Blue Sky (DISCONTINUED)

1

I woke up on a hospital bed. I was in a hospital robe. A lot of needles were inserted in my right arm connecting me to 'who-knows-what' kind of hospital equipment and medicine. There was a bouquet of flowers on a table on the left side of my bed, they were in a vase; they were beautiful sunflowers. The yellow flowers grew towards the direction of the sun, which in this case was towards the window on the further right side of my bed. It was sunset that time. I stared at it as the sun sank down. The birds were flying home, the clouds were growing thin and the blue sky was turning orange... soon enough, black.

I turned back to my left to look at the flowers once again. Seemed like they were there for quite a while now, and it seemed like someone was taking care of it. Does that mean someone visits me?

I reached out to touch the lovely flower's petal to find that it was rather cold. Seemed like it was just only finished being watered. I lifted the vase and brought it to my lap. I wanted to smell it. The smell of alcohol and air conditioning was really uncanny and uncomfortable, the whiff of that gift of nature was enough to calm my nerves.

As I returned the vase, something caught my eye; a sketch pad.

It was brown -which explains why I couldn't see it earlier- with a touch of yellow lines for design. I put the vase back and took it to see what was inside. I opened it in the middle.

Inside were astonishing drawings of places and people; more on people than places though. Some of the places was a bedroom, the other was a classroom, and the other was a cliff of some sort. The humans in the portrait were people I didn't recognize at all. They were of all ages; some young like me, some a little older, some were actually old and some were really old. The last drawings were a sunset and a clear blue sky. The details in the art were phenominal! It was the work of a professional.

I tried looking for a name, just to see who it belonged to. On every drawing was a signature, I couldn't make it out, but I was certain there was a 'T' there. I tried lookin in the front page, the only thing written there was a warning.

"Do not open without owner's permission."

I felt a little guilty after reading it, but it was already too late. I had already gotten that far, there was no way I could stop without knowing who the artist was.

On the back, or rather back flap -the cardboard on the back, was where I located the artist's name. Her name was 'Toriko.' What a wonderful name. I wonder how old she was, it must've taken years of practice for her to get that good. Aside from her name, there was a message.

"Don't ever forget."

It confused me. Why would she put such a message on her own sketch pad? Was she an amnesiac? Was she a forgetful girl? Does this mean that the drawings inside the sketch pad were her memories?!

It made sense. A forgetful girl would record her special places, her special people and her special moments in drawing if she really didn't want to forget, and Toriko recorded it in this sketch pad. I couldn't believe that I was holding such an important thing.

I wonder, how did such a thing get into my hospital room anyway?

On second thought, why was I in the hospital in the first place?

A sudden pain stung my head. I couldn't help but get support from my arm as it started to feel a little heavy. It felt like my brain was throbbing, like it was the first time it started working after such a long time.

What happened to me?

I just calmed down and breathed in deeply. I decided to take one look of the art works again just because it was amazing and also because I thought it could help the pain to go away.

Exactly when I opened the sketch pad, the sound of the door creeking open echoed inside my room.

I faced it to find a tall mildly muscular man, probably in his late thirties or early forties, with slick styled flat black hair who was wearing a business suit entering.

He was stopped in his track upon the sight of me. We made eye contact. We stared at each other for quite a while.

That man... he's one of the people in the sketch pad.

Exactly on the page where I opened the sketch pad, he was there! His same hair style and his same clothes! The only thing different was his expression. On the drawing he looked happy...

But right now, he had a shocked expression as tears flowed down his cheeks like a waterfalls. "I'm glad." he uttered in between his sobs as he covered his face.

I just stare at him with confusion. Why was he crying? Why was he glad? Why was he in my room? Why was he in the sketch pad? Why was the sketch pad in my room? To summerize the questions; Why was the man, who was drawn inside the sketch pad I found in my room, crying inside my room?

But the main question was 'Who is he?'

He continued to baul under the door pane and I sat on bed a little awkard and confused. When will he stop? When will he leave? Those were the only thoughts running though my mind at the time. I didn't really know how to react with strangers, especially when they're crying. What am I supposed to do?

A few seconds more, he seemed to calm down, but the expression on his face still hadn't left him. He looked like a mess; wet face, runny nose and puffy eyes. I almost felt sorry for him. He wiped his face clean as he came walking towards me.

I was nervous. Why was he walking towards me? What was he planning? I wanted to get up from the bed and get away from him, but my feet were numb. I couldn't feel nor move them.

He was closer. He already sat on the bed, all I could do was nudge to the farthest side from him, a futile attempt.

To my surprise, he attacked me with a hug!

I wanted to scream, but my voice was raspy and dry. What happened to me? Why was my body like this?

All I could do was tremble under his embrace. I'm so scared. I don't understand anything anymore.

Until he spoke again and everything just stopped.

"I'm so glad you're okay now, Toriko."