Every time he made it on the list, the nice couple would come see him. A lady in chic clothing. A man whose watch glinted whenever his hand moved in gestures while he talked, like it was an addiction he couldn’t stop. They were nice people.

Sehun remembered the touch of the woman’s utterly soft hands. She smelled of powder and an underlying hint of blossoms. Walking around the vicinity with them he’d stare up into her defined face. A sharp jawline. Smooth, creamy skin the work of makeup foundation. On her cheeks blush a shade between orange and shimmer pink. Wavy mermaid hair hung all the way down her back resembling a stream of water with sunshine dancing atop its surface.

The man would say, “Honey, look.”

“Oh,” she gasped a squeal, “what a sweetheart.”

His hand brushed air when she let go and raced over to his pudgy competition his curled fist. Lifting the baby into her arms she rocked the baby against her s. Man and wife ogling over their new find.

“We’ve decided to change our minds,” the man would say to the administrator.

That was the fifth time he’d been rejected in place of a younger child.

“Don’t worry,” the administrator would comfortingly press a hand to his back. Slightly crouching to talk to him, “Your family will come soon.”

We don’t want him.

We don’t want him.

So sorry, we’ve changed our minds.

The older couple. An old man and his baby-faced wife. A business suited man and his friend. The lady in purple flats with diamond studs, arm linked around her young husband.

Sehun had grown on the Angel grounds since birth. A Catholic church converted into an orphanage during the Korean war. The crown ridged stone artifact serving to shelter homeless children, lost children, and orphans. Little ones whose parents were missing in action, had died, or just abandoned them.

Sehun aimed for missing parents but he never knew. No one knew about his parents.

Growing up a stubborn child he had developed a lack of social skills and a dangerous temper throwing plates. More than once dragged into the red room for isolation for being out of control. During a meeting with potential parents he’d flung a spoon into another child’s face out of spite.

Unpredictable, he’d been nicknamed “Red eye” for his menacing gaze. The name stuck the stretching years and soon became a menacing mantra. All the children avoided him. Whenever he approached to play the scream of “The Red eye is here!” everyone would scramble away. Any mention of red and that was him.

At the Angel grounds he didn’t have friends. No one wanted to be near him. They’d say, “He might stab a fork into your eye!”

Growing up into a skinny awkward boy Sehun had long arms, a height that made others look twice then away. His hair was unkempt only ever combed with his fingers due to the fact that, more often than not, his black Ace combs always went missing from his rooms. The orphanage essentials handed out by the administrating ladies in charge came from donation drives. Whatever he received was his belonging to keep…until it went missing.

In the mornings he’d catch the other boys chuckling in groups. Groomed, dressed in their best for visiting potentials. No guest mom and dad looked at him, the scruffy boy in weary sweats and a grass streaked t-shirt reading “I zu not!”

One by one the Angel kids left. Picked up, driven away. Their chores left for him to take over. Sehun often swept, wiped the dinner table clean, and helped set the table. New arrivals were either dropped off; crying babies, younger children walked in bearing wide, frightened eyes, their hands held by an administrator who would say, “It’s ok. Don’t be afraid. Think of this as your home. We will all love you here.”

The unfortunate was left on the building’s uneven doorstep with not a letter attached. If lucky, they’d have a blanket for security.

It was a month before he turned 18, he’d been notified by the head administrator if no one came for him, he would have to leave. He had reached the max age. At 18 years old he would no longer be qualified a minor and require no more assistance. Sehun would have to step out into the world on his own. Carrying on his back no experience of the real world. No guidance offered.

That was as good as telling him to walk off a cliff into a drop-off.

The head administrator was gentle with the news, but Sehun really heard, “Goodbye. You were never needed.”

He was fraught with indescribable fear every night. How to survive by himself. Everyone he ever knew was here at Angel. They did not feel like his family but they were also his family. His entire life spent here was a mix of complications, but that was all he’d ever lived with. The anxiety made his heart jump from one spot to another inside his chest.

Those days he never really slept. Tossing, turning watching the wiry branches outside his window sway back and forth taunting him.

