Andreas Grey The Alluvial


Every idea in the sciences are tested, tried, and measured but Earth stands alone.

The absence of love on distant planets question our abilities to conquer and pioneer our known galaxy. Back here on earth some fight love as an uncontrollable weed, trying to harness it onto a Petri dish and wait for a miracle. We know the answer, we just cannot bottle it up and send it to our moon colonies. It is always the same dilemma can we find a planet like Earth and reboot the spark of love. I travel the galaxy not searching for love but searching for steady work. Home is Queens a part of New York City overpopulated, swelling to its breaking point, it could be worst its where baseball and millionaires flourish, I fly tycoons who once lived at the end of Long Island before the ocean claimed their paradise. The Alluvial is tough, beautiful and was built for single man exploration but now she is used to carry three including myself, she has a hefty price tag and with each journey I get a little closer to paying her off.

The Alluvial is one of a kind, a combination of mining matter from Pluto, Mars, Venus, Saturn, and Jupiter moons Yes, Pluto is a planet again most of the hull on the Alluvial is from Pluto’s icy nitrogen rich frost. The properties of this frost shield it from extreme weather in space. Many years ago, Earth mining companies settled on all eight planets and mined the heck out of them. Sending its minerals to Earth, to make peace, clean energy, and life easier we all hoped then. Some of the stuff was too dangerous and what was left helped make buildings taller, communication faster and wars shorter. Over the years more discoveries sparked the SOTULP race. I’ll get into that later. Consequently, this mineral when combined with earths iron ore becomes extraordinarily indestructible. My name is Andreas Grey a career traversing through space from mining stations to moon colonies I’ve have learned that life has more to do with what makes us than what we want to be.

Author Robertson Tirado

This short novel, coming soon.




Twilight is constant I play with its warmth and dangerous chill. Nothing changes only distance I wonder in my thoughts about her. About our time before our culture rushed to change reality we could not escape it. Consequently, we had to chose a home only by lottery, fate decides our families destiny.

But I squint my eyes and look into the darkness for hope just a flicker so far away it cuts the arc of darkness like a knife. Yes, I’m holding onto a sliver of light that gives me hope.

I’m granted one more trip to see her every time I do its like love at first sight. That feeling is addictive its the motivation that drives me to scheme and cheat my way against destiny.  I plan my escape as an ancient criminal on Alcatraz Island, those stories of men traversing thick walls, hiding in shadows from armed guards and paddling shark infested waters is the foundation of our escape.

But our DNA is tracked through the stars, no black hole can hide our signal a beacon affixed to our consciousness since birth.  Our fate was already scribble before our births, big brother has aimed its lasers into our mothers womb.

The bee makes honey and the mother is in labor our machines have clocks but nature tells time. Nature is honest, pure in its rotation giving Earth a sliver of more each year as a gift. A gift that only a wise person can receive.

I look again to that distant star and know its warmth grants our invitation.

The Boy From Zarephath

Page 15: A Letter to Jonah’s Mother



“First, I miss you very much,” I wrote to my mother. “Today I am resting near the Orontes River, after a long three days of preparing for war with King Shalmaneser III. I know that you warned me of great peril in this endeavor, this conflict—but I write with complete confidence that I will reunite with you before too long. An unfortunate wave of convoys steered me to the armies of Que Cilicia. As you already must know, our King is part of an eleven king front preparing for battle with Shalmaneser III, a bully of a King, to be sure—what I’d call the Bully King of the Assyrians.

“I speak from the heart, mother, when I talk about my desire to have a wife and children one day. This journey brought along with it much loneliness and has hindered my happiness, even though I spoke to the God of Elijah during my travels. I am glad that I did, but I must tell you that it still was not enough to fill the void. Being part of this campaign to defend our home, rather than being pushed into the sea, will ensure a better life for you and for your other son, my brother.

“I am surrounded by good men, some of the bravest, some who remember the drought when I was a boy. Many question how we were able to survive it. I keep silent about our special house guest who brought about the salvation. Our rugged life here is filled with salty breezes and quiet nights. I find myself thinking of roasted vegetables and our garden filled with blue flax.

“When I return, I will make time to discover my father’s shipbuilding talents for myself. Some of it was passed on to me, and of that I am pleased and proud. Our hearts are aligned, mother, and my faith is aligned with your example. This is the reason I have no fear in this strange land. There are things that I have never seen. There is an abundance of manpower that accomplishes so much in so little time. Relying upon your examples keeps me focused. This letter is not meant to cause you more anxiety. I urge you to read between the lines. This letter is intended to strengthen you spirit while your older son presses forth and your younger one remains safe and happy.”

Copyright © 2019

Thank you for reading, published book coming soon. Visit Robertson Tirado on YouTube.

Book available: The Boy From Zarephath

The Last Ice Cream Truck


On a corner of a small town that just over 850 mostly elderly people call home sits a middle-aged man named CARLO inside his ice cream truck. It is a sunny afternoon. He is bored and alone. Six-year-old SOPHIA stands nearby, silently for a while. but then she stirs CARLO out of his daydream with a soft voice that can almost be mistaken for a gentle breeze.


Hi. Do you have vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles?

CARLO lifts his head and hastily turns on the switch that plays traditional American ice cream truck music. 


What?… Who’s there?… Oh—how can I help you? 


(gentle whisper)

I said can I have a vanilla ice cream cone with sprinkles? 

CARLO grunts, nods, and begins to make the cone.


Have we met before? 


I don’t know. Maybe.

CARLO finishes making the cone and hands it to SOPHIA. 


Where are your parents? 


They went away. 


