...

Hey there !

This is quite an old "work", if I can call it that haha,
But I saw it in the green room, so let's pull it out from there !

When I saw the title to this I was like, "wow, this looks interesting!"
Then I saw the synopsis, three little points, and I was like, "oooh this is definitely gonna be interesting.."

So I opened it.

And wow, I'm amazed.
So much emotion, and colours, and personality! The descriptions are incredible !! And the words you used convey really the feelings you were trying to describe !! And the characters.. let's not talk about the characters..
They're amazing !!

They're vibrant with personality, and they're just so unique. I really liked the main character btw, she/he just had so much personality, and I could just relate to him/her so much ! It was as if I was staring into a mirror and I saw my own reflection in your character. So to sum it up, great characters!
I feel like there were a few mistakes here and there, nothing too big, just like basic grammar mistakes.

After this amazing, heart breaking, gut wrenching, tear spilling, masterpiece that equals Shakespeare almost, I just have one single thing to say, and that is:

...

....

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!

First Impression: Well...this was an interesting piece...got a little bit weird towards the end and there was a bit too much sudden interruptions of the flow to switch to poetic imagery at least in my opinion but yeah...uhh let's get more specific shall we?

Anyway let's get right to it,

Anne Carver drained the glass of red wine, wiping her mouth as she bent over the kitchen sink. Her hair, pale and limp, fell over her shoulder, ragged at the ends where she had cut it herself. She blinked at her knuckles, they looked white and twisted as they curled around the edge of the sink and she knew her face was probably in a similar way.

She inhaled only to feel the air strangle her as she bent in a hacking cough. In her other hand she clenched the burnt-out remains of a cigarette, it was only useful now as ash.

Dropping the glass in the sink, Anne staggered through her paper-cluttered apartment and collapsed on the couch, dumping the cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table across from it. The early morning light seared her eyes as it lit the shabby space crowded with furniture and discarded cups.

Asides from the ashtray, the coffee table was taken up largely by a stretch of stiff canvas paper on which blossomed an array of twisting bodies. In a tumult of watercolour, the figures stretched over the page in a drunken euphoria. The world forgotten as they revelled in their storm of insanity, their humanity lost as they embodied its wildest form.

Anne had always been drawn to the Dionysian Mysteries. A cult of the ancient world which had been liberated by their madness, stripping away the curbs of society in a dance of delirium. To her, they had always appeared free.

She moved mechanically through the routine of pulling on her ill-fitting uniform, draining a scalding mug of instant coffee and dragging herself outside the apartment complex to her second-hand car. The sky was choked with clouds as it had been for the past week, the air beneath growing tense and humid, with no sign of changing.

At the mouth of the highway leading away from the city, she pulled off the road into the car park of a dim diner and came to a stop. The restaurant sat slanted in no particular direction, jarring in the space of land between buildings scraping the sky and road; the plains of bitumen, stretching until they melted into the horizon.

Pushing the door open, Anne found stillness lay over the interior of the diner like dust. Patrons sat hunched over either coffee cups dripped with stains or meals slung loosely around their plates. The only other waitress, much younger than herself, stood fixed behind the counter. Her expression stiff and bored.

Each persons’ eyes still held the dregs of sleep.

Time held no meaning in that place. It slipped and slurred until Anne had almost forgotten it was there. The only fingerprint it left was pressed on the outside of the heavy glass windows through which she could see the stream of cars rushing in an unending flow over the highway; they were mere blurs of the streaks of life outside.

Fixed behind the counter, she watched them now, whisking back and forth. They were all powered by intent, driven by it – whether that was towards the city or a life beyond it, that purpose remained. It mesmerised her.

Why was she here? Why was she still stuck here?

It had all been going so well. In school, her teachers had always smiled at her – she had even won one or two local competitions, displaying her work to what had seemed all the world. She was accepted to her dream university, on a scholarship no less, everyone had been in awe of her artwork.

But then came Jennifer, Jennifer De La Fontaine.

Jennifer was an artistic prodigy, the next Leonardo da Vinci they had said. She and Anne had been contemporaries, friends even; at least to Jennifer it must have seemed that way.

She was quiet, and in the beginning, this had set Anne at ease. A smile exchanged here and there across the silent studio as they both fostered and refined their talents. As the term progressed, they had held each other in the confidence of equals despite the contrasts of their lives and works. They were on par, until assessments proved otherwise.

