His vision blurred between a bright white area and the dull almost dark greyish world. The white area looked like a blank canvas, lacking any artist's touch to bring it to life. The grey area was filed with noise and some random clinging and clanking. Its every sound was a wave of ache that ran across his head setting shorter limits to how much he could take from the grey world. Between the two, the white world was better, no pain no suffering. It was way more welcoming than the grey world and surely enough… he wasn't going to leave.
There was another reason the white world felt so peaceful and serene. The white world was a border. A border between the living and the dead. And at that border, he couldn't tell for how long but he had been talking to one of the few last members of his endeared family.
"Lozo." A man's voice called.
Lozo's blur faded as he looked towards the voice. The image was clear as day. The old man was no longer old. Well not that old relative to how he looked back then. He looked like an old man in his ninety, which was very old but given his previous age of one hundred and thirty-five, this was more pleasant.
Lozo walked towards the head master. He looked just like his picture in huge painting back at his office. On his face a weary smile ignited worry in Lozo's chest. Suddenly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know why old man Ji had called him.
"Quite the nice place, eeh Lozo?" he began with a chuckle in his voice that always meant something bad." But it could use some color, don't you think?" he said moving his hand across the blank canvas.
As he did an image sprouted and came to be. Lozo was familiar with it. He had spent most of his time there as a child and also when he trained.
'The Sycamore tree.' Lozo remembered.
The sycamore tree was a large tree situated outside the orphanage and was a haven for most games and fun for the children of the orphanage. Even now he could see it. The jubilant and never tiring children of the orphanage jumping from branch to branch like they were a bunch of monkeys. The smiles they aired on their faces and the tears that spilled whenever one of the fell to the ground.
He could see it all.
His eyes shifted to the old man. He could see a tear run down his cheek. Lozo's heart sank.
"You don't have to worry about the children. Most of them were not Harmatia so the fief family will not harm them. As such I need you to promise me something Lozo…" the old man began.
"I understand that there is a well of fury babbling inside of you right now. Your angry for what they did and wish to correct it with your own hands. The taste of revenge currently lingers in your tongue." He paused.
" Promise me that you'll forget it and move on. Find Hinari and live out the rest of your lives in peace, without causing any major trouble. Lozo…"
As Lozo listened he noticed the old man's tone differ from their previous talks. It sounded less of a talk and more of a goodbye.
"Lozo… When I created the orphanage, I chose to name it Dream well. The name carries the hope and wishes that I had wanted to guide and watch grow. One to be a place where the wounded and abandoned felt safe and could have the chance to have good dreams. And the other…"
"A place to nurture and give hope to those without and give them something to look forwards to. There is nothing more terrible than a lost man. And now I leave the rest to you. From now on… "the old man hesitated before continuing.
The white world they were in for some reason had felt alive to Lozo. It was as if it was listening in to the conversation and realized that time was up. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the canvas slowly became undone. Pieces flew and were replaced by a piece of the grey world.
Lozo hated goodbyes.
"From now on I'd want you keep the wish of the dream well alive. Give those without, a chance to have a good dream. And also… take care of Hinari."
His voice faded with the canvas. The white space was almost completely undone and in the grey world he could see some movement. Their motion was blurry, like dark silhouettes in white clothing. Only a small piece of the white space remained. As it unrooted from his view, he heard a voice echo along with it.
"It's time to let go. Wake up Lozo."
The old man's voice was gone and so was he. Lozo was now stranded in the grew world… the real world, alone and crying.
***
"How long has he been awake?" a voice asked. The question was punctuated by a series of fast footsteps that sounded in a hurry.
"A couple of hours, three maybe." Another said with a carefree demeanor.
"Has he said anything?" the previous voice asked as they took a corner into a hallway with a series of doors on each side.
"No, when he finally stopped crying, he just slept on the bed looking out the window."
"He had this dead look in his eyes, like he had lost something that he cared about… dearly."
"So, an emo kid?" the first voice asked.
"No. I'd say a wounded kid." The carefree one answered.
Their conversation halted for a minute as they stood at the front of a door to a room. The room was on the right side of the long hallway. There was a hint of concentrated alcohol and some medicine in the air. At the top of the door a label sat. On it read; Unknown 12.
They opened the door and the previously small and unnoticeable smell of alcohol grew and bombarded their noses. They entered.
The room had five beds separated by a wall of large bluish curtains. Of the five only one had an occupant.
They walked to the bed and there he sat, glaring through the window into the compound. His eyes dull and contoured with raccoon eyes. His dark brown hair swaying with small breeze that turned the window curtains.
"Hello…" the carefree man called, waving.
The boy didn't move.
"Um, hi there." He kept on his query.
"See, I this is what I meant."
In the room apart from the boy, there were three people. One was draped in a doctor's cape, white as can be. The other was a nurse who hugged her clipboard close to her chest. And the last one was a man, with a serious scar running down the left of his forehead.
The scarred man narrowed his eyes as he looked at the boy. The boy's face was dead cold. Emotionless. He then looked at the nurse and tilted his head, ushering her to wait outside. The nurse understood, though confused and took her leave.
As she walked out, the boy finally moved. His eyes followed her as she walked out of the room.
Then scarred head spoke.
"Now then, would you like to tell us who you are?"
The boy's eyes lingered on the scarred head eyes like some kind of staring contest. Neither wanted to lose.
Then the doctor spoke.
"Oh, I see. He doesn't trust us. He doesn't even know who we are." He said patting himself on the forehead.
"Sorry for our manners, my name is Pan-Dok but most people call me Dok coz it fits with the job. This here is—" Dok introduced himself but was interrupted when he tried to introduce the scarred.
The other man sighed, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Enough, Dok. I'm Mr. Kisharu, and I'm the one who brought you here." Mr Kisharu introduced himself.
"Now you know who we are, I need to know who you are?"
The boy moved his eyes from the doctor with ash tone hair to the suited Mr Kisharu. His lips were dry as hell but he still moved them and muttered.
"Where is she?" he asked then coughed. Dok noticed this and poured a glass of water and gave it to him. The boy gulped it down some spilling onto the white sheets he laid on.
The boy, quenched, finally asked.
"Where's is Hinari?"