Want What You Can’t Have

Don’t learn to do, but learn in doing.

- Samuel Butler

Chapter One:

Bad Dreams and Bad Realities

Sango’s eyes snapped open as she flung her body out of bed. She was screaming hysterically, and her heart was pounding as her sleep-induced eyes scanned her bed and neighboring walls. Her hands gripped violently onto her pajama pants.

This all took place within mere seconds.

Sango had unknowingly startled her roommate awake, and with a mass of flaming red curls piled on top of her head she busted through Sango’s bedroom door. “WHAT’S GOING ON?!?!?!” she bellowed, her words were shaky and over-the-top. Her hazel eyes were wide with fright as she wielded a Golf club high above her head.

Sango blinked, she took a deep breath in and released her pants. “Sabu? . . .Nothing,” she tittered. The muscles in her back relaxed, she was fully awake now, and utterly embarrassed. “I had a nightmare,” she continued, wearily looking around her room.

Sabu sighed, “Was it the spider dream again?” It seemed she was awake now as well. She lowered her Golf club, suddenly feeling foolish in her baby blue camisole and matching panties.

“Yeah. The one where they’re hanging from the ceiling. Like a billion of them.” Sango started to beat her mattress with a pillow—for fear of any spiders following her out of the dream.

“Stop that!” Her roommate frowned, “There’s nothing there!” She walked over and snatched the pillow away from Sango’s fingers. “I’m going to make some coffee. Want some?”

Sango’s face lit-up, “Oh! Yes please!” She smiled her charming, cat-like smile that Sabu couldn’t stand, and looked over at the clock on her dresser.

5:00 am. Well, at least it wasn’t three.

Sango’s Grandmother had always said that 3:00 am was the “Witching Hour”. She never understood it completely; she had always thought midnight to be the so-called witching hour, but nevertheless she always felt uneasy when she was awake at that time.

Sango slid the glass door to their apartment’s tiny porch open, she stepped outside, and carefully slid the door close behind her—for fear of any insects getting in. She nestled herself into a straw chair and sat with her legs up, knees against her chest. She cradled her hot, cow-patterned coffee mug in her palms, and took tiny, careful sips from it.

“Hahhh~” she exhaled, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the smell of coffee mixed with the scent of brisk morning air. The sound of birds chirping and the city waking up was her favorite soundtrack. She tilted her head back and took long deep breaths in and out—and the smell of morning. . . well nothing beats it.

She took another sip of coffee, which was almost white from the amount of cream she poured into it. In a few hours from now she’ll hop on her moped and head off to work. In a few hours from then, she’ll hop back onto her moped and head home. But for now, she’ll relax and enjoy the evergreen cityscape. The distant skyscrapers covered with crawling vines, moss, and various other foliage appeared so delicate yet impressive. And by the gray ocean; the tiny houses nestled between hills on the outskirts of the city looked so charming and quaint. Sango enjoyed how nature co-existed with concrete and steel, it felt magical.

“There you are Ogonoski!” Mr. Tanihara smiled cheerily, his nose was pink from the cold air. He moved aside to let Sango into the office. It was a modest office building, and at first glance you’d never figure that this place was the central-intelligence for a highly successful business.

Sango worked for Fast-to-Ya, a quick service delivery team. The brain-child of Mr. Tanihara; it had a fairly simple concept: run deliveries and errands, shop and complete easy chores for people pressed for time. As ridiculous as it had first appeared to Sango—the business had grown and done extremely well. Their motto: No job is too small! :)

At a reasonable price, which was kept on a strict tab, Fast-to-Ya’s delivery men would buy groceries for customers and deliver them; drop a dog off at the groomers, or even drop their kid off at school. The calls were endless and ever-changing, which kept Sango interested and hooked. Aside from some of the dispatchers, Sango was one of the few females working there.

“Good morning Sir. Any runs?” She pulled off her helmet and readjusted her tiny ponytail, gloves and scarf.

Mr. Tanihara beamed, “There are always runs my dear.” He handed her a lime green post-it, “First stop. A young miss at the Wharf needs a crate of crabs delivered ASAP.”

Sango read the post-it and grimaced. Crabs. Crabs looked like spiders. “Alrighty then.” she said, and as she turned to leave she bumped into a coworker, ultimately causing her to drop her post-it, “Sorry ‘bout that!” she said, flustering.

“That’s alright.” Her coworker knelt down and grabbed the tiny wayward paper. “Here,” he handed it to Sango with a cheeky smile. Sango pursed her lips as she noticed who it was. Jonfan. She noticed he had cut his hair, which was a good thing because it was a border-line curly mullet, but now—now it was short and wavy, with these little tuffs of gray-brown hair that brushed oh-so-delicately across his emerald eyes, and how it cupped his soft pink cheeks. . .

Sango shook her head, “Thank you.” She cleared her throat, “I see you got a haircut.”

Jonfan smiled, he pulled at a strand self-consciously, “You like it? I’m not really use to it.”

“Yeah. I like it.”

And the two stared and stared and stared at each other.

Mr. Tanihara huffed, “Alright you two, enough. . . of that.” He clapped his hands together, “Let’s get to work!”

Sango was nearly done with her errands for the day. She stopped by her favorite delicatessen for a quick pick-me-up, before clocking in. She pushed through the shop door and was greeted by the usual bell chimes and Sebastian; the tall, flaxen haired shopkeeper.

He looked up from the magazine he was reading, “Oh! Hey there Sango!”

