David Martin

By Kyle Michel Sullivan

What happens when you're only 12 years old and everything you believe in gets torn apart?

This is what David Martin has to face when he is called to meet his hero, Sir Richard -- a king renown for his honor and bravery. Or so David thought. But during his six-day journey to the castle, he learned not everyone held so high an opinion

• Language: English
• Publisher: KMSCB
• Release date: May 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9780997000771

Kyle Michel Sullivan

I am a writer and self-involved artist out to change the world until it changes me...as has already happened in far too many ways.I have written books that range from sunshine and light (David Martin) to cold and dark (How To Rape A Straight Guy, which has been banned a couple of times) to flat out crazy (The Lyons' Den) to mainstream (The Alice '65). I have ventured into SF-Horror-Suspense with The Beast in the Nothing Room and taken Capitalism to its logical extreme in Hunter. I've also written murder mysteries (Rape in Holding Cell 6, The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, and Underground Guy). I've just begun a gay vampire series titled Blood Angel, that will be in seven e-book parts. All contain strong romantic entanglements.Currently, I am working to complete A Place of Safety, my Irish novel.I try to build characters as vivid and real as possible and have a lot of fun doing it mixed with angst, anger, and amazement ... but that's the lot of a writer.My paperbacks and hardcovers are available through Amazon, B&N and any independent book shop.

Book preview

DAVID MARTIN

(A Fable)

by

Kyle Michel Sullivan

Published by: KMSCB, Buffalo, NY

Cover artwork and interior art by Ken W Min

www.kenminart.com

ISBN: 978-0-9970007-9-5

ISBN: 978-0-9970007-7-1 (e-book)

Copyyright 2013 by Kyle Michel Sullivan, dba: KMSCB

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and situations are purely the result of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights are reserved by the author, including the right to reproduction in whole or in part in any form, manner, or concept.

For: Nana

DAVID MARTIN

David Martin is meeting Sir Richard!

The news danced through the village of Whitlock with breathless wonder. Here it was but a dozen years past the first millennium and one of their boys was called to an audience with the ruler of the land. Oh, this would be a great and glorious honor for all the townsfolk except for one thing -- no one quite believed it. David Martin? Meeting the King?! Why, the very thought sent many of them reeling into laughter.

It’s a mistake, chuckled a stout woman. Sir Richard would never summon a scrawny boy whose head is in the clouds!

She’s right, said a burly man. My Timothy is stronger.

And braver, added his wife. He’s already trained in defense with the town master. He’s a much better choice.

What about my Bradley? asked a tall woman. He even knows some Latin; just ask the priest!

While David barely understands English, laughed the burly man.

But David’s grandmother, an elderly widow wrapped in a thick tatted shawl, wagged a finger in his face and snapped, You forget, sir, it was David who saved your hens!

How can I? the man snapped back. You won’t let me!

Because you won’t give the boy credit! For weeks we were all plagued by a fox stealing chicks, but no one could stop it. Not until David caught it burrowing under your new stone fence, sir. He yanked the little beast back out by its tail and sent it away with a kick to its haunches!

And just what good did chasing it off do? asked the stout woman. Should have been killed.

Have we lost a hen or rooster since?

They had to agree, she was right.

I remember how he saved my son, Corey, from drowning, the town carpenter piped in. David can’t even swim, but he was smart enough to think of using a plank of wood to help him float out to Corey and pull him back to the bank.

He does have some wits about him, the tall woman sighed.

But he talks to squirrels as if they can understand him, cried the stout woman.

And behaves as though he were a knight of the realm, fumed the burly man. Marching about with a wooden stick for a sword – you would think him still a toddler rather than a lad of twelve summers. I can’t believe Sir Richard would ever accept such foolishness.

Many people agreed with him. After all, Whitlock was only a small farming community of a dozen hovels on the western edge of the world. They held so little importance to anyone, there wasn’t even an inn that was part of the town. They had joined with Sir Richard’s provinces not even thirty years earlier and had neither garrison of soldiers nor fortress nearby. The fact was, in all these years the only time they