by Jim Stitzel | Mar 15, 2011 | Stories
André stepped outside to a world in bedlam. Billboards flashed alternately among binary output, machine code, and actual ads. Vehicles were strewn about the highway like so many child’s toys, their operating systems completely trashed. Most of the city’s droids were...
by Jim Stitzel | Mar 15, 2011 | Stories
André jammed the button on his phone. Nothing. Everything was all touchscreens now, except for the solitary button necessary to reboot a device if the OS froze up. “Dammit,” André swore. Stupid thing had been giving him fits all day. Disk reformat in 5 sec… “What? I...
by Jim Stitzel | Mar 15, 2011 | Stories
It was a long, paved driveway to nowhere. Fifty yards of winding tree-lined blacktop ending in an open field. There was no building at the end, nothing to indicate the driveway’s purpose, no sign that a building had ever stood here. Zack stood at the end of the drive...
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 | Feb 14, 2011 | Stories
“Did you see that?” Amanda said. She pulled her bike off to the shoulder and waited for Sarah to join her. “See what?” Sarah asked. She distractedly brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “Those birds.” Amanda gestured at the flock now residing in a nearby tree. A...
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...
