My Little Icarus
Hubris was your art; flight was your heart.
Works of fiction likely borrowed from life. Writers are thieves, and Ziggy is no different.
But there’s honour amongst thieves. The good ones anyway.
A few select pieces for a little late-night insomnia.
Missed a beat? Find it here!
Hubris was your art; flight was your heart.
A short story about a feeling… and the fog.
I wrote this under a full moon in the orange sands of the desert. It’s funny how the feelings of the night fade but the memory of its beauty lingers on.