Then one day when he was wiping dust off the church mantel, they came. A woman with ultra-permed hair curling around her head. Next to her a bigger boy in heavy jeans and jacket slung over a thin white wifebeater shirt. One glance and Sehun could tell they were not from the city. He could smell dust and dirt on them. A foreign scent that lingered around farm animals.

Hunched awkwardly, the woman scurried toward the nearest administrator she could find. “Hello,” her lips curled around gold and yellow teeth, “I called earlier.”

“I’m so glad you made it,” the administrator welcomed in her stiff blue uniform. “He’s right over there. Let me call him for you.” Twisting back, she waved an arm for him to join them, “Sehun, come here.”

When he reached her side, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Introducing, “This is Oh Sehun. He is seventeen years old. Thank you so much for responding to our ad.”

“Yes, yes,” the permed hair lady kept her uncomfortable smile plastered on while the meaty tan boy next to her gruffly roved eyes over him. No word exchanged between them.

“Would you like to sit and chat?” the administrator offered.

That sealed his fate. The next day he packed up what little of his belongings into a cardboard box, courteous of the orphanage, and walked out of Angel for good. The white pickup truck that drove him away was old and smelly. Rust wormed around the ceiling and whatever of the frame of the window. The black leather seats flat as his orphanage pillow, the stuffing inside struggling free in white fluffs.

Sehun’s hurt the entire way to the farmhouse. The city highway thinned into pictures of golden fields surrounding him on both sides. Wheat and corn mixed with wild green stalks. The green woods thickened and all he saw were gaping holes of blackness in between each growth. The cool city air transitioned humidly, slamming his nostrils with cow dung. Sehun pinched his nose.

“Smell good, ya bro?” the brother that he’d met yesterday called out. Ko Songman. Seventeen like him.

Ko Ahjin, his new mom who he couldn’t call mom, her hand out. Smacking her son’s fleshy arm, “Get my smoke out, Manny, and shut up back there. I have a headache.”

Pulling a dry looking black purse onto his lap from the floor, Songman dug around for a white roll. Leaning over his mother opened for the cigarette. The smell of tobacco infiltrated the vehicle after Songman flicked the lighter off.

“Can I have one, mommy?” he eagerly begged like a puppy.

“Whatever.” Ahjin muttered. Glancing into the rearview mirror, she asked, “Ya want one?”

“N…no…” Sehun stammered. He’d been taught smoking killed the lungs turning it black and blue. Growing intimidated he drew his shoulders up.

“Wimp.” He heard Songman laugh underneath his breath.

“That’s how ya learn to be a man, Yihan.” Ahjin puffed out a stream of white smoke.

“It’s Sehun,” he merely squeaked.

“Ah…whatever,” Ahjin murmured.

“Yea, we don’t want no at the house, right mommy?” Songman mocked laughing. Leaning out the window he, too, blew out white smoke. A rush of wind hurled the smoke right into Sehun’s eyes. He nearly teared up from the sting.

Ahjin chuckled but offered nothing in Sehun’s defense. The smooth laden highway became rough and bumpy throwing Sehun dangerously across the seat. Clinging onto the upper door handle for security he hung on for life.

Ahjin quickly rolled up the windows cursing. “Son of a .”

Dirt flew up. Tiny rocks ping-ponging against the vehicle’s outer shell. Dry grass surrounded him on all sides stretching miles beyond. Sehun spotted no houses. Just plain nature. Sunlight beating earth ruthlessly.

Knee-length grass shot up and disappeared. The boisterous road calmed, shaking the car just barely. Sehun slammed into the door knocking his forehead into the window. Then the car came to a stop. Yelping, Songman pushed the door open and jumped out with a yeehaw. By the time Sehun climbed out Songman was crushing his cigarette underneath his boots.

Sehun landed on a dirt road snaking up toward a blue house where a crooked wraparound porch looked to be falling apart. Of the three windows two revealed the grim sight of mangled blinds. The third one had nothing at all. He saw a tower of stacked boxes leaning over dangerously. It was obvious the inside porch was reserved for storage one would have to spend a year shuffling through.

The storm door slammed catching Sehun’s attention. A skinny man, rasped, “Well, where is he?!”

