by Jim Stitzel | Feb 27, 2019 | Stories
He sat before his workbench, looking at his heart lying on the workspace before him. The steel mechanism that sustained his life lay open like a book, hinge at the back, clasp at the front (currently undone), gears and other clockwork mechanisms turning and clicking...
by Jim Stitzel | Apr 7, 2017 | Stories
It soared out of midnight, all gas envelope and aerosolized Nightmare, propelled by only God knows what. It carried a tiny bomber bay, loaded with a lethality that would have made any nation quake to its roots, if any knew it existed. The airship was black as night...
by Jim Stitzel | Sep 11, 2013 | Stories
It is a wondrous thing to hear your child’s heart beat for the first time. All those long hours of laboring and toiling over a workbench, all those days and weeks of tenderly, gingerly nudging gears and springs and cogs into place. All those blisters and burns and...
by Jim Stitzel | Jan 14, 2013 | Stories
This entry is part 6 of 6 in the series The Clockwork DesolationIt is the faintest glimmering of a spark. It floats in suspension in a bottle, the field it generates holding it equidistant from the surfaces that enclose it. It is an Ember, and it pulses gently,...
by Jim Stitzel | Jan 9, 2013 | Stories
This entry is part 5 of 6 in the series The Clockwork DesolationThe encampment is little more than a desiccated husk. What remains of the few tents still standing are tatters of canvas flapping from poles bent and twisted by some cataclysmic event. Much of the ground...