Hey you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race.Â
A celebration. Mr. Blue Skyâs up there waiting.Â
His mother called him useless for putting his attention on the wrong things, said instead of a guitar, his hands would have been better used holding book and computers, test tubes or needles.Â
Fuck all of that, he always responded. If only his mother knew how easily panties dropped at a beautiful voice. How tempting a warm smile and a love song could be for a yearning heart.Â
Even now, within these walls and without his guitar, he could make tired soldiers turn around and listen. A few times he even managed to gather a small crowd, catching a few pairs of exhausted eyes along with whispered names that heâd later seek out during the colder nights. They were all just trying to survive and this was his way.Â
Today, however, Samran was only singing for one.
âHow about it, Dove?â He leaned back with a smug look that he wouldnât consider particularly attractive. âTen out of ten? Where is my round of applause?â He liked Jane ( @umbjane ). She was...how shall we put it...a good listener. No matter how ridiculous he got with his jokes and comments, she could never talk back or yell over him. At the most, sheâd glare with her pretty doe eyes, which he found to be cute and 100% non-threatening.Â
âFalling in love with me yet?â He rested his chin on his palm. âWant to hold my hand and roll on the grass together?â If so, Samran figured he could at least get to the second base before they got caught.Â
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you donât even look like youâre listening. Â you seem bored. i watch as the pen glides easily over the paper in the notepad that the person across from me is writing in, and the smile that hangs just faintly on my lips feels awkward. Â does it look awkward, too? probably. why do i have to do all this again? why do i have to tell someone all about me when they donât even look like they care? Â
even people that say they care, they donât. Â i feel like iâm screaming to the void. Â no wonder i feel so tired all the time.
â sure!â the response is a lot brighter than i feel.  cover up the horror with the bright of magic, the flutter of a fairyâs wing  -  thatâs what people are really looking for anyway.  the question is, should i start with the rising of a ghost from her grave? or would that be too much? â you know i have a big family, right? lots of siblings.â  and all of them donât listen to me, either.  they all have their own worries. Â
i tell myself that itâs okay.  â iâd like to think that weâre close.  some of them moved away far away from here before i could tell them bye though, but who can blame them, right?â i laugh a little, but i donât feel it.  â i guess maybe thereâs not a lot about me to tell.  maybe the most interesting thing about me really is all my older siblings.  i love them very much.â  looking at the staff member across from me, he doesnât look amused.  itâs like heâs telling me this isnât just about my family, itâs about me.  me  -  strange, lonely, wallflower me.
do i give him what he asks for? â you know, i told my older brother once that i felt wrong.  like i was one of those fairy children that you heard about in stories, changelings that were switched out for a real human baby.  i thought peter pan was going to come to my window before i got too old.  i always thought i wasnât right, so i guess thatâs why i always thought about leaving or being taken, too.â  biting my lip, i shift uncomfortably in my seat.  he still seems like heâs just taking notes, as if the things iâm saying will be burned in the incinerator after this.  maybe they will be.  everything is always covered up with dirt here.  â i guess thatâs when i realized that i could do things.â  things like scream loud enough to make buildings fall because youâre still alive  -  but she isnât.  everyone has to listen, then.  you donât feel like telling someone who doesnât listen all about that.  â ... and then i ended up here.â
Seo Jaein considered himself to be a man of his word. While he didnât make promises often, whenever he did, he always delivered. At least, that was his reputation thus far in life and something he was determined to maintain.
When it came to art, he had no natural born talent. Effort and attention to details, however, enabled him to produce some pieces that he was proud of. Or maybe he just really loved the girl who was always the subject of his work.
âAlmost done,â he said, waving his model to come over and have a peek. âOne more session should do. Do you like it?â It was a simple drawing of his little sister Jaehee on the chair, holding some fake flowers. His classmate - the one with an actual gift - could have finished the drawing in one session. Jaein, meanwhile, had divided it into four. Focusing on one section at a time, he had only Jaeheeâs face left before he could declare the drawing complete. This was one of her birthday presents - the only one she knew about. The others, he had already hidden all over her bedroom so she could discover them at her own pace.
âMy little sister is the cutest,â Jaein complimented. He would have said something more, except his younger brother was whining loudly of his hunger in the hallway. To be fair, he was hungry an hour ago and only stopped his grumbling when Jaein promised to make him a cheese toastie after he finished the art session.
