Iris. And the story after.

She exhaled heavy, from what felt like the very bottom of her lungs.
I could feel the look in her eyes. Pain. Remorse. And the closest to home, honesty.
This was in all seriousness.

I inhaled deep, and left the oxygen to linger in my lungs as I held it in. This was me bracing myself for what she was about to say.

The late night breakfast joint we were sitting in couldn’t have been a more appropriate location.
The mood was becoming gridlock.

The lighting was dim, and some of the light fixtures that hung down from the ceiling flickered from time to time. The floors had half eaten food scattered around the tables and booths. We were sitting across from each other in the booth the waiter lead us to. The big cushiony seats were deep maroon. The table in the middle of us was acting as the “No man’s land threshold” World War I style.
This is how intense the anticipation between us was getting.

The waiter that led us to this mental war table looked so tired of soul. It was all the more depressing.
She was an older woman. Maybe her late fifties. She had heavy bags under her eyes, coupled with too much mascara. There were bruises on her arms, and around her neck. She wore red lipstick, and her cheeks were rosy. Nails were painted red maybe a few weeks ago. Now all that was left on her nails were chips of red that speckled in random patterns. Before we walked in she had just thrown her cigarette on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. As she took the orders she coughed into her arm like a vampire, and continued writing. Chicken scratch. Only God knows what makes her slave at this job. Kids more than likely. A single parent. Or a scared girlfriend (judging by the bruises on her arms and neck) who doesn’t want to go back home.
Either way, her aurora was only adding to the situation.

The atmosphere here in this place was the ghost standing right behind me.
The same ghost that you feel when you know someone is about to punch you very hard, but takes their time. The ghost that tells you, “This is going to hurt. A lot. And you won’t be ready for the impact.”

You don’t find the liveliest of people at three in the morning at breakfast joints.
Everyone is distant, yet right next to you. People are just breathing, the lights are on but no one is home.
This is the kind of safety and sanctuary people who have had unspeakable nights come to just recuperate, and eat. The kind of place you don’t speak to loud.
It’s a mutual respect.

Everyone here has been pushed back the same line.
Everyone here has been on the same road.
Everyone here is just trying to catch back up.
Everyone here is just as broken and dysfunctional as we we’re too.

Iris had her head down looking at the spoon she was weaving in and around her fingers slowly.
The Gridlock. Time is slowly stopping around us.

She spoke slowly.

“At this rate, I can’t see myself living past the age of twenty-one.”

The spoons slipped from around her middle finger, and began its decent towards the table. It fell in slow motion, I could see the spoon twisting and falling in frames. Like the way you see multiple pictures of a skateboarder doing a single trick. Clank, Clank. The spoon bounced on impact and danced on the table before resting still. The noise pierced, and shattered the frozen time around me. And at that moment I released my held breath.
The ghost was right, I wasn’t ready.

This was a little interesting since the story gave a curious and almost haunting mood. A date at three in the morning with a woman who in her fifties claim she can't live past twenty, the weirdness is there.

However, there is a shallow sense of what is going on. Is the story mainly about the date or is there more happening. i really didn't get that since there is a mixed focus on the date and the environment these people are. Furthermore, the setting is a little vague. It had been said that theyare at a breakfast joint, but what is the state of this joint? Is it clean, dirty or plain weird? What about the staff?

I didn't get that in the story which is sad since the setting could play an important role on the nature of the event .

Spoiler

Everyone here has been pushed back the same line.
Everyone here has been on the same road.
Everyone here is just trying to catch back up.
Everyone here is just as broken and dysfunctional as we we’re sitting there too.

his part would be explained more since these description can give a vague idea on what is happening. The structure is nice and I like how it starts with everyone but it seemed little to do with the story. Only the last line has some context. The first three were confusing when i found out but it made clear at the end. I would suppose to give a subtle connection at the start of this passage in order to allow the reader to feel that this passage plays a role in the story.

