What time is it?

Technically, it’s six minutes to ten on a Saturday morning.

Technically, it’s confession time for the umpteenth time.

I learned in my freshman psychology course that for children, having at least one person in their life that cares about them, that supports them, that loves them unconditionally, and is, overall, a good influence on them, increases their chances of becoming well-developed, morally sane adults.

A person can learn a lot of things at university but does that mean it all transfers over to the real world? I’d like to think that one, that piece of information I mentioned just before, does. Because I’d like to think that with the right amount of support and love, anybody can become as just as Mother Theresa or as upright as Jeanne D’arc.

Now, I never mentioned wanting to be said person who does the supporting.

Remember, I’m a piggy bank. I only live to take. Take up space. Take up time. Take up energy.

Taking up two spirit children who randomly appeared in my grandfather’s shrine the moment I opened the door?

It’s in my nature to reject any opportunity that puts me in the position of the “giver.” The “supporter” who is supposed to become some kind of “memorable” influence. So many quotations, so many bunny ears, because really and truly, it’s not like me.

It’s not like me to look at such a situation with such an open mind.

Was I trying to prove a point? Was I attempting to create a new positive image for myself? What was my motivation and why can I not remember it anymore? Why did it not seem to matter when I saw that little girl with long black hair and the little boy with the bowl cut by her side, big twinkling eyes staring up at me from beneath thick, trimmed bangs?

“Let me get this straight,” I cleared my throat, “a young woman named Sulli told you two I could help you find your place amongst the living before she passed on?”

“Yep.” The girl nodded, gripping tightly onto the boy’s hand, her younger brother gripping back with just as much fervor. She stared up at me, expectantly. And yet, somehow, I could tell. I could tell that she was scared.

That she was willing to take from me all that she could before running off should I not come through with what “Sulli” promised I could do. Because, she knows better than to expect anything of me unconditionally. Because, she has someone to protect. Because, she’s not the giving type either.

“So,” the devil’s voice rasped from behind me, his words scratching at the confines that was his voice box, coming out in a deeper tone than usual. Or, maybe that’s just how he sounded to me. To me, when I was taking him seriously. To me, as he asked that same question he did regarding the nameless – now named – woman, Sulli. “What are you going to do?”

And again, I didn’t provide him with an immediate answer. I stood there, dumbfounded by the whole situation. The questions I asked the first time, when Sulli first approached me, popping up like daffodils in the cracks of the sidewalk. Just pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

“You’re going to accept, aren’t you?” Bang Yongguk guessed, making my already decided decision for me.

Within two seconds, the word, “Okay,” came out of my mouth.

Within two weeks, the words, “No way,” came out of my mouth for a grand total of, at minimum, one hundred times.

I’m not Mary Poppins. I’m not a wise old woman who lives in a boot. I officially turn twenty in two months and even then, I can’t even drink legally yet. What the hell do I know about taking care of kids ranging from ages six to ten? Nothing. Squat. Zip. Zilch. Zero knowledge whatsoever.

Sure, I manage to keep my demon and Gumiho under an ever observant, quick to reprimand eye. But, really? Truthfully? I barely even manage that at all. Besides that, Himchan adores me to the ends of the earth – for reasons I still don’t know and won’t even begin to question – and Yongguk always listens to me in a complicated, overall roundabout way due to some sort of unsaid obligation.

Or maybe he’s just scared of my grandfather’s lightning fingers. Or, maybe, at the end of the day, I just don’t care. Maybe I could care more. Much, much more. Because, as long as they listen, as long as they’ve finally stopped talking about the philosophical meaning behind the placement of my underwear drawer, I can call my ambiguous job a success. 

“Miss Sora.”

I hear Jongup call my name again from the main room of the shrine, where the prayers take place. And here I thought I could finally rest my head on my grandfather’s futon for a bit. Just a little nap. That’s all I ask. That’s all I want. Do you ever feel like crying when you can’t even get the tiniest of things out of life?

