#umbjane

[samranumb]

mister blue sky.

Hey you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race.  A celebration. Mr. Blue Sky’s up there waiting. 

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. 

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. 

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 he’d later seek out during the colder nights. They were all just trying to survive and this was his way. 

Today, however, Samran was only singing for one.

“How about it, Dove?” He leaned back with a smug look that he wouldn’t consider particularly attractive. “Ten out of ten? Where is my round of applause?” 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, she’d glare with her pretty doe eyes, which he found to be cute and 100% non-threatening. 

“Falling in love with me yet?” He rested his chin on his palm. “Want to hold my hand and roll on the grass together?” If so, Samran figured he could at least get to the second base before they got caught. 

[theumbrellacorp]

WELCOME TO THE UMBRELLA, JANE!

you don’t even look like you’re listening.  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.  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 don’t even look like they care?  

even people that say they care, they don’t.  i feel like i’m screaming to the void.  no wonder i feel so tired all the time.

“ sure!” the response is a lot brighter than i feel.  cover up the horror with the bright of magic, the flutter of a fairy’s wing  -  that’s 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? “ you know i have a big family, right? lots of siblings.”  and all of them don’t listen to me, either.  they all have their own worries.  

i tell myself that it’s okay.  “ i’d like to think that we’re close.  some of them moved away far away from here before i could tell them bye though, but who can blame them, right?” i laugh a little, but i don’t feel it.  “ i guess maybe there’s 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.”  looking at the staff member across from me, he doesn’t look amused.  it’s like he’s telling me this isn’t just about my family, it’s about me.  me  -  strange, lonely, wallflower me.

do i give him what he asks for? “ 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 wasn’t right, so i guess that’s why i always thought about leaving or being taken, too.”  biting my lip, i shift uncomfortably in my seat.  he still seems like he’s just taking notes, as if the things i’m saying will be burned in the incinerator after this.  maybe they will be.  everything is always covered up with dirt here.  “ i guess that’s when i realized that i could do things.”  things like scream loud enough to make buildings fall because you’re still alive  -  but she isn’t.  everyone has to listen, then.  you don’t feel like telling someone who doesn’t listen all about that.  “ ... and then i ended up here.”

[markumb]

promises.

Seo Jaein considered himself to be a man of his word. While he didn’t 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.

“Almost done,” he said, waving his model to come over and have a peek. “One more session should do. Do you like it?” 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 Jaehee’s 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.

“My little sister is the cutest,” 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.

“Alright, alright!” 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. “I’ll fry you an egg too, how about that?” The parents said they were going to be extra late tonight, so he could afford to indulge the tiny glutton a bit more.

Jaein didn’t 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.

“There are some people at the door.” Jaein’s older sister seemed concerned. “They said they are looking for you. I think they are from...” She bit down on her lower lip and didn’t finish the sentence.

“Me?” 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.

“May we come in?”

The answer would have been ‘no’ because his parents weren’t home, but they didn’t wait for Jaein’s response. The door unlocked itself and the knob turned as if by an invisible hand. “Seo Jaein.” The lady standing at the front addressed him directly. “Please come with us.”

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.

“My parents are not home.” He tried anyway.

“They are being informed, right now.” One of the men nodded. “Let’s go.”

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.

“I will need to pack,” he said.

“Everything will be provided for you.” The woman who had spoken first smiled, but it was not a happy expression. Jaein had a feeling that she didn’t 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.

“Listen, I am not being difficult. I am not screaming or kicking.” Plenty of kids did that. “I am not going to try to run away either, alright?” He glanced back, where his siblings were watching them with large, fearful eyes. “I just need some time. Look at my room one last time, go say my goodbyes.” Sadness was heavy on his heart, and despite his best efforts, it was sinking into his voice. “I am never going to see my family again, so give me five minutes for goodness’s sake!”

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 mom’s 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 sister’s 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.

“Why the long face?” Jaein ended up asking instead, pinching her round cheeks. “I am only going to the corner store to pick up some candies.” It was a stupid lie, and likely only worked because he had always been truthful with his family. “I’ll be right back,” he said, as he walked out of the front door.

Don’t look back.

Don’t 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.

“Memories can make it harder,” the woman said, petting his shoulder.

“That’s up to me to decide.”