Other than that, it was a mysterious story in a good way. With a little addition to detail and setting, it could be better.

Thanks, I know it was vague, and this was just a very very rough draft. I worked on it for maybe an hour max. I'll do some fixing up, and let you know how it goes!

Thank you for the review though. Means a lot

hello, I'm here to review just as I promise

okay,

i admit that this was an improvement. First off is that the context is there which is good and that there is a concrete setting . An example:

he late night breakfast joint we were sitting in couldn’t have been a more appropriate location.
The mood was becoming gridlock.

The lighting was dim, and some of the light fixtures that hung down from the ceiling flickered from time to time. The floors had half eaten food scattered around the tables and booths. We were sitting across from each other in the booth the waiter lead us to. The big cushiony seats were deep maroon. The table in the middle of us was acting as the “No man’s land threshold” World War I style.
This is how intense the anticipation between us was getting.

illustrates what the actual restaurants feels like nor looks like. This helps in understanding where the story is taking place. On the otehr hand, despite the context and the setting, characterization is a little weak as well as the plot.

I'll explain the plot first: the plot in the first version was weak and in this current one, there is more sense. Yet, it is still confusing. I get that the breakfast date is unusual and that there is something going on. There is a tension of something supernatural specified with the ghost. This would indicate that something will happen to this guy since he seems to be the only, "normal" person in this weird atmosphere. But above all, try to work out with the plot. Where is this story heading to? And indicate it through the actions of the characters or through action within the setting. For example, you could show that the food the waitress has prepared is not what it seemed. For example a serving of rat brain barbeque-disgusting but that may bring the reader to a direction and want to read more.

Second are characters. Again, the characters here are stronger but I still do not get their personalities.

The waiter that led us to this mental war table looked so tired of soul. It was all the more depressing.
She was an older woman. Maybe her late fifties. She had heavy bags under her eyes, coupled with too much mascara. There were bruises on her arms, and around her neck. She wore red lipstick, and her cheeks were rosy. Nails were painted red maybe a few weeks ago. Now all that was left on her nails were chips of red that speckled in random patterns. Before we walked in she had just thrown her cigarette on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. As she took the orders she coughed into her arm like a vampire, and continued writing. Chicken scratch. Only God knows what makes her slave at this job. Kids more than likely. A single parent. Or a scared girlfriend (judging by the bruises on her arms and neck) who doesn’t want to go back home.

you were able to show a description of the waitress but not the main two characters. We need to know what they are like as a person (if they are even one). In order to allow the reader to know what these people like, start a dialogue. You already mentioned a ghost so maybe let this guy start a conversation on why he is invited to this restaurant. Any dialogue can bring out their personalities. This must also be ablance with bodily movements. This is for the sake to visualize their external appearances.

For the waiter, try to cut some detail since she does not play an important role (unless you want her to be) because the story is focused solely on the two characters and what they are like,and what will happen to them.

Hence, this is a good re-tale of the story. work must be needed but overall, the impression and the context are secured. You just need to continue it.

PS

Everyone here has been pushed back the same line.
Everyone here has been on the same road.
Everyone here is just trying to catch back up.
Everyone here is just as broken and dysfunctional as we we’re too.

though you managed to make this into context, you can progress it by connecting it to the character. Since the guy is a little worried, try to connect this to the guy. Make this either his thoughts or dialogue because if this is connected to a character, it gives more insight to their personalities.

Hope that is helpful

She exhaled heavy, from what felt like the very bottom of her lungs.

I could feel the look in her eyes. Pain. Remorse. And the closest to home, honesty.

This was in all seriousness.

I inhaled deep, and left the oxygen to linger in my lungs as I held it in. This was me bracing myself for what she was about to say. I would get ride of the "as I held it in" It seems to just repet it's self

The late night breakfast joint we were sitting in couldn’t have been a more appropriate location. I wouldn;t say joint, that just makes me think of weed, not a diner

The mood was becoming gridlock.

