Dusk settled into Sycamore Lane like a secret companion. Crickets rubbed their legs in song. Street lights flickered on, casting a yellow glow on the sidewalk below. The sign on the street post hung tattered and torn. As long as Emma could still read Last Seen Wearing Jeans and a Pink Jacket, she’d be setting a third plate for dinner.

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Sally Simon (ze/hir) lives in the Catskills of New York State. Hir writing has appeared in or forthcoming in Longleaf Review, Citron Review, Emerge Lit, Vision Magazine, and elsewhere. When not writing, ze’s either traveling the world or stabbing people with hir epee. Read more at www.sallysimonwriter.com. 

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