She sat at the counter, “Hey Sebastian. Just the usual.”

“Thinly sliced turkey and cheese—provolone, mayonnaise, lettuce, pickles, and olives on pumpernickel.” He winked at her and got to work. “So how’s it going?” He asked, washing his hands and getting started on her sandwich.

“Pretty good. Did you know that Jonfan got a haircut?”

“No kidding?! Good. He really needed one. Maybe he got tired of everyone telling him to cut it.”

“Maybe.”

Sebastian looked over his shoulder.

Sango blinked, “What?”

“Nothing.” He busied himself with turkey shaving.

“No, what is it?”

“It’s just, you’ve never talked about Jonfan before. I thought you didn’t like him.”

“What? No, I like him. He’s nice.”

“Ah huh.” He carefully folded the meat onto the mayonnaise covered bread, layer after layer, placing a slice of cheese here and there.

He smiled, and layered, and smiled.

Sango blushed, “Stop it.”

“Stop making your sandwich?” He grinned.

“No. Stop being weird.”

He started chuckling.

BEEP~!

The two jumped at the sudden sound coming from Sango’s walkie-talkie.

BEEP~! [Ogonoski? Where are you?] It was Mr. Tanihara.

BEEP~! [Not more than 20 minutes from HQ. Why?]

BEEP~! [Why did you turn off your GPS?]

Sango grimaced and looked over at Sebastian; he shrugged and wrapped up her sandwich.

BEEP~! [My mistake.]

BEEP~! [. . .Well anyway. You’ve got one last delivery. You need to pick up some aspirin and paint.]

Sango’s fingertips went numb, and the blood drained from her face. Paint. It took her a moment to respond.

BEEP~! [Ogonoski?]

BEEP~! [Where’s the delivery to?]

Sango waited a good five minutes outside the art supply store. Which in Fast-to-Ya time was thirty.

She just stood there, staring, feeling awful and annoyed. She sat down on her moped and contemplated heading back to work with a “stomach ache”. She gripped the handlebars, silent. Of all the runs, of all the requests. . . she had managed to steer clear of the dreaded art supply store. She had picked up some bizarre crap for customers in the past, but none of which made her blood run cold and her lips turn dry. Nothing like tubes of acrylic paint.

“Grow a pair Sango.” She murmured to herself. She took a deep breath in and straightened out her back, “GROW A PAIR~!!!” she roared, startling pedestrians on the sidewalk. She swung her body off her trusty moped and marched into the store.

Acrylic paints—primary colors. Simple. So very, damn simple. The bottle of aspirin rattled away inside her vest pocket as she trudged down the halls. She picked up the tubes of paint as if they were some foul, otherworldly creatures and dropped them into her hand basket. She was torn between prancing down the aisles; grabbing glorious supplies for herself, and running out of the store in a flurry of tears and sweat.

But instead, she calmly walked over to the cashier and paid.

Sango put-putted up the steep hill. Once at the top, she parked her moped, grabbed the paints and aspirin from her back trunk, and headed up the stairs to a faded blue duplex. She rang the doorbell, waited, and rang it again. She felt extremely sick all of a sudden; the back of her neck knotted up, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed.

The door clicked open and Sango was greeted by a rather baby-faced young man. He was wearing torn jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and a baseball cap carefully turned to the side. He smiled pleasantly, “Wow~ that was fast! We’ll definitely be using you guys again.”

Sango blushed, “Jutta Kou?”

“ASPIRIN~!!!” Someone had exclaimed from deep within the house in a mixture of pain and impatience.

“It’s coming!” replied the young man, never loosing his smile. “Do I need to sign anything?” He stepped aside, and Sango noticed that he was trying to keep his dog inside. A cheery white boxer.

“No.” Sango replied curiously. She lifted the bag of merchandise so the young man could take it. . . and then something caught her eye.

“Ah, thank you, thank you.” He grabbed the bag, but was oblivious to Sango’s awestricken face.

That. . . That painting. There, past the young man, down the hall, was the most splendid painting Sango had ever laid eyes on. The walls closed in around it, the molecules in the air shifted and whirled. It was perfection, and Sango nearly dropped to her knees in its glory. The colors, the composition, so beautiful—so emotive. Sango silently worked her mouth, and tiny tears slid down her cheeks.

The young man looked alarmed. “A-are you alright?”

“Those colors. . . it. . . how? How?” She couldn’t get a coherent thought out. She swallowed hard and backed away.

“Hey, wait!” The young man stood frozen, half creeped out and half worried.

“What the hell’s going on?” His sister poked her head outside, she noticed Sango slowly backing down the steps, as if she had just seen a ghost. She looked at her brother confused, “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing! She saw your ugly painting and went crazy!”

“Tch, aish!” She waved at Sango, “Hey~!”

But Sango had broken into a sprint down the sidewalk and disappeared below the hill.

The young man frowned, “Well that was weird!” He took off his baseball cap and scratched his head, “Ah~ and she left her moped.”

His sister was lost in thought, “So. . . I guess she’ll be back then?”

“Ugh~ I hope not.”

Continue~!

Author’s Note:

Hello there reader! Thank you for taking the time to read the first chapter! :’D

When writing, I usually have a basic outline for the plot, and I always keep the readers in mind. But when it came to this story I decided I would just go with the flow and write whatever felt enjoyable and comfy to me. So in other words: I don’t exactly know where I’m going with this concept. But hopefully you’ll join me for the ride~!

Review? Hmm?