The lighting was dim, and some of the light fixtures that hung down from the ceiling flickered from time to time. The floors had half eaten food scattered around the tables and booths. We were sitting across from each other in the booth the waiter lead us to. The big cushiony seats were deep maroon. The table in the middle of us was acting as the “No man’s land threshold” World War I style.

This is how intense the anticipation between us was getting.

The waiter that led us to this mental war table looked so tired of soul. It was all the more depressing. Is this after the girl exhaled or before? It's confusing?

She was an older woman. Maybe her late fifties. She had heavy bags under her eyes, coupled with too much mascara. There were bruises on her arms, and around her neck. She wore red lipstick, and her cheeks were rosy. Nails were painted red maybe a few weeks ago. Now all that was left on her nails were chips of red that speckled in random patterns. Before we walked in she had just thrown her cigarette on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. As she took the orders she coughed into her arm like a vampire, and continued writing. Chicken scratch. Only God knows what makes her slave at this job. Kids more than likely. A single parent. Or a scared girlfriend (judging by the bruises on her arms and neck) who doesn’t want to go back home. I don't like the vampire thing, or the thing about her slaving away at the job ect. seems like to much info.

Either way, her aurora was only adding to the situation.

The atmosphere here in this place was the ghost standing right behind me.

The same ghost that you feel when you know someone is about to punch you very hard, but takes their time. The ghost that tells you, “This is going to hurt. A lot. And you won’t be ready for the impact.”

You don’t find the liveliest of people at three in the morning at breakfast joints. Breakfast diner.

Everyone is distant, yet right next to you. People are just breathing, the lights are on but no one is home. That saying seems kinda random but still in but I would get rid of it

This is the kind of safety and sanctuary people who have had unspeakable nights come to just recuperate, and eat. The kind of place you don’t speak to loud.

It’s a mutual respect.

Everyone here has been pushed back the same line.

Everyone here has been on the same road.

Everyone here is just trying to catch back up.

Everyone here is just as broken and dysfunctional as we we’re too. All the sentances that sart with everyone, it almost sounds like a poem, I would make it less poetic and more storyline based.

Iris had her head down looking at the spoon she was weaving in and around her fingers slowly.

The Gridlock. Time is slowly stopping around us.

She spoke slowly.

“At this rate, I can’t see myself living past the age of twenty-one.”

The spoons slipped from around her middle finger, and began its decent towards the table. It felt like it fell in slow motion, I could see the spoon twisting and falling in frames. Like the way you see multiple pictures of a skateboarder doing a single trick. Clank, Clank. The spoon bounced on impact and danced on the table before resting still. The noise pierced, and shattered the frozen time around me. And at that moment I released my held breath.

The ghost was right, I wasn’t ready.

The story was good it held you with suspense till the end and withdraws the facts of it. I hope this helps.
Ps. Sorry if my editing is harsh.... I just tell people the truth about how I feel... Somepeople don't like that...

Since I just left a random message on your page I thought I would give you a review as well.

This story REALLY kept me interested. We were completely inside your main character's head, all the details he's noticing about the diner, all the inferences he's making about the waitress and what kind of place it is.

I would add things. These characters are faceless. We don't know what they look like, at the very least we should be getting some details about the girl. You could describe the way she's dressed, her facial expression, her mannerisms, because they might help us understand. At the end with the line about not living past 21 I'm wondering is she going to kill herself, is she sick, or does she just have a feeling she will die?

We also need a bit more info about WHO these characters are to each other. Siblings? Friends? Lovers? Enemies?

"She exhaled heavy, from what felt like the very bottom of her lungs.

I could feel the look in her eyes. Pain. Remorse. And the closest to home, honesty.

This was in all seriousness.

I inhaled deep, and left the oxygen to linger in my lungs as I held it in. This was me bracing myself for what she was about to say.

