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Blog o' Tiggs

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About this blog

Chaos and Cats

Entries in this blog

Tiggs

Writing is hard

I've now written one and 3/4 books.

Reader — they were terrible.

So, I'm going to write a third. And then a fourth, and a fifth. Until I create something worth reading.

And when I do, I'll let you know.

But in the meantime — writing is hard.

Please send rescue dogs and brandy.

Tiggs

The Battle for Hans Island

Not every land dispute ends up in brutal war.

Hans Island is 0.5 miles square and sits right on the Canadian/Greenland borderline.

1280px-Nares_strait_border_%28Kennedy_channel%29.png

Both Canada and Denmark claim it as their own.

Every so often, the Canadian and Danish send soldiers there, to take down the other country's flag.

And to leave a bottle of Canadian Whiskey or Danish Schnapps there, for the other country's soldiers.

Source: NationalPost

Tiggs

The Kiss

In case you missed it:

The Kiss

It's a short story (~ 2,500 words) about life in an upload society - where humans are digitally encoded and live within a computer.

This was originally written for Lightspeed magazine. I missed the deadline (they only accept sci-fi entries once, annually) and now have 10 months or so to write another, so thought I'd share this one for your general reading pleasure (and hopefully, a little feedback), instead.

Tiggs

Falling

At 2am, as we finish the Barefoot Moscato and the rose scented candles burn low -- that's when our demons come.

From the outside, no-one would ever know.

But on the inside, we are both falling at a thousand miles an hour, completely out of control.

We watch as the world speeds past us; blurred faces, destinations unknown.

We worry as those falling near us drift further away.

And we are scared of falling alone.

We both look instinctively for someone to cling to; someone who will share our fall.

We promise to hold them forever; we promise to never let go.

And for a time, we focus on each other, and we forget that we are falling, at all.

Until we finish the Barefoot Moscato and the rose scented candles burn low.

We wonder whether we will push each other away. Maybe we’ll just drift apart.

And we hold each other closer, and pretend we’re not thinking, at all.

Instead we pretend to ponder if there's a safety net at the end of the fall.

"Why would we fall, with no-one to catch us?" they say.

But why would we fall, at all?

Tiggs

Flash Fiction - Spontaneous

The warning signs were crystal clear. We just chose to ignore them.

No-one had thought it was real, until it was.

Patient zero was Catherine Zegal. She arrived at the Birshof Clinic in Basel, complaining of extreme abdominal pain. An MRI soon revealed that her bones were being burnt from the inside out.

She was dead within three hours. Her skeleton continued to disintegrate for two more, before it was entirely consumed. The second recorded victim was the Ambulance driver who'd delivered her to the hospital. He'd collapsed in a cinema at the end of his shift, just nine hours later.

The Lago Laboratories in Zurich were the first to pinpoint the cause: a virus, encoded within the genes of our female common ancestor. Mitochondrial DNA that had laid dormant for thousands of generations, just waiting for the right set of point mutations to happen.

A set of mutations that burnt calcium as fuel.

But by then, the Hellfire was airborne, and unstoppable. By the time that the media had latched on to the story, over a fifth of the Swiss population had already been exposed to the virus. Flights were embargoed by the Swiss Government, but it was already far too late.

Slowly but surely, humanity combusted, leaving behind it just a thick film of oily residue.