"This world's a tortured place to be." I'm haunted by memories that prove it. I used to think they were mortal, those memories. That the sand of time would bury them. And it does. But memories come from prolific stock, and not a few of their relatives bear a striking resemblance to the deceased. All it takes is a glimpse of some distant cousin to trigger a massive resurrection. Or at least so it seems. They are often harsh realities, those cousins, and there is not a man without them. Sometimes it almost seems as if they are all my own. And is it any wonder? They're all related! Pain comes from a big family. Mine can never truly die, for there will always be an heir to take its place -- some son or nephew of past torment to step in and carry on the family tradition.
  ¶ 9:57 PM