Like, the last piece of chocolate that Daehyun stuffed down his throat. Like, watching cartoons in the morning instead of the news channel that Youngjae likes so much. Like, not having to wake up in the middle of the night to get out of bed and walk one foot towards my window because Yongguk can’t reach the milk in the back of the fridge. Like, a nap. Just a nap.

Not even that.

I just want to close my eyes. To let each eyelid fall against the other, joining its partner who it must regrettably part with every morning. I just want to close my eyes.

I just felt my eyelids being opened forcefully by a small, squishy hand whose owner’s breath vaguely smelled like cotton candy. Doe like eyes, the kind of look a deer gives you that annoys you to no end whenever your flash your headlights in its direction, were what I found looking at me.

“Are you sleeping?” The owner of those eyes asked me.

I don't know, does it seem like I am?

"What do you think?" I said back, my voice coming out slurred to the point where it could be characterized as "lazy."

The tiny girl who stood behind her brother, the innocent deer of the spirit world who was quite unconcerned with the term “personal space,” or perhaps even ignorant of it, spoke up indignantly, “If you sleep in all day, you’ll become a hermit.”

And for some reason, that sounds a lot more awful when she says it. For some reason, it irks me to no end to be scolded by someone visibly at least ten years younger than me. Because in all actuality, she’s old enough to be my mother at the age of fifty-two – older than my mother, in fact. And her brother is at the prime age of fifty. Hard to believe but well, I’ve had less and less difficulty believing in these kinds of things lately.

“Get up.” The little boy pushed my shoulder with his hand in a rough manner, mentally still that six-year-old kid who doesn’t know how to be gentle.

“No way.” I muttered, digging my head further into the pillow underneath me, dragging the sheets up to my head, becoming, embodying, the “hermit.” Because I rather be a hermit than deal with the antics they’ve been up to these past two weeks. The two child spirits are fire-starters with clumsy, liquid spilling tendencies and the probability to create more work to be done than that they do. Though, perhaps that’s my fault for taking them up on their offer to keep the shrine clean.

Trust me, I’ve tried finding them their “place” amongst the living like they want but, it’s much harder than it seems. First of all, they won’t tell me how they died; which makes figuring out what they’re best at kind of hard. Secondly, thirdly, fourthly, fifthly, and all the way up to infinitely, I don’t even know how to begin to help them.

I’ve taken them to coffee shops. To bookstores. To shopping malls. To public places of transit. To parks. I almost splurged on the cliché amusement park before the tiny boy emphasized to me how much he hated them. You can’t exactly find your place in a setting you hate, now can you? Which makes them picky.

Which makes this entire ordeal infinitely more annoying.

I didn’t ask for this.

Sulli, I hope you’re having a great time laughing at me from wherever you are right now.

Heck, even I can manage a crack or two at the end of the day as I hose down another mysteriously started fire or clean up another unidentifiable liquid – my bet is on orange juice but Zelo is betting against me with peach juice. If he wins, well, he wins. He’ll have bragging rights for being able to identify the unidentifiable liquid till the end of time.

Till the day I die, I can be sure I’ll hear it at least once a week. Thank goodness he’s not as persistence with his blackmail as the others are; the two spirit siblings have started calling me “Captain Soreye” and for all intensive purposes, whether or not my black eye faded over a week ago doesn’t matter.

“Miss Sora.”

I heard Jongup call for me again, his footsteps nearing me. I couldn’t see him but when I no longer heard his feet dragging across the wooden floor, I knew he was at the doorway of the room.

“Ah,” he paused momentarily, and I could just imagine the goofy, polite in all terms of the word, grin he had on his face, “I see they’ve already come to wake you up.”

“What is it?” I grumbled, still hiding beneath the covers.

“Ms. Kim asked me to go grocery shopping today. She hasn’t had time to and the fridge appears to be barren as of late. I am aware that you wished to rest this afternoon so if you have time today than I would be more than willing to wait until later so as not to inconvenience you.”

And here I thought he was almost cured of his over-the-top way of speaking.

“I’ll go with you now.”

