Phones sound off at the same time in that high-pitched alert for missing people.
My picture appears on the news. I’m upset that someone has selected the bad-hair-day photo that shows dark half-moons beneath my eyes.
People call my name while searching through woods and underpasses.
“I’m here,” I yell back, but no one hears me.
I try to send out a message to end the confusion, but when I press my fingers against the keyboard, my transparent hand passes right through the letters.