by Jim Stitzel | Mar 15, 2011 | Stories
There was murder in her eyes. He saw it clear as day. Problem. He rubbed the tender spot where she’d hit him with the blunt — and his heart skipped a beat when she pointed the barbaric weapon at him. “You’re not actually going to use that thing, are you?” he...
by Jim Stitzel | Mar 15, 2011 | Stories
We broke the world, cracked it open from pole to pole. Lit the planet up and burned it with fire from within. We had to. It was the only way to get rid of them. It was a doomsday weapon, of course. A last recourse. God knows we’d tried everything else. Nothing had...
by Jim Stitzel | Feb 24, 2011 | General
Dark, morbid, and...
by Jim Stitzel | Feb 14, 2011 | Stories
We slipped our bonds and escaped across the dunes. The distant sound of crashing waves drew us westward. We ran for everything we were worth, fear and desperation driving us on. We never saw our captors. We never knew where — or what — they were. What we knew during...
by Jim Stitzel | Dec 20, 2010 | Stories
He vomits, on all fours and stomach heaving. Long, ropey strings of fluid slide from his mouth to the ground, wet and glistening. It is the color of infected phlegm, the smell powerful, overwhelming. His belly clenches again, and he vomits more of the greasy strands...
