Welcome Back, Class Of '96

“Do you want me to hold the...?”

The song is about to start, something by Vanessa Williams. His one good hand is pressing on her waist. She does not know what to call the other one, the absence.

He shakes. “I can just put my arm here.” He rests his folded sleeve on her pink shoulder strap. They have been given a wide berth by the other couples on the gym floor.

They shuffle together in silence. Finally, she asks. “How did—?”

He shrugs. “Cleaning the picker.” Somebody had turned it on by mistake.

“Does it hurt?”

Sometimes. It tickles.

From Guest Contributor Brennan Thomas

Alice Falls For A Killer

She surmises blood stains under everything. His skin is cracked like hard dirt in a barren winter. "You could use baby oil," she says. Later, they share a half-gallon of chocolate chip ice cream, her treat. They always meet by the railroad tracks because of his love of trains and exit signs. He speaks in fragments, and she imagines his past is dammed up, full of unexplained absences. She wants to show him her breasts under the moonlight. She wants to hear him whistle so shrilly it will puncture the dark. Then, the darkness will erase the both of them.

From Guest Contributor Kyle Hemmings