Why does no one talk about the ghosts? Am I mad? Why the earthquakes? No tectonic plates here. The ghosts walk when the ground shakes. I hear them. I know them. I dream memories but my memories are dreams. Impossible. A genetic memory, perhaps? Impossible. But the feeling is true. I knew them once, the ghosts. Broke bread with them. Fought at their side. Now they walk through me. And are deaf to my pleas.