Anne’s jaw clenched.

Her world had turned to nights coloured by ink. With fingers stained and eye always heavy, she had scratched at paper and canvas, searching for that taste of the life she had once led. But the more she clawed for that ancient time when they’d been on equal footing, the further she slipped away.

It had been futile trying to compete with her.

“Hey there, wouldn’t mind taking my order down, wouldya?”

Anne jerked up to see a Gary staring at her. There was always a Gary, large and loud who liked to hold a monopoly on the attention in a room; one came in at least once a day.

“One of those chicken burgers,” said the Gary as he pulled a wallet from the pocket of his coat. “I’ll have a thick shake too, chocolate if you don’t mind.”

Anne blinked and nodded, typing the order into the cash register. She was alone as her co-worker had ducked outback, probably scrolling through some social media platform on her phone.

Anne lifted her head to reply as she moved to make his drink, but he had already pulled out his phone, swiping his thumb across it lazily. Taking out a milkshake tin, she poured the milk and dropped in the ice. Jennifer wasn’t working in some second-rate diner.

Next came the chocolate syrup. Jennifer hadn’t faltered, lost focus, as soon as she thought her future was threatened.

She snapped the milkshake tin beneath the blender, the blade ground through the ice with a guttural growl. Jennifer hadn’t failed.

Lifting her eyes from the grinding mixture, Anne saw trails of droplets running down the windows. The clouds had finally broken. Pricks of water slid down the glass, following haphazard, invisible paths and leaving shimmering tracks in their wake. They curved in and out, and for a moment she saw a figure – a dancing figure.

No rain could wash it away, as the figure glided across the glass. It twisted and twirled, colours blooming wherever it tread as it raced over the windows. Soon the entire diner was lost in blues and indigos, spiralling into orange marigold and scarlet, with the figure dancing still.

The milkshake was finished as the grind switched to a smooth whirl and the ingredients combined into a thick milky liquid. Anne looked down and poured the drink into a stiff cardboard cup, pressing down a flimsy plastic lid over the top before poking in a straw. When she looked up again, the figure was gone, only the rain trailing down the window and the highway outside.

Anne stared at him and then down at the milkshake in her hands. She was thrown off by a sense of Déjà vu, she had served this milkshake before. Every day she made milkshakes in this stifling diner. She was 34 and making milkshakes.

“I paid for that, can I have it now?” the Gary had stepped closer when she hadn’t responded.

“Hey,” said the Gary, hesitating, “miss, are you alright?”

She heard a shuffling sound and opened her eyes to see him pulling out his wallet again and rifling through it. “Look, how about this, I’ll give you a tip. That make you feel better?”

Anne looked at him and threw the drink.

The cup’s lid exploded as it hit him in the chest. The creamy drink splattered over his cheap suit, staining it an even uglier brown. The Gary cried out with shock and staggered backwards, his face white and stretched with an expression of consternation.

Anne laughed. It felt so good to laugh again.

They bubbled up inside of her, popping in giggles and guffaws. She felt her cheeks blush with colour from her glee. Her mind was lulled in a daze, giddy and no longer tethered to this world.

They think I’m mad, thought Anne, and chuckled louder to herself. That wouldn’t be so bad.

Anne hardly felt herself passing through the diner, her feet didn’t seem to touch the floor. She was floating, floating away. Pushing through the door, she stepped out into the rain.

Her voice died as the cool drops slid down her face. Tilting her head skywards, Anne spun slowly with her arms outstretched. The world, her life, none of it seemed to matter anymore.

Of the passers-by, none knew quite what to expect. They were just passing through, following their usual paths through the busy square. Very few at first paused to watch when she lifted one of the tins, but many turned to stare when she threw its contents over the expanse of grey concrete.

A valley of blue spilled onto the pavement, soon to be followed by corals, ambers and forest jades until the ground had been bathed in a landscape of shades. It was then that the girl pressed her hands to the ground and ran her fingers through the colours, mixing and smearing them, blending the mess into one.

When it was complete, the girl stepped backwards to look down at her work. running her paint-covered fingers through her loose hair, she left streaks of colour through the snow-blonde.

A large audience now stood around her, all gazing at the Dionysian Mysteries caught in dance at her feet.

Above, a chink of sunlight slid through the thinning clouds. Raising her head. Anne closed her eyes as the golden light gently fell over her face and smiled.