âAlright, alright!â He sighed, scooping up the little brother on his way to the kitchen and gave him a few rocks back and forth to bring back that winning smile. âIâll fry you an egg too, how about that?â The parents said they were going to be extra late tonight, so he could afford to indulge the tiny glutton a bit more.
Jaein didnât like to be distracted during the cooking process, and all of his siblings knew this, so when one came and tugged on his sleeve, he was quite surprised.
âThere are some people at the door.â Jaeinâs older sister seemed concerned. âThey said they are looking for you. I think they are from...â She bit down on her lower lip and didnât finish the sentence.
âMe?â Jaein echoed, puzzled. He turned off the heat and went to the door, peering through the spyhole with apron still on and spatula in hand. The men and women outside were dressed neatly in rather familiar uniforms.
The Umbrella.
âMay we come in?â
The answer would have been ânoâ because his parents werenât home, but they didnât wait for Jaeinâs response. The door unlocked itself and the knob turned as if by an invisible hand. âSeo Jaein.â The lady standing at the front addressed him directly. âPlease come with us.â
Jaein fell silent. Believe it or not, he did know what was happening - twice now the Umbrella had taken kids from their street, leaving behind crying parents and terrified siblings. Sometimes the family would kick up a fuss, but the kid always left with Umbrella in the end. From the way the door unlocked on its own, Jaein could already tell his options were limited.
âMy parents are not home.â He tried anyway.
âThey are being informed, right now.â One of the men nodded. âLetâs go.â
He took a few steps back, and almost immediately felt a force pulling him towards the door, returning him to his original position. A hint of panic gathered in his chest then, but he managed to keep it contained.
âI will need to pack,â he said.
âEverything will be provided for you.â The woman who had spoken first smiled, but it was not a happy expression. Jaein had a feeling that she didnât want to be doing this, and that knowledge comforted him in a way. At least one of them was soft-hearted, and Jaein must use this to his advantage.
He took a deep breath to gather his courage.
âListen, I am not being difficult. I am not screaming or kicking.â Plenty of kids did that. âI am not going to try to run away either, alright?â He glanced back, where his siblings were watching them with large, fearful eyes. âI just need some time. Look at my room one last time, go say my goodbyes.â Sadness was heavy on his heart, and despite his best efforts, it was sinking into his voice. âI am never going to see my family again, so give me five minutes for goodnessâs sake!â
The lady nodded, and Jaein whipped right around before anyone could make her take her generosity back.
He went straight up the stairs without looking at anyone first, and allowed the familiar scent of his own room to calm him. He must not have a break down. Must not start crying. The less trauma he'd leave his siblings from this experience, the better. That was the one last thing he could do for them as their brother.
Opening the photo album on his book shelf, he quickly grabbed a few of his favourites and crammed them into the back of his jeans. From underneath his bed, he pulled out the shoe box holding his special sneakers. They were expensive, so he really treasured them, to the point of only wearing them out twice a month. Last year his older sister bought him a silver paper clip bracelet, and he found and put that on too. Finally, before leaving behind his space of comfort for the past fifteen years, he threw on the jacket dad bought him and wrapped momâs hand knitted scarf around his neck (even though it was still a bit warm for that).
When he came down, he was smiling, all traces of misery erased from his features. Everyone got their hugs, and one was reluctant to let go. Jaein glanced around the house with his face half buried in his little sisterâs hair and thought of all of the promises he was going to break. The egg that was still half cooked on the pan, the dishes that were meant to be his chore tonight, the dusty television stand and...the unfinished drawing.
I am sorry, Jaehee. He wanted to say when he finally set his little sister back down on the ground.
âWhy the long face?â Jaein ended up asking instead, pinching her round cheeks. âI am only going to the corner store to pick up some candies.â It was a stupid lie, and likely only worked because he had always been truthful with his family. âIâll be right back,â he said, as he walked out of the front door.
Donât look back.
Donât look back.
Twenty minutes into their silent drive, he finally pulled out the photos that he had allowed himself to take. The emotions that he had carefully tucked away swelled, spilled and trembled on his lashes.
âMemories can make it harder,â the woman said, petting his shoulder.
