Will Vigar

a writer of sorts

The Phantom Hitch-hiker – A True Story

Unexpected prose alert! My friend Mark had just bought a car and we would go for night drives, hunting for UFOs or headless horsemen or any other Fortean madness that … Continue reading

July 8, 2020 · Leave a comment

James VI vs The Metatron

The tiny island of Inchkeith, near Burntisland, off the east coast of Scotland  is home to a story where King James VI exiled a woman with her two infant sons … Continue reading

February 1, 2020 · Leave a comment

Ullapool – Remembrance Sunday 2019 (Hebrides)

i.   An unexpected crunching woke me. Footsteps on gravel; a faint gruffling as something brushed against the chalet door; a light clack   -and-scrape against the mullions. Contented grunts … Continue reading

December 8, 2019 · Leave a comment

Flesh and Feather

Drab brown drag bustling with the snap and jitter of twelve frames a second. Squabble tweedling with dickering kin scrabble-flickering for errant grain.   The farmers sons with .22 strength … Continue reading

March 30, 2018 · Leave a comment

A Dream

To see the sky with no tangent vapours marking its jetted limits…   To see the land unboxed, its concertina scars flooded and weeping…   To see the mirror-straits deepest … Continue reading

January 5, 2018 · Leave a comment

Tromsdalen

There was a time when a small shack, – unused in decades – stood here, shaking under a barrage of wind and hail;   door barely hanging on by it’s friable rust devoured hinges; charged … Continue reading

December 12, 2017 · Leave a comment

ursus maritimus

Her head low and eyes fixed on mine. Loping from floe   to sea to dolerite schist; crackling on the lime rich shore;   following stale musk. Per shakes my … Continue reading

December 9, 2017 · Leave a comment

three

i have walked for nearly thirty miles and yet lack the courage to pass through the sap sticky firs and on to other soil   there is no mark no … Continue reading

December 3, 2017 · Leave a comment

Rockall Sketches

1. Storm flirting kittywakes plummet as waves dance a reckless saltarello around the bluff islet. Luttering brine and summer squalls engulf. 2. Hasslewood hides – tooth rotten in the gum. … Continue reading

September 15, 2017 · Leave a comment

Hotel. Birmingham 19.8.17 (03:17am: I Am Insomnia’s Bitch)

Sitting by the threadbare curtains, looking over the illuminated building works, from the fourth floor, waiting for something interesting to happen. Birmingham sleeps,   but a drunken Mancunian does not. … Continue reading

August 19, 2017 · Leave a comment