Grief is a strange thing. It affects the mind in unpredictable ways. Was Cain a drunken madman stricken with grief? Or a victim of something ancient and sinister? Judge for yourself. Will you believe what witnesses to his descent believe, or will you believe the last words of Ethan Cane? Read more...

By: David Pitzel Oct. 3, 2023, 3 p.m.

You don’t see many children walking to school these days. Maybe it is because of the news media that seems to be laser-focused on keeping us all locked behind closed and barred doors, scaring the living shit out of us on a 24-hour cycle. We’re afraid of each other, our food, our water, our air. There doesn’t seem to be anything that does not hold some form of adverse effect when seen, heard, smelled, tasted, or even come into proximity of. The world is a dangerous and horrible place. We should all lock ourselves in our comfortable, connected, technologically advanced homes and fill them with endless piles of useless and unneeded convenience items. Why would you walk outside and say hi to your neighbor when you can quickly wish them a happy birthday on your favorite social media platform. You’ll even get the reminder if you’re too inconvenienced by having to remember the date or if you're less than interested but want to appear friendly. We live in a world of trapdoor spiders waiting to pounce on unsuspecting innocents who dare only to feel the sun on their face and the wind in their hair. Read more...

By: David Pitzel Oct. 31, 2017, 9:09 a.m.

Danny never cried out. It was too fast, too unexpected. He never believed in what we were doing. He never believed the words as I read them from those medical files. Even though there was no denying that what we were doing and what we were seeing was unmistakably real, I believed, and I knew we should have stopped. I can tell myself it was his fault for convincing me to go inside or for busting in that window, but I know I was to blame. I should have made him leave. We should never have been there. Read more...

By: David Pitzel June 5, 2017, 12:34 p.m.

Alto woke in the tiny cell-like room. It was pitch black except for a sliver of light peaking in from the crack at the bottom of the door. It was impossible to tell the time in these caves. Standing and pulling the dangling chain for the light, he looked at his watch. It was six am. He was glad he hadn't overslept. Today was the day they would take the trip with the shipment back to the states. He had to be on his game today. Everything needed to go as planned, Yassin still hadn't told him how the drugs got from here to the states, but he assured him it was no problem. Everything about the operation from the growing to production was very efficient. There was nothing Alto saw that gave him pause except for a group of men who seemed to be a third party in this endeavor. Yassin assured him they were nothing to worry about, saying they were crucial in the drugs' transportation. Alto, of course, wanted to speak with them and was told that he would be able to before they left. It troubled him. These men who were not Taliban and not simple villagers were a liability. They knew how the drugs got to America and were instrumental in the process, but where did their loyalties lie? If they were not Taliban, then they had no reason to follow Yassin's orders. If they were not part of the village, they had no reason to follow the Taliban's demands. It was going to be a problem. Once they shut down the supply chain stateside, there was no telling what kind of blowback would come from these men. He needed to find out more about them, but there was no time. In a few short hours, they would be leaving. Cutting it close was an understatement. Read more...

By: David Pitzel March 26, 2017, midnight

The beat-up white SUV barrelled down the road. It was half paved and half covered in dirt and sand. A trail of dust rose behind them as they drove, drifting off into the parched endlessness of the Afghan desert. In all directions was a vast expanse of tans and browns ending in dark, jagged peaks in the distance. The SUV bounced on the barely maintained road, occasionally slowing to navigate entire broken asphalt sections torn up by explosions from IEDs and missile strikes. It was a forsaken land of dead and dying vegetation, cruel heat and scarce water, compounded now by the wreckage from years of constant war. Oceans of sand in all directions, once they were at the compound, there would be no running away if something went wrong. Miles and miles of rocky desert that appeared the same in all directions. Himee looked out the window, wondering if this would be the place he would die. It seemed likely, but he wasn't about to go easily. Stay cool, follow Alto's lead, and keep his mouth shut. That was what would get him through this op, that and the heater he had tucked in his belt. It was hard to believe anyone lived out here, much less an entire farm of poppies. He stared off at the horizon, trying to determine the cardinal direction, East. He looked at the cheap gas station compass stuck to the dash. He was right. Read more...

By: David Pitzel March 6, 2017, midnight