Poems by Kit…
When we are born there’s some who say that we are blank as slate, That nature pales to nurture just as good might pale to great. To this I say they’re not half wrong, but also not half right. Give credit to the soul that sings through every single fight.
Typically, the word ‘vivacious’ wouldn’t — and probably shouldn’t — be used to describe a man, but I wanted to challenge myself with my return to the blogging scene, so I picked the only protagonist I hadn’t yet introduced to my first draft, who happened to be male, and ran with the idea. At the end of the day, it’s what you make of it, yeah?
The needle slid out with a quick pull and press but blood bubbled over Riggan’s thumb anyway. He wasn’t the doctor. The younger boy on the cot gurgled at the spike of pain, doubling over, but his eyes remained closed tight so Riggan shook him, hard. “Up! Won’t tell ya’gin.” There was a steel in his voice that hadn’t been there before.
I aim to come at this tale sideways, like the great train robberies of old. Because the only way you survive on the frontier is by staying one step ahead of the things naturally inclined to pick you off: roving bandits; wolves; cholera; stray bullets; evil duchesses; cursed totems. Even cats.