Crawling Between Heaven And Earth

Crawling Between Heaven And Earth

Sarah A. Hoyt

Language: English

Pages: 169

ISBN: B00E91QRP8

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


A collection of short stories by Prometheus Award Winner Sarah A. Hoyt. The first edition of this collection was published by Dark Regions Press in paper, only. This updated edition contains two bonus short stories: High Stakes and Sweet Alice.

It also contains the stories: Elvis Died for Your Sins; Like Dreams Of Waking; Ariadne’s Skein;Thirst;Dear John;Trafalgar Square;The Green Bay Tree; Another George; Songs;Thy Vain Worlds;Crawling Between Heaven and Earth

Screw the Universe

The Hard SF Renaissance

The Bram Stoker Megapack: 22 Classic Works

The Science Fiction Century

Glas: Soviet Grotesque (New Russian Writing, Volume 2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

launched himself through the air at the Minotaur's back. Before Pol reached him, the beast turned. Pol jumped sideways, fell awkwardly just in front of the beast, who bellowed, outraged. Its sharp teeth clamped onto Pol's left arm. Pol screamed, but shoved the shoe's heel into the Minotaur's eye with his right hand, pushing hard, madly. The Minotaur bayed. It shook the arm it had clamped onto. Pol screamed higher, a high, insane screech, as the creature lifted him off his feet, and Pol's body

of sin death? John came in brimming with good cheer, though not the good cheer that come from alcohol such as sinners consumed. He talked much to Elizabeth and Susannah, both, about his cases and the treatment thereof, then, in the middle of it paused, "I hear you disturbed your father today, Susannah." "I?" Susannah said. Called out of her thoughts, she could only think that John would disapprove. For some reason John had always liked Susannah's father and stood by the old reprobate. He viewed

would ever mention him to the kids now. Not now. But what if consciousness and memory subsisted after death? He lit another cigarette and pushed the car, faster, faster, through the asphalt-paved tunnel amid towering trees. His dreams, if dreams there were after death, would be of Nick. Even Nick's name, after all these years, still brought a reaction. Nick, Nicky, Nicholas Stevelanos. His heart went out to meet the syllables full of joy and winced away from them like a guilty child. Giving

together in their dreams. Phil swallowed and swallowed again, to keep his emotion in check, but by the time he got back to the motel, there was a taste of salt and tears down his throat. The songs I wrote for you. The songs Nick wrote. God, the songs he wrote. The pure emotion in Nick's voice hadn't lied. Nor could it endure betrayal. The radio program had been a dream. The phone number actually belonging to Nick's mother had to be a bizarre coincidence. Chance. Phil sat on the bed and

thought of the area she had glimpsed on the few occasions she had ventured beyond the edge of the ponderosa pines. What looked like an endless stretch of scorched red sand, and the trees beyond it, in the distance. It would take at least ten minutes to cross between a small garden and the next and the sun would be intense, yet here he was, his suit unruffled, his hair innocent of red sand. He bowed. "I had heard you were here. And the memory of your beauty made it worth to cross that island of

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