I wonder if it’s becoming a reflexive response to agree to whatever he says. I was too busy thinking about how adorable he must have looked as he rambled on to even process what he was saying completely. I mean, he must have looked like a puppy whose dreams have just been crushed right before his eyes. A sad, cute little thing. Am I being sadistic again?

At that point in time, I thought I should really get up now; my thoughts were taking quite the scary turn. So, I did. My hand landed into a pile of tangerine peelings that I had tossed to the side earlier when Himchan and I had an early morning snack. What? If it’s not obvious already, Himchan’s rather pleasant when he’s not being apathetically needy in front of the others. It’s kind of endearing, really. Just a little bit. Just enough to make him my third favorite.

The two spirit siblings promptly ran after Jongup who called to them, something about buying them ice cream – though I have no idea who’s going to be paying for that – if they left “Captain Soreye” alone to gather her bearings.

And it wasn’t until I sat up completely that I realized how awful I felt. Really, truly awful. The kind of awful that makes you curse the universe and ask for death yourself. I had noticed a bug going around lately. And I sneezed a few times this morning. I swear, if this turns into a full-blown cold, I’m going to be directing all my germs towards my six trusty afterlife pals.

I’d like to test the theory of whether or not a spirit or demon can catch the common cold.

I steadied myself, one palm on my temple, as I stood up slowly, only to go flinching to the right and cringing from the waves of pain being surprised brought me.

“I told you not to accept their request.” Youngjae reminded me from where he sat not even five feet away from me, apparently there the entire time. That’s right. Youngjae warned me against it. Exactly three seconds after I said “Okay” he said, “You shouldn’t accept it.” Really, you were a bit late to the party on that one, weren’t you, Youngjae? Trying looking up from your various reading materials long enough to realize that the world is passing before your very being right in front of you.

Would it kill you to sound like you care? Just a little bit? Maybe recite a Shakespeare line or two? Because for some reason, I feel like I could strangle you right now.

“Who asked you?” I questioned him, raising an eyebrow but not even sparing the energy to look his way – lest I spur on the energy to do more than just that.

“No one.” I saw him shrug from the corner of my eyes as I slipped my thick wool socks back on – balancing on one foot like a pro all the while – because it’s ing freezing outside, after all, “I just like saying I told you so.” And he looked up from the latest edition of “GQ” magazine, literature of the fashion and gossip variety interesting him lately, “I. Told. You. So.”

That’s it.

I’m done.

“You’re demoted.” I declared, having no shame. But, have I ever had any?

“To what?” He questioned, genuinely curious.

“To my second favorite.”

And for some reason, he smiled as though it were the most hilarious thing in the world, before turning his attention back to the latest trends of the season, “I’m sure the standings won’t stay that way for long.”

The short pit stop to the super market on the way home turned into a full blown field trip what with the two siblings following along. Not that I minded but, seriously, I minded. My head feels like it’s going to explode and all I can hear is their continued bickering over some kind of nonsense that I can’t even being to explain so here it is for you, in it’s abbreviated, watered down format:

“I like Jongup.” The little girl grabbed onto Jongup’s hand.

“Why?” The little boy asked.

“Because he’s like a prince.” The little, delusional, girl answered – though, sometimes, I would like to think like this too.

“Well,” the little boy looked around, weighing his options between the conniving Mr. Demon, the judgmental Xiezhi, the indifferent Tokebi, the intimidating Dokkaebi, and the goofy looking Gumiho. He chose the latter, two weeks seemingly not enough to tell him he should always pick the Xiezhi if left with such a choice, so as to avoid any and all awkwardness, “I like Himchan!”

“Okay.” The girl shrugged, oblivious to her brother’s jealous plight.

And you know what? Being ignored isn’t the best feeling in the world.

Which was how that boy with the headphones around his neck felt as I saw him there, standing at the bus stop mere feet in front of us. His eyes trained on me to the point where I was left in a trance, asking what was reality and what was fantasy. And, well, whatever reality was, I certainly didn’t want it to involve the windows of the stores nearest us to self combust and explode, sending a spray of shrapnel everywhere.

And I heard that deep voice of his yell for me before my eyes were blinded with the thick color of black.