Kreuzkoelln is a three-part audio drama following a personal and professional entanglement among three people over the course of a year. Each part moves forward in time and shifts its narrative perspective: first told in the third person, then in the first, and finally in the second person, where the voice turns back on itself. As relationships overlap and shift, people find themselves closer to some, and further from others. Rather than offering a single account of what happened, the piece presents different interpretations of the same events, shaped by position, responsibility, and emotional exposure. What feels reasonable or careful to one person is experienced as withholding, hurtful, or unfair by another. Kreuzkölln is not concerned with who is right or wrong, but with how people make sense of situations from within them, and how personal relationships are affected when power, work, and intimacy become difficult to separate. Cast: Narrator - Samuel Robinson, Franzi - Allie Cheroutes, Tom - Brian Stack, Simeon - Daniel Wilson, Sarah - Megan Kieldsen.

Samuel Robinson

Kreuzkoelln

Kreuzkoelln

Part 1 - We’re dancing around this

Narrator: Kreuzkoelln, a story in three parts, and told from three perspectives. 

Part 1, ‘We’re dancing around this’

Franzi: “We’re dancing around this”

Tom: “I know”

Franzi: “So… what do we do?”

Narrator: This was her bold attempt to move beyond what, admittedly, had been a very enjoyable first three months of the year. If asked, she’d perhaps have described feeling butterflies in the stomach, or something along those lines. But she hadn’t been asked. Because this wasn’t for telling. At least for now.

Instead, she checked in with herself. She definitely knew this other feeling because she’d felt it many times before. Uncertainty. Questions swirled around her mind constantly. How did she feel? How did he feel? Was anything beyond a friendly kinship acceptable to feel?

While it seemed he was capable of maintaining an opaque relationship, for her, the ambiguity and romantic tension was beginning to take its toll. She wanted more. She needed to know.

Franzi: “Like, I think, it’s clear, we’re more than just friends”

Tom: “Yes, I think so too… I mean I like you”

Franzi: “I like you too”

Narrator: Her voice, imbued with both the joy of the mutual sentiment and relief that things could now, finally, progress.

Their relationship had begun to evolve in January while she was away. They’d been friendly for a while, but it now felt different. Under the premise of co-working, they talked almost daily. He would work in the evenings, which suited her, given the six-hour time difference.

Initially she had wondered whether he would have worked these hours regardless of her location. Was he doing it to be a supportive colleague, or because he felt there was something there to explore? 

She had at one point bit the proverbial bullet and asked, but unsurprisingly, he evaded answering directly — opting instead to deflect the question in favour of one of his trademark jokes of questionable quality.

But, now, two and a half months later, it felt like time. Time for clarity.

That July was warm, which provided ample opportunity for them to take the long walks that had become customary and very much enjoyed by both. But despite the good weather, within their relationship, rain clouds were forming.

Tom: “I want this to work, but I don’t know how it can with our situation as it is. Think about how it will look — with our dynamic, there’s bound to be questions of impartiality and morality. I already feel kind of… mmm… icky”

Franzi: “Why icky though? We’re both adults!” 

Tom: “I don’t know, I guess I’m thinking about how it’ll be perceived by others — both in terms of the power and the gender dynamics.”

Franzi: “Yeah, I hear you, but I’m fine with it — and surely that’s the most important opinion?”

Tom: “Yeah, it is, but… I just think that… that maybe we should cool it for now…. see how we feel in the fall”

Franzi: “Mmm, that’s not what I wanted. But I also don’t want to hide this anymore. That’s what feels kinda ‘icky’ to me”

Narrator: It was a conversation neither wanted to have but both knew was inevitable. Their bond had continued to strengthen, but so too the unease regarding keeping this secret. She was ready to share, to dive in the deep end, but appreciated that she wasn’t the one with everything to lose. 

For now, she’d accept it wasn’t to be. Plus, the burgeoning friendship with Simeon could provide a welcome distraction. At least, that was her hope.

Part 2 - The call

Narrator: Kreuzkoelln, a story in three parts, and told from three perspectives. 

Part 2, ‘The call’

Simeon: Reflecting now, it was somewhat of a surprise that she had suggested a call. It’s not that we didn’t speak on the phone — we did — at times for hours. But typically, it was me who instigated the calls. Plus, we’d talked extensively before I left, and had been messaging sporadically over the holidays, sharing lengthy and meandering unfiltered voice messages. 

At least from my side — but then, is one ever really unfiltered and completely forthcoming? I suppose it is each individual that decides the information that is pertinent, that is superfluous, and that which, without disclosing, opens one up to the accusation of being insincere.

The past four months had been difficult to say the least, but given we both felt the constructive candour has helped us reset, I welcomed a New Year’s chat. 

We still enjoyed each other’s conversation and company, even though  more recent social interactions with her left me feeling, what I can only describe as, empty once we’d parted ways.

We talked for the first 20 minutes about my observations of the city she lived in. I say we talked, I think it was one of those instances (rare enough to not be obnoxious) where I get on a soap box and deliver an impassioned sermon (of sorts). 

To be fair, I had spent a great deal of time in the past year listening attentively to her stories, and at this point felt compelled to share something myself.

I was primarily interested in critiquing the incessant tagging on the walls. An eyesore that wasn’t limited to public spaces but which, presumably without consent, also desecrated the city’s functional but bland residential apartment buildings. 

Trite anarchy A's, pseudo-intellectual ‘statements’ like ‘Fun is Dead’, and vapid political pronouncements were scrawled around the resident’s ground floor kitchen and/or bedroom windows with little artistry or finesse.

We both agreed it was a place wedded aesthetically to 1989, but she pushed back when I
suggested there was an element of virtue signalling to it all. I don’t remember her argument, or even my own. 