Where did they go? 


With everyone else. 


With everyone else? I don’t know what that means. How far away

do you live? 


I live just over those hills, on the other side of the valley. 


And you walked here? All by yourself?


When I was really little my mother and father used to walk everywhere. We

didn’t have a car. But in the summer we could hear the music from the ice

cream trucks. From all the way down here. 


You haven’t touched your ice cream yet. It’s melting. 


Oh no! I need another one.  


(sighs heavily)

Before I give you another one, I’ll need two dollars. One for this one and

one for the next one.


My mommy only gave me one dollar.


Fine. I’ll live with it. But where is your mother? 


I told you. She went with the others.

CARLO begins to make a new cone. 


Did you know that you’re the last ice cream truck in

the whole world. 

CARLO stops making the cone and turns toward SOPHIA. 


What? What did you say? 


It’s just you and me now. 

CARLO pokes his head out of the window of the ice cream truck. 


Where are your parents? 


In heaven. 


Heaven. Yeah, right. Are you lost? 


Maybe. Maybe not.

CARLO steps out of his truck and gently—though nervously—takes SOPHIA’s hand.


Which way did you come here?


I told you. I came down the hill, then walked between those two buildings,

then came up this hill.


Between those two building down there?


Yes. But I don’t want to go back.

CARLO stands on a big rock that’s just about the same size as a milk crate. He still holds onto SOPHIA’s hand and gently helps her up onto the rock. He calls out loudly: 


Does anyone know who this little girl belongs to?… Hello?… Listen

up… Does anyone know who this little girl belongs to?

After a moment, without having heard a response, CARLO lets go of SOPHIA’s hand and returns to his ice cream truck to make a phone call. He starts to dial. 


All the phones are dead. 

CARLO realizes there is no dial tone.


How did you know that?

CARLO hangs up. SOPHIA runs around the ice cream truck singing: 


You are the only ice cream truck in the world.

You are the only ice cream truck in the world.

You are the only ice cream truck in the world. 



Stop it. 

SOPHIA laughs.


Why are you laughing? Why? Is it because that according to you

I’m the only ice cream truck left in the world? Is that  it? Well, that’s stupid.

It’s stupid and silly.  


You’re no fun.  


I’m no fun? Well, sorry about that. But I don’t have time to be fun. All I have

time for is to prove to you that there are more people around than just me and

you. There are others. Plenty of others. We’re gonna go down the hill so I can

prove it to you.  


Are you sure you want to do that?


Why wouldn’t I? 

CARLO rolls up the window, powers down the generator, removes his apron, and exits the truck. SOPHIA grabs CARLO’s hand and leads him down the hill. After a bit of strolling, they reach the bottom, where they go to a building with a steel door that looks very menacing. 


Is this where your parents live? Maybe I know them. 


No. But they used to work here.  


Maybe if we knock on the door, someone will come out to talk to us.  


Maybe. But I think we should go back up the hill instead.  

CARLO ignores her, then notices light peeping out from all around the perimeter of the steel door. He pushes the door open, then falls to the ground in dismay.


What is this place? It looks like Times Square in New York City. How can

that be? I was there once. There are thousands of people in Times Square.

Where are all the people? Where are they?

(turns to Sophia, trembling).

Why did you bring me here? 


You wanted to come. You wanted to open this door.

Don’t you remember?

CARLO looks at SOPHIA. There is a look of recognition in his eyes.   


I know you. Twenty years ago, maybe. When I was a boy. But how

could you still be a little girl? How could you be here? 

CARLO seems lost in his memory. From the ice cream truck comes a voice:


You already died, when you lied

Slippers on your feet

Robe on your back

Trying to catch up to what you lack

Music was tears

Cold nights in the black hole

The only hope was the twinkling specks on those white clouds.

She stood on the corner waiting for you

But you never listened

Even unconscious the music still plays.


CARLO comes out of his memory trance and addresses SOPHIA. 


What’s your name? 





Sophia! I loved a girl name Sofia when I was seven year old… Are you…

You can’t… It’s impossible… Are you Sophia?


©Robertson Tirado copyright 2018

This short screenplay is exclusively written for independent directors, a $250 licensing  fee grants up to 10 filmmakers the rights to visualize this story. Contact Robertson Tirado for payment and certificate.


Landscape poster Noah


BRUCE is hiding between large rocks as he uses a knife to cut away his ankle bracelet. In February the weather is mild in California and the sea breeze feels good on his thirty-five-year-old face. Just up the hill, Bruce’s Ford Mustang is parked. First he removes a thin metal plate in his boot that shielded the signal of the ankle bracelet that is made of circuitry that blinds the indicator to law enforcement. After removing the ankle bracelet, Bruce smashes it on the rocks and buries it in the sand.



Bruce walks to his car, opens the door and sits inside. Inside the car is a picture of his son Noah. He touches the photo and looks into the rearview mirror.



Bruce turns on the radio. There is an announcement warning people not to travel to the desert.





Larry Hillson



ANNOUNCEMENT (voice over)

The following is a message from homeland security: it is advised that anyone within a five-mile radius of San Francisco refrain from traveling to the desert. There is an electrical storm that can potentially cause blindness or even death. Stay tuned for updates on your local media outlet, or on the web. Thank you for your attention.


            (to himself)

I’ve lost everything; I was educated to make things better for humanity, but have made things dangerous instead.

Bruce is driving up the west coast of California, heading north, with the Pacific Ocean in view. He spends most of the time talking to himself, with a bad conscience looming over him. He rubs his head and picks up his cellular phone.

Page 1 of 33

Noah script copyright 2017