Respectability
The graduated girls stepped off the red train in twos, threes, quatrains.
They wore wrap dresses with full sleeves. The skies stretched over them like flat translucent tape.
The girls were whisked off into black carriages with tinted windows. In
one such sat three with the whitest faces, sharpest penciled eyebrows. They had clean reputations like polished gemstones. They’d just finished killing a student they deadnamed. They threw the body onto the tracks like a twisted piece of pink chewing-gum. They were traveling to get married to rich, respectable boys. Their teachers had written them strong letters of recommendation.
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