Ultimately, as I was soon to realise,  the nature of this conversation was
immaterial to her. It was the warm-up act to the main event. The kind of thing that, if substantive or entertaining, was bonus, but thats primary function was to take us from the initial “hello s” to the point when moment later, she proclaimed 

Franzi: “There’s something I want to tell you” 

Simeon: […] in as seamless a way as possible.

Given her apparent intention for conversational fluidity, her uncharacteristically abrupt
interjection to the conversation somewhat threw me. It sounded important, and so, wanting to be as present as possible (and in that moment passing the one-and-only public toilet on the entire walk), I requested a moment to make myself more comfortable. 

When I called back only 20 seconds later — having unfortunately discovered that the afforemented facilities were closed — she   initiated a joke about accidental calls from inopportune places. I half-laughed, but given how my mind was now very much preoccupied with silently querying what I was imminently to be disclosed, I didn’t feel wholly able to engage. 

(It also just wasn’t that funny a joke)

Franzi: “So, what I want to tell you is this”

Simeon: […] she said confidently, before fumbling around for the words to
proceed with.

Franzi: “Ah, damn, I thought I had this, but it’s hard”.

I don’t remember what, if anything, I said at this point. Nothing of much consequence anyway. We’d talked a lot about our feelings in the past couple months and I wondered if she’d had a novel reflection on those conversations and felt compelled to share. 

But that didn’t commute. It was more my style than hers to dramatically announce something rather than just weave it organically into a conversation. Perhaps she had changed her mind about something? Something so significant as to warrant a sufficiently segmented section of the call.

“Just say, it’s OK”

I said encouragingly, but imbued with an indiscernible growing impatience.

Then, she told me.

We ended the call shortly after. I say we, but it was me that insisted on the termination.
I did sense she expected there would be a warm-down of sorts afterwards. That once she had voiced what she felt compelled to (and we’d completed a short question and answer session), that we’d revert back to our regular programming — perhaps talk about how our respective Christmas periods had been.

I didn’t want to talk anymore. At this point, I was in the park, with the river to my right and surrounded by seemingly happy people, who presumably hadn’t just had such a call. I walked a few metres more, but as it started to rain, I instinctively turned back towards home, overwhelmed by pure sadness.

Part 3 - Things fall apart

Narrator: Kreuzkoelln, a story in three parts, and told from three perspectives. 

Part 3, ‘Things fall apart’

Simeon: “I just can’t trust you anymore!”

Tom: […] you heard Simeon yell for the third time in the past five minutes.

“Are you just going to shout at me, or do you want me to respond?”

[…] you asked, frankly, your willingness to accommodate and sympathise with a seemingly inconsolable Simeon, beginning to wane.

“After checking everything with HR, you were the first person we told” 

Simeon: “Yeah,  Is that supposed to make me feel better about this!?”

Tom: The chair creaked as you slumped back in your seat — exasperated and emotionally drained.

The past six months had been exhausting, in and out of work, and you felt yourself running on fumes.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t understand how he might feel, but his sustained disdain felt increasingly unjustified. What had at once been a good-natured and constructive relationship had deteriorated rapidly.

A shared walk home, during the dying days of the summer gone, came to mind. Simeon, speaking vaguely about feelings he didn’t yet understand. It had been awkward. You hadn’t known what he wanted from you, or what role you were meant to play in that conversation.

That night, after discussing the exchange with Franzi, it became abundantly clear how delicately the potential formalising and publicising of your relationship would need to be. Not only to preserve your standing and reputation at work, but also to manage the fallout with Simeon.

The snow was relentless that winter, and every day was bitterly cold. It seemed fitting given how Simeon’s relationship with Franzi had completely frozen over. He’d spoken frankly to her about how he felt, and attributed some of his deregulated emotions to medication changes. She mentioned feeling hurt by some of the assumptions he’d levelled at her.

Franzi told you that Simeon felt betrayed. That the honesty, vulnerability, and care he’d oﬀered you both had not been reciprocated. You disagreed. They mutually terminated their friendship with silence.

For you, though, a friendship was not at stake. You were never particularly close; he was a good worker, but the frequent one-to-one meetings were a place for him to talk about work and other challenges. Nothing more.

After over a month of cold receptions in the oﬃce and Simeon sitting away from the rest of the team, he left for home. There has been hope that distance might ease some of the tension, but instead, you felt jolted into the beginning of the end.

The critical assessment he wrote as part of your proposed promotion. In meetings, he tried camera oﬀ. An external mediator was called in. Simeon was trying — you acknowledged and appreciated that, but his once contrustive insights and challenges now left a bitter taste

It can’t have helped that there was so much flux and directional uncertainty at work. It mattered. This company you helped build, these people, both had become a fundamental parts of your identity, and the erosion in your relationship with Simeon was now seeping into your mutual work.

The final nail was his performance review in the Spring. Despite his stellar work, you couldn’t recommend his position and pay be aligned with his peers. Simeon seemed unreasonable, and unlike you, incapable of managing up.

As bad as things had become, the email still took you by surprise. A call with HR was hastily arranged for you to get more details.

Sarah: “It’s not your fault”

Tom: […] they assured you.

Sarah: “We did all we could.”

Tom: Simeon had resigned.

He had oﬀered to work his notice but you felt it it best he leave with immediate eﬀect.

Sarah: “The sooner the better”

Tom: […] HR replied to your inquiry for a deadline. You gave him one day.

Files transferred, property returned, accounts closed.

The next week, you communicated the news to the staﬀ. Rumours were in no ones best interest. Despite the aﬀection many felt towards Simeon, you were relieved and anxious to turn the page on this chapter, and start moving on

“[…] we have some exciting and pressing challenges right in front of us here in Q2.” 

[…] you wrote.

Long Live the New Sound

Kreuzkoelln