The late night breakfast joint we were sitting in couldn’t have been a more appropriate location. I would say diner, not breakfast joint

The mood was becoming gridlock. I would take out "becoming"

The lighting was dim, and some of the light fixtures that hung down from the ceiling flickered from time to time. The floors had half eaten food scattered around the tables and booths. We were sitting across from each other in the booth the waiter lead us to. The big cushiony seats were deep maroon. The table in the middle of us was acting as the “No man’s land threshold” World War I style.

This is how intense the anticipation between us was getting. This line is VERY unnecessary, in the previous paragraphs you showed us that things were intense, you don't need to tell us again. The best way to keep a reader interested is to show them, use your words in a fluent and interesting way not a stiff "this was like this" way



The waiter that led us to this mental war table looked so omit "so" tired of soul. It was all the more depressing. Something you should consider is going through and taking out all of your past tense verbs (is, am, are, was, were) they are just no good for short stories. Your second line could be so much more interesting if you said something like "The depression she emitted filled up the rest of the room, spilling over on to our table" instead of "It was depressing"

She was an older woman. Maybe her late fifties. She had heavy bags under her eyes, coupled with too much mascara. There were bruises on her arms, and around her neck. She wore red lipstick, and her cheeks were rosy. Nails were painted red maybe a few weeks ago. Now all that was left on her nails were chips of red that speckled in random patterns. Before we walked in she had just thrown her cigarette on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. As she took the orders she coughed into her arm like a vampire, and continued writing. Chicken scratch. Only God knows what makes her slave at this job. Kids more than likely. A single parent. Or a scared girlfriend (judging by the bruises on her arms and neck) who doesn’t want to go back home. The "(judging by the bruises on her arms and neck)" part seems unnecessary to me.

Either way, her aurora was only adding to the situation. This threw me off a bit, is your main character a psychic?

The atmosphere here in this place was the ghost standing right behind me. "here in this place" is repetitive, you could actually take it all out and just have "the atmosphere was..."

The same ghost that you feel when you know someone is about to punch you very hard, but takes their time. The ghost that tells you, “This is going to hurt. A lot. And you won’t be ready for the impact.” I LOVE this



You don’t find the liveliest of people at three in the morning at breakfast joints. I would say "in diners" instead

Everyone is distant, yet right next to you. People are just breathing, the lights are on but no one is home.

This is the kind of safety and sanctuary add in "for" people who have had unspeakable nights add in "to" come to replace "to" with "and" just recuperate, and eat. The kind of place you don’t speak to loud. I love this part as well!

It’s a mutual respect.



Everyone here has been pushed back the same line.

Everyone here has been on the same road.

Everyone here is just trying to catch back up.

Everyone here is just as broken and dysfunctional as we we’re too. Not sure how I feel about this part. I think if you took out the first two lines it might be better

Iris had her head down , looking at the spoon she was weaving in and around her fingers slowly.

The Gridlock. Time is slowly stopping around us. I would say "Time slowly stopped around us" instead



She spoke slowly. This line is kinda boring, why not say something like "Her words dripped out at an agonizing pace"

“At this rate, I can’t see myself living past the age of twenty-one.”

The spoons I thought it was just one spoon? slipped from around her middle finger, and began its decent toward the table. It fell in slow motion, I could see the spoon twisting and falling in frames. I would say "It fell in slow motion, twisting and falling in frames" instead Like the way you see multiple pictures of a skateboarder doing a single trick.

Clank, Clank. I made this part it's own paragraph because it seemed more appropriate and resonating.

The spoon bounced on impact and danced on the table before resting still. The noise pierced, and shattered the frozen time around me. And at that moment I released my held breath.

The ghost was right, I wasn’t ready."

Those are my suggestions PLEASE don't change your writing style, I love it. And don't feel obligated to use my suggestions. I really loved this story and I hope you let me know if you do decide to re-edit it as I would love to read it again!

Love,
Rory

Hey thanks a lot! I really loved your review, and I will be making changes soon.