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Roady Series - Tyler Back Home Tylers thoughts

After Roady’s Accident

Hope is not lost,

But it must be found,

Hunted down in the midst of places,

I don’t want to be,

Surrounded by iterations of myself,

What is it they say?

“It’s just me, myself and I,”

And a trail of sprung traps.

I could freeze,

And not take another step,

Stand my ground against misfortune.

No, not really.

I could medicate, inebriate my brain,

Check out,

But then there’s life,

Between the jaws of trouble,

There’s love, however wounding it can be,

There’s moments,

Gems,

When I reach out and touch,

And am touched,

A sensation that powers,

me for the journey.

And I know,

Yes, I have caught it in my grasp,

I won’t let go.

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Roady Series - Tyler Back Home Tylers thoughts

Interlude – Hungry Lions; Roady Series Episode 19

What do you do when an avalanche of thoughts pours down over you? It leaks out of my eyes but I don’t brush a single tear away. They will go away. I will not give in to the emotions trying to wrangle me.
I am a man who has escaped the jaws of a lion; the same beast that grabbed my father and threw him down. But did I escape? Accidents happen, shit happens, that’s what everyone says, like it’s nothing. Nothing if it isn’t you at the head of the ‘blame line’. But then no, my dad wasn’t to blame. Was he? His self torture is now streaming into mine but I’ve come to a place where my guilt doesn’t hold me captive and I dare say it’s the calm acceptance from a dog. Dad had no Roady, no rescuer, only the bottle.
I picked up that bottle, jumped in it like I could lose myself in its depths. Why was it my first choice? Will it be my first choice next time a crisis hits? Have I learned anything? Is it possible to learn how to outrun a lion? I hear a soft whimper and see Roady staring up at me.



To understand the context of this post read Roady Series “Cost of Lost” Episode 18. Binge READ Episodes 1- 18 by choosing the category- “Roady Series” – Find it in the drop down “menu” at the header of this blog.
This post is fiction based on the back story of a supporting character in a novel in process by Clare Graith. See ClareGraith.com for more info about the author.

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Tylers thoughts

Ace to Kill

People put their trust in many things. Their money, their family reputation, the government, which side of the bed they wake up on. Anything to give them security that there is an order to the uncertainty of each day. I found an Ace of spades on the ground once. Emmie saw me pick it up. She’s an interesting person. I can’t tell how old she is. Sometimes I think she is close to my age, sometimes she looks like she’s in her forties, once I swore, she was sixty or seventy.

It’s the way she’s dressed; long flowy rags, layered and bulky. Her hair is wild and thick but then she has it pulled back from her face with a glittery clip or a bright head wrap. I don’t know what her shoes look like because they’re always covered by long skirts or billowy pants. She owns five blocks on Champion avenue. I say ‘owns’ because no one from the neighborhood will tread down that side of the road without being on her good list.

How do you know if you’re on the good list? She doesn’t throw a matchstick at you when you pass by. They’re not lit mind you, but if you get pelted, you better run. Word has it she can set a curse of boils on you in minutes. I don’t really know what boils are and I don’t have the nerve to read up on the subject. Medical books, photos of surgeries, hold no curiosity for me. Give me a book about how a suspension bridge is built or how sound travels and absorbs in certain spaces, that I have spent a day reading about.

Anyway, I’m on Emmie’s good list but that day when I found the Ace and handed it to her as a gift, she dropped it like it was a scorpion.

“That’s the card of death,” she said. “You must burn it then clean your hands with bleach or it will stay with you.”

“Emmie,” I said. “Everyone has this card in their deck.”

“Listen to me Tyler Rowan, you don’t want this card, not today.” She produced a match and instead of throwing it at me, she lit it and handed it over. “Burn it!”

So, I did right there in the middle of the side walk in front of the discount tobacco store. She nodded as a glowing edge burned its way up the paper, curling it, eating the black ace until it was a small piece close to my fingers.

“All of it!” she yelled. She put my hand around the rest as it finished. I wanted to yell and call her a crazy lady since the last of the coal burned my palm, but it was just a small burn and she looked so relieved when all that was left was ashes.

“Now come with me.” She grabbed my hand. Her cold skin soothed the burn. She pulled me down the alley to the back lot where her cart of stuff was hidden. “Put out your hands.” She reached into her cart. I hesitated. “Time is of the essence,” she said drawing out the ‘s’ sound.

Truly I was thinking I really got myself into a situation this time. She sprinkled powdered Ajax on my hands. Damn if that didn’t sting the burn. I knocked it to the ground.

“No, no, no,” she said. She grabbed my hand and poured some water on it then handed me a nail brush. “Scrub. You must get rid of the residue of that card. Do you understand?”

I really just wanted to get out of there, but she was so intent, so I started scrubbing.

“Do a good job. Listen to me. Your life depends on it.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said giving up on anything but complete acquiescence. She watched me for at least two minutes. Then poured water over my hands.

“You’re clean now. Let’s hope we got it in time.”

“I think so,” I said. My palm was bright red and pulsing with pain.

She smiled and for a moment she looked like an angel. The joy in her eyes went clear to her soul. “Just looking out for you,” she said. “Fair thee well young Tyler.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said.

I avoided Champion street for a good month after that. When I saw her again, she threw a match stick at me. I stopped.

“Emmie, what have I done? Why the match stick?”

“Another Ace but you weren’t here. Another picked it up, but she wouldn’t listen. I saw it happen.”

“You saw her pick up the card?”

“I saw her get hit by a car.” She turned away from me.

I can’t play cards any more and not feel like I killed someone when I see the Ace.


This post is flash fiction based on the back story of a supporting character in a novel in process by Clare Graith.

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Tylers thoughts

Parade of Dark to Light

I talk about dark things sometimes, and it may seem I’m dwelling in darkness. There is safety hiding in the shadows. I’ve retreated there many nights. Leaning against a wall in an alley, hidden but able to see out, watch others. Like a parade of lives, they go by; a man with his arm tightly around the waist of a woman, she slips her arm around him and they walk in unison stealing kisses under the street lamp; a group saunters by in long black leather coats flapping like stiff Batman capes, they talk in deep tones, laugh, marking territory with their presence; next an old man shuffles along, bent over with a weather-beaten dog stuck to his heels looking up now and again with love at his master. These lives speak to me. They are shards of things I want, things that repel me. I am absorbed in thinking which is which and then I see you, a light shining; a sun on a dark horizon stretching warmth out to me. You are an enigma yet all about you is the aura of sincerity I see no where else. You look my way and I see the way back. I cannot call you friend and yet the word comes to my mind.