It’s so great to have an outlet for fiction and, added to that, to have a collaborative outlet where people are really pitching in to make a lively artistic exchange.
We’re still looking for/accepting submissions of various types so check out the submissions page at Euclid’s Negatives for info on that.
story by eric m. martin
Photos by cassandra douglas
Gary wasn’t a big reader, but he’d read enough books to have come across stories of olden-day American preachers who baptized people in the river. It was always a river. Never a creek. Maybe creeks were too shallow. Didn’t have the same effect.
That was a hundred years ago. But there he was. A preacher in the river.
Gary was on his bike going home, passing through a park near the downtown area. The park was right on the edge of the river, which was empty nine months of the year. During summer, boats would zip along with people in tow, balanced drunkenly on skis.
It was too cold for that now, though it was not yet winter. Gary wore a t-shirt and long pants with one leg rolled up. He’d lost enough pants to the bite of his bike’s gears…
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