Walking around the car the man strut toward him. He was even skinnier up close, but Sehun could see the bulge of his biceps underneath his red plaid overshirt. Beneath it was a t-shirt; the logo printed on it unreadable from so many wears and wash, the green fading with time.

Spitting on the ground the man put his hands-on hips, “Well!” his head bobbed as he checked him out from head to toe. “He’s skinny but he’ll do.” Smirking almost devilishly, the almost gray-haired man said, “You’ll muscle up once we put you to work.”

“I’m dying from the heat!” Ahjin’s voice floated from the porch steps. “Did you cook like I told you to?!”

Ko Jin’s beady black eyes landed on him as he turned to go. “Yea…yea. I’m coming.”

Welcome home Sehun pretended to say.

Retrieving his box of belongings from the back of the truck, Sehun headed inside. Eyeing the next door shed. A humongous dark red building with white frames. The paint was peeling off. It smelled of wild rodents and their droppings. Artworks of spiderwebs glistened around the corners of the shed. The artists nowhere to be seen, but trapped on the webs Sehun spotted specks of black and green. Two big doors splayed open letting him see stacks of grassy hay and the giant wheels of a cultivator inside.

The kitchen opened up when he entered through the storm door. Amongst the scent of fresh vegetable soup was an underlay of strong musk. Ahjin was scooping soup into a bowl. Songman nowhere to be spotted. At the tiny round table Ko Jin was slumped in a chair fanning himself with a rolled-up newspaper. Beneath his feet the yellow linoleum had molded. In the corner an entire tile was missing.

“What’re you looking at?” Ko Jin snapped.

Sehun’s focus leapt from the floor to the man’s deepened frown. Wasn’t he hot in his outfit? Why didn’t he remove his plaid overshirt since he was wearing a t-shirt underneath anyway? Sehun didn’t ask.

“Hey.” A hand smacked the kitchen threshold. It was Songman. “Come. I’ll show you your bedroom.”

Awkwardly stepping forward, Sehun quietly breathed relief when he left the kitchen. The intensity of Ko Jin’s stare made him anxious like a grasshopper trapped inside a jar. Hopping, hopping, hopping searching for escape.

He wound past a living room where dust seemed to be swirling down from the open window. A mixture of sunlight landing on a knit carpet at the foot of a greasy looking gray couch. In the corner on a small table a shaded lamp was switched off. A boxed television set played some show on mute.

Into an intersecting hallway Songman opened up a door plastered with a poster of a half lady posing with her red lips parted. Sehun’s face turned red.

Slapping his hand against the doorway, Songman explained, “Belongs to Shintae. Just call him Shin because he thinks the name is weird and our parents at naming us or he’ll punch you in the groin. I mean it.” Stepping into the room, Songman jutted a thumb backwards, “Don’t take the poster off or Shin will make you pee your pants.”

“Who’s Shin?” Sehun followed him in nervously.

“My big brother,” Songman replied. Turning around he grinned proudly and for the first-time beamed joy. “He just got a job in the city, so the room is yours.” Slapping his back hard, Songman said, “Settle in and come out for breakfast. Just don’t touch anything or move it out of place. Remember, the room’s only yours,” Songman turned around in the doorway, “for now.”

Sehun darted his eyes away listening as Songman exited. Despite the musty house, the bedroom had been cleaned and smelled more of chemical cleaner. Thank the lord. There was a tiny sliding closet and an empty desk beside the wall. Other than that, he had a queen-sized bed! Blue blankets! An entire room! His own privacy! For the first time!

Sehun laughed. This was really a dream come true. At last! It’s what he always deserved!

At the kitchen table, Sehun calmed. Silently eating his meal listening to Ahjin complain about some woman. Skinny , she can go herself. The entire time his cheeks rose with heat. Noticing, Songman heaved laughter accidentally spitting his food across the table. Ko Jin snapped at him, irritably huffing.

“What a ing slow eater.” Ko Jin remarked sliding his chair back, bringing his empty plate to the sink. “I’ll be outside.”

The storm door slapped shut behind him.

