Samstag, 7. Mai 2011
Charlie the policeman and the fay girl
Charlie has been a police man since he turned nine years old. He was the head officer of his first under squat at the age of 13 and it didnt take him much longer to become super chief of the police station of Starramp and therefore “wielder of the wierd gun” and “protector of the early dawns”. Besides all those mighty sounding titles of glory and importance, every criminal as well as every well-mannered citizen knew that Charlie was a good man. He never lied nor ever acted in rage as only lesser man would do. If a fox stole a chicken, Charlie would not kill the fox as foxes were forced by nature to kill the chicken and eat the chicken. Charlie would think of something more clever to keep the foxes away from the chicken, so no harm could be done anymore. All the other super chiefs from all the other districts were very sceptical about Charlie's way of handling the bad boys or the foxes. They believed that foxes – just as bad boys – could be “healed” from behaving the way the normally do. There had always been a huge discussion about what the healing programme should actually consist of, but the super chiefs had something to talk about and that made them very happy. Today, it had been impossible for Charlie to attend the weekly super chief's meeting, which he normally never missed, no matter if he was deadly sick or freshly in love with an early spring morning. But today, Charlie was really deadly sick. Ten minutes ago, Charlie had woken up in a futuristic, sterile looking hospital room. He had been all by himself. Unfamiliar with this new situation, Charlie tried to get out of the bed to call for a doctor or even a nurse. But it had been impossible. Now, the old police super chief looks to his left side and sees barely more than bloody blankets. His left arm and his left leg are gone. Still unsure, if this is just a dream, Charlie closes his eyes again and tries to think of better times. His mind races through his passed memories of a whole lifetime. He watches the little kid, who is cupfull of ambitions and dreams to become a strong and righteous man. He recognizes himself being an teenager, while serving his first years as super chief on the merciless and mind breaking streets of the one and only Starramp. It had been years of triumph and tears. He almost shot up the endless steps of the job ladder - his wife had left him. He drank for years, better himself and became known as one of the wisest, but most controversially seen people ever served in the police forces of Dovetown City. Flashes appear and Charlie dies a silent and noteless death. His last memory is one of a hot day in Grain land. He stands in the middle of an enormous corn field and looks towards the sky in hope to find a cloud, which he could give as a present to his seven year old daugther, whose birthday will be in seven weeks. A soft breeze touches his neck and whispers of wonders, which no words could ever describe. Charlie looks around and is quite surprised as a fay girl stands in front of him. She giggles shyly, but motions Charlie to come closer. By the time he stands next to her, she chunckles once more and then says in a humming bee voice: “ Thy wish for a cloud amuses me, but a wish so strange should always be granted. I will give you thy cloud, if you give me three promises: Always love even in hate. Always smile, although tears might cloud your sight and never die, when you should live.”
Yesterday, Charlie stood next to a half burned car, when its tank finally exploded. The riots of the first of May 2011 in Starramp will be recorded as “mainly controlled by the well-organized” police squats.
This story is made up in context to the left wing riots, which always happen on the public holiday of labour throughout the whole of Germany. Demonstrators try to bring attention to the miserable conditions of the underclass as well as the unproportional expansion and invasion of rich people into “arty/hip/trendy/although payable rent” quarters of the main German cities, which are normally inhabited by aritsts and free spirits. Good examples for such quarters, which are then “rebulit” to fit a cleaner image and therefore lose their unique character are: Kreuzberg in Berlin, Sternschanze in Hamburg or the Glockenbachviertel in Munich.
The “dream” pictures I took on a pretty cool job, which I did last week in Dassau/near the Eastern Sea. The girl in the pictures is one of my colleagues and pretty cool!
Always stay happy,