ɪn ðət ˈməʊ.mənt əv kən.ˈfjuːʒ.n̩ / ˈaɪ ˈmæ.nɪdʒd tə ˈstrʌɡ.l̩ tə maɪ fiːt ənd lɜːtʃ ə.ˈweɪ ˈɪn.tə ðə ˈsnəʊ.stɔːm /
/ ˈaɪ dəʊnt ˈnəʊ ˈhaʊ ˈaɪ ˈmæ.nɪdʒd tə sə.ˈvaɪv / tu ɪ.ˈskeɪp wɪð ən ˈæ.rəʊ ɪn maɪ ˈbæk / pə.ˈhæps ˈɪt wəz ʃɪər ə.ˈdre.nə.lɪn / ɔː ˈmeɪ.biː ˈɪt wəz ðə ˈspɪ.rɪts əv ðə ˈmaʊn.tɪn ˈlʊk.ɪŋ ˈaʊt fə miː / bət ˈaɪ ˈstæ.ɡəd ɒn θruː ðə ˈblɪ.zəd / ˈde.spə.rət tə faɪnd ˈʃel.tə bɪ.ˈfɔːr ˈɪt wəz tuː leɪt /
/ ɪ.ˈven.tʃʊə.li / ˈaɪ kə.ˈlæpst ə.ˈɡen / ðɪs ˈtaɪm ɪn ə smɔːl ˈhɒ.ləʊ ɪn ðə ɡraʊnd / ˈɪt wəz ˈʃel.təd frəm ðə wɜːst əv ðə stɔːm / ənd ˈaɪ ˈmæ.nɪdʒd tə bɪld ə ˈfaɪə tə kiːp wɔːm / bət ˈaɪ njuː ðət ði end wəz nɪə / ðə wu:nd ɪn maɪ ˈʃəʊl.də wəz tuː sɪ.ˈvɪə / ənd ˈaɪ kəd fiːl maɪ laɪf ˈslɪp.ɪŋ ə.ˈweɪ /
/ ˈaɪ wəz ˈɡəʊ.ɪŋ tə daɪ ə.ˈləʊn ɒn ðɪs ˈmaʊn.tɪn / wɪð nəʊ wʌn tə ˈkʌm.fət miː ɔːr iːz maɪ ˈpɑːs.ɪŋ / əz ˈaɪ leɪ ðeə / ˈweɪt.ɪŋ fə deθ / ˈaɪ ˈθɔːt ə.ˈbaʊt maɪ ə.ˈtæk.ə / ˈhuː wə ˈðeɪ / ənd waɪ həd ˈðeɪ ˈtraɪd tə kɪl miː / wʊd ˈðeɪ ˈev.ə bi ˈbrɔːt tə ˈdʒʌst.ɪs fə ðeə kraɪm /
/ əz maɪ ˈkɒn.ʃə.snəs bɪ.ˈɡæn tə feɪd / ˈaɪ ˈθɔːt əv maɪ ˈfæm.li ənd frendz ˈbæk həʊm / ˈaɪ həʊpt ˈðeɪ wʊd rɪ.ˈmem.bə miː ˈfɒnd.li / ənd ðət maɪ ˈle.ɡə.si wʊd laɪv ɒn θruː ðə tuːlz ənd ˈɑː.tɪ.fækts ˈaɪ həd left bɪ.ˈhaɪnd /
/ bət məʊst əv ɔːl / ˈaɪ felt ə sens əv piːs ˈnəʊ.ɪŋ ðət maɪ ˈdʒɜː.ni həd ˈkʌm fʊl ˈsɜːk.l̩ / ˈaɪ həd lɪvd ə ˈlɒŋ ənd fʊl laɪf / fɪld wɪð əd.ˈven.tʃər ənd ˈwʌn.də / ənd naʊ ˈɪt wəz ˈtaɪm tə dʒɔɪn maɪ ˈæn.se.stəz ɪn ði ˈɑːf.tə.laɪf / ˈaɪ njuː ðət maɪ ˈspɪ.rɪt wʊd rɪ.ˈtɜːn tə ði ɜːθ ənd bɪˈkʌm wʌn wɪð ðə ˈmaʊn.tɪnz ənd ˈfɒ.rɪsts ðət həd biːn maɪ həʊm fə ˈsəʊ ˈlɒŋ / ˈaɪ kləʊzd maɪ aɪz ənd let ðə wɔːmθ əv ðə ˈfaɪə wɒʃ ˈəʊv.ə miː əz ˈaɪ slɪpt ˈɪn.tə ɪ.ˈtɜːn.l̩ ˈslʌm.bə /
/ bət məʊst əv ɔːl / ˈaɪ felt ə sens əv piːs ˈnəʊ.ɪŋ ðət maɪ ˈdʒɜː.ni həd ˈkʌm fʊl ˈsɜːk.l̩ / ˈaɪ həd lɪvd ə ˈlɒŋ ənd fʊl laɪf / fɪld wɪð əd.ˈven.tʃər ənd ˈwʌn.də / ənd naʊ ˈɪt wəz ˈtaɪm tə dʒɔɪn maɪ ˈæn.se.stəz ɪn ði ˈɑːf.tə.laɪf / ˈaɪ njuː ðət maɪ ˈspɪ.rɪt wʊd rɪ.ˈtɜːn tə ði ɜːθ ənd bɪˈkʌm wʌn wɪð ðə ˈmaʊn.tɪnz ənd ˈfɒ.rɪsts ðət həd biːn maɪ həʊm fə ˈsəʊ ˈlɒŋ / ˈaɪ kləʊzd maɪ aɪz ənd let ðə wɔːmθ əv ðə ˈfaɪə wɒʃ ˈəʊv.ə miː əz ˈaɪ slɪpt ˈɪn.tə ɪ.ˈtɜːn.l̩ ˈslʌm.bə /
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Barry's birth name was Margaret Ann Bulkley.
/ ˈbæ.riz bɜːθ ˈneɪm wəz ˈmɑː.ɡrɪt æn ˈbəl.kli /
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| f | v | θ | ð | s | z | ʃ | ʒ |
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