A night at the automat

A young girl of round ivory underneath a rosy sheen and painted lips sat at a medium sized table, her body folded loosely together. In a café full of unwanted memories, she faces in their direction, back against the window, because it’s better than having to look at life’s taunt: the streetlamp.
The streetlamp flickered at consecutive seven-second intervals, then four, then two, almost reaching its climax, but eventually only reverted back.
Directly in front of the girls lies an empty chair, a barren plate, and a cup of coffee which she now feared to drink, because just as she’d reach the climax of enjoyment it would eventually, revert back to zero.
She sat still and listened to Jason. She allowed the sounds of soon to be broken promises, lies, innuendos, wishes, dreams, to inject and numb her mind. Thoughts remained stagnant, emotions withering away.
None of it longer appeased her and she concentrated, trying to fade everything to black.
As she moved her head up to a world encased in darkness, her eyes remained unchanged and surprisingly she felt no revelation for her success.
All that was left in the darkness was a bowl of fruit on the table behind her, still remaining in bright, luscious colors with a tinge of a glow. Looking at it, she felt no emotion, no desire. Still, she walked towards it, almost like it was routine and no getting around it. She picked up an apple, her mouth, mind, heart, salivating for how sweet it would taste. Moving it closer to her lips, she felt a disruption: Flickers of white behind her. At that moment fear struck her body with all intensity and her body pushed through what seemed to be thick, dense air and now she was facing life’s taunt: the streetlamp. And instead of indulging in her quick, sweet escape, her desire, she threw the apple with all the force left in her body, aimed at the streetlamp.
It splat on the window in front of her and shards of reality fell right on her. The apple spread on the window, the streetlamp still flickering (although brighter and less often), all eyes on her. She stood in awe as nothing reverted back to zero.

A young girl of round ivory underneath a rosy sheen and painted lips sat at a medium sized table Right off the bat, you lost me. A girl of round ivory what? Cheeks? Shoulders? Also, "medium sized table" is taking description way over the top. It's unnecessary. The first sentence of a story needs to be strong, it needs to draw the reader in, make them want more. Yours doesn't quite do the trick., her body folded loosely together. In a café full of unwanted memories, she faced in their direction Sorry, but whose direction? The memories?, back against the window, because it’s it was (you are talking in past tense, try to keep it that way) better than having to look at life’s taunt: the streetlamp.

The streetlamp flickered at consecutive seven-second intervals, then four, then two, almost reaching its climax, but eventually only reverted back. How observant of her, but very odd

Directly in front of the girls No 's', there is only one girl lied (Remember, past tense) an empty chair, a barren plate, and a cup of coffee which she now feared to drink, because just as she’d reach the climax of enjoyment it would eventually, revert back to zero. I really don't understand what you mean here. At all.

She sat still and listened to Jason. You sort of throw in a random name here, but he doesn't say anything or do anything throughout the whole story. I really have no idea who this guy is or why he's sitting with her at a cafe. She allowed the sounds of soon to be broken promises, lies, innuendos, (?) wishes, and dreams, (no comma) to inject and numb her mind. Thoughts remained stagnant, emotions withering away.

None of it longer appeased her anymore, and she concentrated, trying to fade everything to black.

As she moved her head up to a world encased in darkness, her eyes remained unchanged and, surprisingly, she felt no revelation for her success.

All that was left in the darkness was a bowl of fruit on the table behind her, still remaining in bright, luscious colors with a tinge of a glow. Looking at it, she felt no emotion, no desire. Still, she walked towards it, almost like it was routine and no getting around it. She picked up an apple, her mouth, mind, heart, salivating for how sweet it would taste. Moving it closer to her lips, she felt a disruption: Flickers of white behind her. At that moment, fear struck her body with all intensity and her body You use body too repetitively here pushed through what seemed to be thick, dense air and now she was facing life’s taunt: the streetlamp. And instead of indulging in her quick, sweet escape, her desire, she threw the apple with all the force left in her body, aimed at the streetlamp.

It hit with a splat on the window in front of her and shards of reality fell right on her. The apple spread on the window, the streetlamp still flickering (although brighter and less often), all eyes on her. She stood in awe as nothing reverted back to zero.

Oh, hm. This is an interesting piece, although I found myself incredibly lost through the entire last half. I feel like this story is supposed to be very metaphoric, but to me, it just seems like a very strange story. She's at a cafe with a boy named Jason, am I right? Then, she zones out everything except for a bowl of fruit. It's odd that a bowl of fruit would be sitting on a counter at a cafe, or that the fruit would be free for the taking.
I didn't really understand the whole 'taunting street lamp' idea. Was it taunting because it was flickering? And, the climaxing, reverting back to zero stuff - may I say, huh? Perhaps this story has a hugely deep meaning, but I feel like you could have done a better job to portray it.
Anyways, I hope this helped, have a good day!

A rather interesting piece. Here's what I took away from it:
The girl is afraid of being let down. That feeling that comes after the momentary climax where it's all downhill. Like after you've experienced the height of love in a relationship. And the streetlamp kind of embodies that feeling of moving towards finality, but then pulling back suddenly and never reaching it. And the fruit is temptation--classical.

So am I too far off? Anyway, I would like to spend more time with this character. The events were rather dense and the setting was rather vacuous. I'd like to see how this character behaves to external stimuli and what effects her actions have on the world. Because right now this is all so self-contained that we're tempted to think it's all in her head. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'd like to see you work your writing muscle and show us what you can do.

Let's see. It reads a little mechanical at parts, but that could just be because we haven't had the time to understand the narrator. If we could understand what makes her tick, we could reach out to her, despite stoic/bland/trite phrases like "In a café full of unwanted memories." "Unwanted memories" is such a vague, general idea that we don't get anything from it because we have no framework for it yet.

Also "shards of reality" is a bit empty.

Looking at it, she felt no emotion, no desire.

And instead of indulging in her quick, sweet escape, her desire, she threw the apple

Contradiction about whether it is or isn't her desire.

As she moved her head up to a world encased in darkness,

A strange phrasing in which I assume you're saying that she did fade the world to black.

At that moment fear struck her body with all intensity

A bit of telling without showing, as many will say on this website. Fear striking her body doesn't reveal much about her state of mind.

However, in the end, I must admit I have an extreme soft spot for narrators with mental instabilities and psychoses. The character you've presented is interesting, the idea is alluring, and I want to know more and learn more. The language is mature, but sometimes the description falls a little dead (as in the fear striking her and the shards of reality), but the pacing and tone are great.