Alistair threw the canvas to the ground, flicking black ink from his fingertips as the wood cracked against the cement. He dragged his hand down his face, ignoring the chill of the paint as it began to dry against his cheek. Nothing was working. Everything he painted looked flat, uninspired, the epitome of unoriginality. He had started ten pieces today: landscapes, a portrait, a still-life, an abstract swirl of his frustration and everything had been unsatisfying. 
           He paced back and forth, his heavy footfalls echoing. “Why not just tape a banana to the fucking canvas at this point? Smear another one around for the background and call it art. No one has any respect for artists anymore, so why am I trying? I’ll just paint a blank face, tape two apples across its eyes and tell someone to hire a five-year-old to make up the meaning,” he muttered. 
           Across the room, the door to the studio banged against the wall. Gavin whistled, sharp enough to shatter the air, as he took in the mess before him. “So, are we at the point of madness again?”
           “Are we at the point of madness again?” Alistair mocked. He spun around to face Gavin, who was leaning against the door frame. “Just give me a dollar to stick on this stupid canvas and I’ll be done. I can call it ‘starving artist’ and all the pretentious lapdogs will lap it up.” Alistair started to gather up some of the discarded paintings, leaning them against the wall. 
           “Ah, so you heard about Apollo’s latest piece then?” 
           Alistair froze. “What piece?”
           Gavin cleared his throat and straightened. “He might have sold his half-eaten lunch as an exhibit. He was a little more inspired this time. He wised up and painted his yogurt cup. And left some fingerprints on the sandwich,” Gavin’s voice grew quieter as he talked, slowly beginning to back out of the room as Alistair turned around to face him again. “Are we at the point of madness again?” he asked, shoulders slumping as Alistair slowly sank down into a crouch. 
           “Oh, no,” Alistair said. He stared blankly at some space behind Gavin’s knees. “We’re well past madness at this point.” Gavin swallowed hard, holding his hands up as if to ward off his friend. 
           “Fucking Apollo,” Alistair barked, jumping to his feet again. “I’ve never met someone so stupid who has everything work out for them. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m Apollo and I have sunset hair. I’m named after a god, so everything must work out for me even when I make the trashiest art anyone has ever seen.’ What kind of braindead, glaze-eyed, snobby Apollo fan girl would buy his half-eaten lunch just to call it art?”
           “Well- “
           “Don’t. Don’t answer that,” Alistair said, holding a finger out to shush Gavin before he could say whatever insane amount of money Apollo was getting paid by some impressive museum for his work. “It’s fine. Everything is fine. I don’t care what he’s doing or how much he’s making.”
           Gavin cleared his throat as he walked back into the room. “So, what’s your plan exactly?” 
           Alistair opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then spun around to face the glowing city outside. The air buzzed as people began to head home from work. The sidewalks were crowded as people dodged the weaving bicyclists who zigzagged between pedestrians, the streets, and sluggish cars who were trapped at an eternal red light. The setting sun gave the buildings and the shadows below a reddish glow as Alistair stared down at them.
           “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve been throwing stuff at the wall all day, sometimes literally, and nothing is sticking. Metaphorically, not physically, as you can see.” Alistair vaguely waved at the wall behind him. It was splattered with some blobs of red, blue, and black paint. A large white rectangle where the canvas stopped the wall from looking like its own work of art. 
           “I need something refreshing, something different from every other piece I’ve done!”
           Gavin nodded. “I can get you some magic mushrooms?”
           Alistair collapsed to the ground, glaring up at Gavin from his spread-eagle pose on the ground.  “That’s so cliché. Magic mushrooms will make everything better. Drugs are the way to inspiration, blah, blah, blah. Besides, that was your solution two months ago, and we both know how well that worked out.” They both winced at the memories of the horrible pieces that had come out of that experience. 
           Gavin walked further into the studio to look at the paintings Alistair had started. Most of them were pretty, although two of the landscapes were marred by streaks of paint crisscrossing it. “Well, what are you going to do then? I’m not dealing with you complaining about Apollo all night and you know coming up with a plan will make you feel better.”
           Alistair climbed back to his feet, running his hands through his hair, leaving clumps of color mixed in with the brown. “Do you still talk to Selena by any chance?” he asked suddenly. Gavin twisted to see Alistair lost in space again. 
           “Yeah, we still talk. Why?”
           “Think you can get her and some friends to bring some gross food, a few sunset wings, and some mannequins over? I think Apollo’s accomplishment deserves some applause from the art world,” Alistair said. He grinned and rubbed his hands together as he looked over at Gavin. “You may want to get a change of clothes too.”
