PinkFloydFanForever

 In the middle of the forest, it was snowing. Despite the fact that in Cloversdale there were no forests of considerable size (it was a country town, all fields of tobacco and pastures,) not to mention the fact that it was the middle of July, this didn't bother Ghost in the slightest. The time was right, at least, he supposed. The sun was somewhere on the edge of the horizon, obscured by trees and quickly slipping away. What DID bother him, however, was something that he couldn't put his finger on. Glancing around, he saw trees barren for the winter, having begun their own sort of hibernation after shedding their leafy garb. They were sporadi

 The basket seemed to have appeared of its own accord. Why else would it have shown up that snowy, late November morning, with no footsteps trailing away to telltale scent leading off? It had been cold for a while, but the snow had only stopped two days ago, so any tracks should have been clear to see. Mrs. Lang had an inexplicable habit of opening the front door every morning and taking a long whiff of the new day's air. It was something she hadn't always been able to do, and she found the luxury not only cleared her groggy head but also provided insight on how the day was likely to go. Today, though, was different. There was no long, ponder

Chapter 1: Loss -2064- Evening. Quinn took his hat off as he entered his gloomy apartment. He wrung it out on the doorstep before hanging it up to dry, then did the same with his soaked coat. He'd always hated the rain; it seemed to frequently be the harbinger of bad news. Maybe it was just all those accidents at the Mines those few short years ago; maybe it was just a psychological trick his mid played on him: after all, bad things happened all the time these days, but the memories of the rainy cataclysms were the only ones that stuck."Daddy? Is that you?" A weak voice called out from the living room. "Just a minute, sweetie!" he responded