Eight Minutes, Thirty-Two Seconds by Peter Adam Salomon Genre: YA SciFi Thriller
Over eight billion people died when the world ended. Two survived. L and M don’t know why they’re alive. They don’t remember what happened. Addicted to a drug that kills them for eight minutes and thirty-two seconds, they risk the end of humanity in order to learn the truth. Amazon * Goodreads
Peter Adam Salomon is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, the Horror Writers Association, the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America, the Science Fiction Poetry Association, the International Thriller Writers, and The Authors Guild. His debut novel, HENRY FRANKS, was published by Flux in 2012. His second novel, ALL THOSE BROKEN ANGELS, published by Flux in 2014, was nominated for the Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in Young Adult fiction. Both novels have been named a ‘Book All Young Georgians Should Read’ by The Georgia Center for The Book. His short fiction has appeared in the Demonic Visions series among other anthologies, and he was the featured author for Gothic Blue Book III: The Graveyard Edition. He was also selected as one of the Gentlemen of Horror for 2014. His poem ‘Electricity and Language and Me’ appeared on BBC Radio 6 performed by The Radiophonic Workshop. Eldritch Press published his first collection of poetry, PseudoPsalms: Prophets (nominated for the Elgin Award), and his second and third poetry collections, PseudoPsalms: Saints v. Sinners and PseudoPsalms: Sodom (nominated for the Elgin Award), were published by Bizarro Pulp Press. In addition, he was the Editor for the first books of poetry released by the Horror Writers Association: Horror Poetry Showcase Volumes I and II. He founded both National Dark Poetry Day (Oct. 7) and the annual international Horror Poetry Showcase for the Horror Writers Association. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
L had forgotten how many times she’d died.
Once more. Her repeated promise to M: just one more death.
L’s fingers shook where they rested on his arm, trying to pull the injector closer to the port in her forearm, waiting for her fix.
M pressed the plunger.
For a moment, she wanted to curse him for injecting her, for reminding her that, after she died, she’d forget her empty promises
of never dying again.
He’d heard it all before. He’d hear it the next time he killed her. And the next.
But that moment was fatally brief as the heat reached her heart and fire tore through her with the finality of flatlining.
The first seconds after dying were a vertigo death spiral, when the brain shuts down amid the inescapable sound of the last beat
of her heart.
Then, memory returns. She’d died before. She’d die again. On purpose.
Death had a reason.
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