“He’s talking to you,” Ahjin said smacking her lips as she tore apart her boiled chicken. Picking at the head of the tiny chicken and plucking its meat into her glossy mouth. Sehun struggled not to gag when he spotted the tongue sticking out of the pale beak.

“I’m done.” Picking up his dish, Sehun tossed it into his sink and rushed out the door where his knees threatened to buckle.

“Get your over here!” Ko Jin yelled.

Gathering himself, Sehun found him a way down. Inside what looked like a manmade shelter, four pigs were noisily slurping a mix of barley and vegetables.

“Here,” Ko Jin held out a bowl and instructed him to just throw in their feed. “You’ll be doing this from now on. I’ll show you were the chickens are. Now at dawn and before you go to bed, you’ll be going around the chicken house; be picking up the dead ones. You understand?” He didn’t wait for Sehun to acknowledge him before continuing, “The cows are a field away. I’ll show you them tomorrow, but you start doing the chickens today. The company don’t give no about us, but we gotta be making money to put dinner on the table for yer, right?”

The first day was the easiest. It was Songman who demonstrated disposing the dead chickens to him. He did it barehanded. Cackling when he tossed the dead animal into the air. Sehun’s eyes widened when the chicken landed smack into the grass, its white feathers flurrying into the wind as the neck twisted. Literally twisted.

“Just kidding, don’t do that,” Songman hit his back and continued to roar with laughter.

That night, Sehun had his first nightmare of chickens chasing him.

He was woken up at dawn the first week. Ko Jin would beat on his door until he rose. Put him to looking for dead chickens outside. Inside the pen so cluttered that with every step he crushed the life out of an innocent bird. He puked inside the first morning. The smell of chicken so overwhelming he could not breathe. Their feathers fluttered around him, landing on his clothes, landing in his hair, going into his mouth. He coughed. He gagged.

Clucking. Clucking. Clucking.

Sehun could never get their cries out of his head. It was haunting.

Every time Ko Jin slammed the door locking him in with the chickens, Sehun thought this was it. This was the real red room.

Young chicks lay dead in the corner. Sometimes on top of each other he’d have to pick them apart. Other times parts of their bodies were missing. Whenever he searched for the culprit beady black eyes and sharp beaks challenged him. Cluck. Cluck. Cluck.

Sehun persevered until he started waking up at dawn by himself. Picking up dead chicken. Feeding the pigs. Gathering hay with a heavy pitchfork. Going out to oversee the cows. Ensure each one was accounted for. Return to the farm, repeat his chicken and pig schedule.

One day Ko Jin handed him an ice cool glass of water, which he chugged gratefully. Patting him on the back, not with the strength of an ox, but so warmly Sehun’s insides melted. The smile apparent on his face, none Sehun ever received before, he was enamored.

Was this how it was to have a father?

Sehun experienced the flutters of real happiness that afternoon.

“Been real hard, huh?” Ko Jin asked. “You bravin’ it up, boy. That’s what a real man does. He pushes through on his own strength.”

Sehun smiled. Gratified.

That was all he ever needed.

That was all he lived for.

Someone to give him a bit of kindness. Here it was, encouraging words from a man he’d been afraid of.

Then the moment was ruined when a violent growl came up the driveway, spinning up dirt in its wake. A sports car, its top rolled down, came to a halt by the apple tree in the yard. Songman jumped out of the car. It was a two-seater. Leather. Hot red. The paint shiny brilliantly under the yellow sun.

“That was a hot ride!” Songman shrieked. The long car door opened behind him.

The most beautiful woman Sehun had ever laid eyes on stepped out. Her flip-flops landing on the dirt yard. Tan skin ran way up her long, elongated legs disappearing into ripped shorts that rode so high Sehun gulped. Her s bulged offering him a generous view of her deep cleavage. The big, round mounds disappeared into a crop top. The hem of her baby pink top ending just above the tiny curves of her waist where his arms might curl around.

She was perfect.

He’d never seen anyone like her before.

Sehun’s cheeks went the same shade of her shirt.

That was the first time he met Han Soneul.

***we have it: he was adopted into slavery. So, anyone remember the name Soneul?