Them...

I know I'm weird. I've always been weird. My whole essence is weird. I mean, I'm different. I don't stand around giggling about the newest 'cute' boy. I don't practice dance routines to the new top band. And I don't care to do any of those things. I read. I like to read. Yeah, I know. I'm weird.
But that's not why I'm really weird. It's because I can see them.
I can see them walking down the street when I'm waiting to be picked up. Thier dirty clothes moving against the wind. Their hair a mess. Some blood stained, some far and distant.
I can see them in my class room or walking down the hall. They don't notice's us. We're just object's that get in the way. They don't notice any of us-except me. I suppose that's to be expected, I can see them so they can see me.
That's how I'm weird. No-one else can see them. And I haven't lost it. I'm not a weirdo. I'm weird. I'm different. I can see them.
But, I wonder, why can I see them? And what are they doing here?
I've heard they're ghosts. Ghosts of a terrible terrible time. Perhaps.
But, to me, they seem like more than just ghosts...