           Gavin sighed and pulled out his phone. “Just because I’m helping you doesn’t mean I want to be involved,” he called over his shoulder as he left the studio. 
           Alistair laughed. “I think you’ll enjoy this as much as I will.”
                                                                                                …
           A few hours later, everything was ready. Several other artists had arrived with sandwich ingredients and yogurt containers. Selena had brought over three of her older mannequins and someone else had managed to gather a few matted fiery wigs. Gavin was one of the last ones to arrive, but Alistair forgave him once Gavin handed him water balloons to fill with paint. The others set up the mannequins around the room along with a few canvases as Alistair and Gavin prepared the balloons, then it was time. 
           “Ladies, gents, artists of the finest quality, tonight we have gathered here to salute our favorite artist: Apollo,” Alistair said as Gavin began to hand out balloons. Everyone began to gather the food they had brought. “For an artist such as him, we all know that the only true way to show our appreciation for him and his hard work is to make a response to some of his most recent artwork. Now enough of my yakking, we all know what we’re here to do and what we want to do. So, my dear friends, let’s fight.” As soon as Alistair finished with a dramatic bow, Gavin threw the first balloon. It splashed across Alistair’s chest as he threw a container of yogurt at the back of one of the mannequins, knocking the wig off its head. 
           Cheers filled the air as food began to fly, everyone aiming for each other as much as they aimed for the canvases and the mannequins. Selena slipped and fell into a mixture of mustard and paint in the first thirty seconds and dragged Gavin down with her, laughing. Alistair pelted them both with slices of bread before turning to another target after being hit with paint splatters from the dual paintbrush wielding twins. 
           The sick sound of meat slapping against flesh filled the air for a few seconds. Alistair started to throw the paint against the canvases and Gavin tried to stick the slices onto the mannequins as clothing. Yogurt, balloons, and paint were still being hurled as people chose their targets, seeking revenge for paint covered hair and the handprints that covered their clothing. 
           Selena added some lettuce leaves for shoes to one of the simplest mannequins when everyone left her in peace for a few seconds. Until someone shoved her forward and her hair painted a pauldron on its right shoulder; her fingers left scratches of orange across its stomach and hips as Selena gave chase. She pushed Alistair as she sprinted by, causing him to join the train of thundering feet dancing around the studio. They weaved among the others, who were still narrowly focused. Bits of paint and food splashed against their original intended targets, though no one truly cared. 
           At some point, someone put on music and an obnoxious bassline filled the air. People were half dancing as they continued to harass each other. Alistair and Gavin were having a dance off with two of the mannequins, spinning them back and forth, and pelting them with art supplies. After a few songs, they had run out of materials. 
         Food and paint littered the floor. Several loaves of bread were balled up and crushed in the middle of the floor. A mixture of brown substances covered the ground, which everyone kept nearly slipping in as they made their way toward the door. Two of the wigs were completely ruined. Two of them had pieces of meat tangled in them and all of them were strained with bits of random color. 
          Alistair paced around the studio, taking in the results. Gavin and Selena waved everyone out, thanking them for their time while they waited. After a few minutes, Alistair nodded. 
           “It’s a mess.”
           Gavin and Selena nodded. “Any other thoughts, Captain Obvious?” Selena asked. 
           “It’s perfect. It’s more effort than Apollo has put into anything in the past 15 years,” Alistair declared.  He brushed a piece of lettuce off the top of one of the paintings.
           Gavin sighed. “We’re done right? I don’t have to hear you complain about Apollo for the next month?” 
           Selena laughed. “Only the next month?”
           Alistair glared at them. “Well, it is missing one thing.” He walked over to one of the mannequins and pulled off its arms and one of its legs. Gavin and Selena watched in silence as he tossed them into the corner. He grabbed a pair of scissors and approached two of the paintings. Without pausing, he threw one of them against the wall. The wood cracked as Alistair stabbed the next painting a few times. He nodded to himself and walked over to the painting he threw. 
           “Alistair?” Gavin asked as he watched the artist step on the still wet piece. Alistair let out a soft hum to prompt Gavin to continue as he jabbed the broken wood through the canvas. “What on earth are you doing?”
           Alistair straightened. “Predicting Apollo’s response. Now we’re done.” He dusted off his hands.                           “Anyone up for sandwiches?”
           Selena laughed again. “You’re paying.”
           Gavin shook his head. “I want dessert, too.”
           “Absolutely not, I’m a starving artist,” Alistair said, kicking at the crumbled bread as he led the way out the door.