He took a step into the golden room. Only to find himself surrounded by exquisite art. He let go of his phone, and drafted himself across the room, endlessly staring at the silver clouds that were peaking through the crack in the wooden wall. It reminded him of his beloved daughter. He stood there for an extended time, just creatively thinking of how he could give back to his dead daughter. His phone rumbled on the old aluminum table. It made such an awful sound. He rapidly ran and answered his phone. An unknown phone number, an unknown voice.

“Hello?”

“Your daughter, she wants you to know, she loves you. Dream of her, think of her, but don’t for a second question yourself if she asked for anything more than your love. She's been watching you lately, and I know you may not understand, but don’t worry about the past, it’s the past for a reason. Did you, for even a split second, look around you? You think this room was just put here for no reason? No, look around you damnit! What do you see?”

“Who is thi-?”

“I am no one important, now shush and look around you, right now!”

The man was confused, and the least bit interested in the walls of art. But as demanded, he spun himself around the room, noticing familiar pieces of art. It’s been years since he has looked at such beautiful masterpieces, such as those.

“I, I don’t know what do to now, I looked around the room… How do you know where I am?”

“Don’t question me. Tell me, who’s the artist, who made those pieces?”

“I don’t know…”

“You do. You know him better than anyone in the whole world.”

The man seemed to have his eyes stuck on one, very, acquainted painting. He then noticed it had some kind of force on him, a very powerful force. The painting was of a girl, she was beautiful. 8 years of age. The texture was a cloud like glass, which made the picture look as though she was living in the sky. Her eyes were gold, almost as gold as the wallpaper of the room. Minutes later did he then notice a signature on the side of a painting.

“The name on that painting is the artist, read it” Said the unknown caller.

“It’s… me.”

“It is you. Do you know who the girl in the painting is?”

“That…. that’s my daughter.”

“Yes, everything in this room was created by you, John. And do you have any idea how long it has been since you touched a paintbrush? Way too long, and I want you to look at the rest of these paintings once I leave you to yourself. I want you to experience flash backs, I want you to think of your daughter, because she wants you to move on with your life. She desperately wants you to be happy, and not worry about her. She is safe and watching over you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, I just know. And she wants you to continue painting. Remember when you were in your workshop, painting away, and Elizabeth would sneak through the window. Always getting paint on her nose when she was ‘helping’. When she got a slither in her finger from the un-sanded table. When you finished a painting, she would tell you she was proud, and that she would buy your paintings when she saved up enough money. You need to keep these memories hidden somewhere safe, because you may have forgotten the most important thing in life, being happy.”

“I… I’m not too sure what to say. You are one hundred percent right, about everything. I cannot believe I forgot I painted these pictures. I can’t believe it. I just… there is loss of words to say right now. I can’t…”

“Don’t speak, Elizabeth understands. She knows the pain you feel. She feels it too. Just remember, keep painting, and keeping her in your thoughts. She loves you, never forget that.”

“I never did forget, I just- hello?”

The line went dead. After questioning all that he had, he got the answers he was looking for. Then did he realize he was laying in bed, staring out the window. He wasn’t sleeping, he knew that for sure. He didn’t know what had happened just that moment, but whatever it was; he knew now what he had to do. He got up, opened the chest at the bottom of his bed, and walked out of the room, with a paintbrush in hand.