Disclaimer: Except for the plot and stuff I own nothing, I do however own Minori (smirks).

SAKURA'S P.O.V

Chapter 2:

{5 Month's Later}

"Good morning Shizune-chan~" I bellowed as soon as I entered the hospital building.

Turning my way she smiled "Good morning to you too, Haruno-sama."

My grin drops and I scowled at her lightly "I've told you a billion times already not to call me that! Sakura is enough."

She laughed "Yes, well I'm sorry….Sakura-taichou." I frown noticing her small escape. "Your sneaky" I told her watching her giggle once more.

Turning away I walked to my office sighing as I hung my coat on the hook by my door and slipped on my white doctor's coat. Today I decided to wear my thick black stockings and a brown squared skirt, leather brown boots that reached tightly to my knees and a turtle neck black cotton shirt (it was winter after all) my hair was up in a neat ponytail. (Though you couldn't quite tell because my hair only reached to my ears)

Speaking of hair, did you know mine is pink? I am not joking….. It's PINK, like petal pink. To be truthful it sickens me and puzzles me all the same, always.

Well if you really pounder on it (which I have, almost all my life) it's sort of logical.

You see my mother's hair was (as I am told by my uncle and proved by with photos) white, naturally. And my father's hair is red, so I guess if you mix those colors up you get a type of pink.

Hmm, besides that nothing else is abnormal really. Unless you counted my eyes of course; they're a pale shade of green looking almost milky in a way (my vision is perfect however) many people like to compare me to a flower; with all the pink and green and stuff. Every time I mention my name and they have gotten a look of my face they always respond with 'ah it suites you' or 'it makes sense'. It annoys me really, big time.

Sitting down on my chair I let out a weary sigh and take a look around me. I haven't changed a thing in my office, I've left everything exactly the same since the day it became mine.

The only things would be the fact that the once empty bookcase was now filled with books (they were all mine, thank you very much) and my large glass desk was now covered with all my nick-knacks and belongings, the large windows now draped with thin almost see-through blue curtains that allowed me to see those outside but didn't allow the ones outside to see me.

The walls and ceiling stayed the same color (white, this is a hospital after all). I'd taken the liberty of hanging up two of my most favored paintings, which were placed on opposite side of the walls.

The one to my right was consisted of madly splattered colors, all molded into a crazed, enraged, sorrowful looking eye, with dots and squiggles instead of lashes.

The one to my left showed a calm, cleanly painted eye portraying a sense of boredom and coldness with a hint of sadisticness hidden within its deep depths, low straight lashes overshadowing part of the eye.

Not that I'm showing off, but they really are a work of art, if I say so myself. Especially since the creator was none other than yours truly, they came to be during two different stages of my life. One during childhood and the other during my pre-teen years. It somewhat represented my feelings during that time, though I could never quite catch it right.

Grabbing my secret sketch pad which I kept inside a small, flat box (since my desks made of glass, I don't want others seeing it) and got a pen from my breast pocket (I could draw with anything, really) and began to sketch.

First the curve of a chin, a pair of soft, well-sculpted lips, the tip of an elegant nose, twists and swirls that followed up; a mask. A masquerade mask with no real shape, looking like a mess of spins, like a cloud hovering and covering the rest of the face, one not even I knew what it may have looked like with sweet dark fringed curls that came tumbling down to a pair of slender shoulders.

I sighed and spin around in my chair, glance at the clock and smirk; I'd only taken about 10 seconds at most. This meant I was improving my speed, and then maybe just maybe I could enter the art completion this year.

It had always been my dream to go there, and actually participate. Art, drawing, painting, was my hidden passion; I always made sure to go to the festival (even when I had to work part-time or do something after school) every single time it was held, starting since the year my mother was no longer with me.

I feel my eyes burn and rub at them furious (I promised myself I would never cry again). Instead I stood up and stretched. Sighing, I was satisfied. Quickly I grabbed my sketch pad and put it away, then sticked the pen back in my pocket.

Staring out the window I notice today's quite windy. Suddenly I see a car, no, a limousine turn up on the entrance. (Who uses limo's now a' days? Must be some old fashioned weirdo, most likely a rich old fashioned weirdo.) Suddenly a tall man dressed in black steps out of the right passenger's seat and makes to open the door all the way in the back-

"Haruno-sama?"

Startled I turn and answer "Y-yes, Minori-san?"

"Your needed in the *minors room, section five, second floor, room# 61."

Getting serious, I nod "Thank you, Minori-san, I'll leave right away."

Her hazel eyes widen and she stutters "Ha-hai" with a huge blush spreading across her cheeks.

I brush it off and go to the requested room.

I really hope it isn't a lost cause I hate having that happen to children, but life's unfair that way. It doesn't spare anyone especially children; I'd learned that the hard way.

A/N: Hey! I'm sorry if this wasn't to your satisfaction~ I promise guys will start showing up in the next chapter! Please review ^. ^

*: this is made up, I don't even know if there's such a thing a 'section' and 'minors room' BUT I wanted to make it sound more professional and stuff, since I'm too lazy to actually go search info up or something, please bear with me people.