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.

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