Tyler's Crime Stories | Tyler's Crime Stories


A few days before Thanksgiving he finally calls
me. It is raining hard this morning and I get hit
by leaves of maple trees and soaked with water squirted by cars passing by. I know I am in a
hurry, I don't want to be too late.

It is dark when I enter the place and I almost drop my coffee all over me when I try to unlock the door. While I am searching for the light switch I almost fall over an iceberg which is placed behind the door. What a nightmare, everything is slippery.

I didn't know that his knowledge on lowering temperatures through will power has grown so very fast since we met last time. The constant droning noise of the machines in the back- ground, the way things are placed in order, the level of dust which covers everything makes me feel that he has

already left a long time ago. Why did he call me today then, why not yesterday and why not next week?

All of the sudden it occurs to me that I am just a
prop myself set on a railway track to go in circles for weeks now, leaving the others in order to come back a little while later, leaving again, letting the others watch me. RJ is among them, smiling, waving. A loud bang of falling wood makes me come back to the truth. Truth?

I put the glasses down and I take off the gloves. Do those really belong to me? Shell 100 % leather, lining 100 % polyester, inter- lining 65 % olefin, 35 % polyester. RN 94789 CA 32296 Medium, made in China. When I carefully open the door I find the corridor deserted. The wind, which is coming into his place is warm and aromatic, almost sweet. I sneak

around the corner. Eventually I walk down the
staircase, open the door and I feel like being
thrown into another world. I am thrown into
another world.

My cell phone rings. I try to answer it, but it
stops ringing before I can find it. My bag is
filled with things I haven't seen before. A jack-
knife: Stainless Steel. China. Safety instructions
for its use. A jet fighter, IS 041, grey, F 15 Eagle,
made in CHINA.

A blurred photograph of a dark haired guy falls
off onto the ground. A message on the backside:
"If you need clarification, call 215-439-5554".

Again I look for my cell phone. It is pinned in
betweenall these directives I don't want to listen to:
Do not use electronic devices. Don't smoke. Fasten

seat belt tight and low. If you are seated at an
exit and are unable to understand the information,
please contact a flight attendant.

The machines are droning. I am panicked, I don't
like flying, and I especially don't like flying unexpectly
to China. I try to call RJ desperately. Signal faded.
Signal lost. I close my eyes - I don't want to
belong to all this anymore.

Break. A deep sigh. I have to erase most of it again.
Horizontal lines, vertical lines. Squares, black and
white. I use tape in order to keep the black ink
within the specified areas. I paint white squares
with white paint, afterwards I fill the dark squares
with black ink.

Thanks to the filmscript writing class and
Prof. Jeffrey Rush.

Special thanks to Timothy Belknap, Maria
Walker, Elena Stal, Austin Heitzman, Walsh
Hansen, Lauren Carbone, Christopher Bowne,
Asuka Goto, RJ Gallardo, Prof. Winifred Lutz.

Philadelphia, 2005 / 06
All rights served by Juliane Zelwies

A continuation of the text "RJ, COLORADO",
can be read >here<