Bloody Crayons の小説・ストーリー

They chose to sit on the back porch and enjoy the morning that was turning into noon. "Can you draw?" Shareeza asked as she opened a crayon box with too many colors. Alethea was surprised and impressed when she saw it. During school, she had only been able to use a 12-color pencil set, and those were short. Even when she went to a bookstore, the largest set she'd seen was 48 colors. But Shareeza's? Rich people really were different, Alethea thought to herself in awe.

"How? Do you mean Zach Howe? That useless trust fund brat? Has Ethan completely lost his mind? Has Tara eaten away at his brain? Associating with someone like him? Haha! Well, it won't be long before Ethan's name disappears from society entirely." Zach was not just a spoiled rich kid. He was dangerous and had blood on his hands. Ethan playing in his territory would leave nothing but scraps of bone behind. "Aren't you even a little curious why he's doing this?" "I'm not curious. His business isn't mine. Alright, I've got things to do. Hanging up now."

she said while controlling her finger like a remote control. As the rioters' attention was drawn to one explosion after another, miniature toy cars rolled out onto the streets from at least four alleys where some vampire guard hid behind large buildings. On top of it was strapped a large bullet-shaped weapon containing explosives. Red, black, and blue wires were wrapped around randomly, and their cluelessness added to the fear.

“Wow look at these crayons! Since when do they make this many colors?” Lilly watches me run up and down the aisle grabbing almost everything but doesn’t try to stop me. She does grab more practical items though which is very responsible of her. Bryant and Dane are with us and I hear them chuckling at my excitement but I’m not even embarrassed. This is a first for me and I’m having so much fun. Plus, Artemis isn’t here to stop me from going crazy, so I have to take advantage of it. “Blue? Blue Rhodes?” I hear a woman say from behind me.

Then the glass broke, Alexander felt the shards cut through his skin and get stuck in his flesh but he didn’t flinch…instead the pain helped him to stay clear headed because at some point, all he could see was red. “This…Cullen,” surprisingly his voice still worked, even though he sounded like a man that was about to go on a fucking rampage. “He had blue eyes?” Yuki inhaled deeply, “Yes, he did,” Alexander brought down the phone from his ear and searched for the first picture of Sergio he saw online. He sent the picture to Yuki and heard her gasp from the other line. “Is that him?” “Yes!” Alexander chuckled darkly, his eyes already clouded with blood lust.

I looked at Alex and he noticed the way I looked at him in his peripheral vision. “I mean, baby, you only take the most important things...” Alex retorted without looking at me. “Am I correct?” he asked me as he looked at me. “Yes.” Miracle pouted her lips and looked at the colors again. “It’s hard to choose again.” “This is it baby, the sixty-four crayons set, one hundred sixty-eight pencil crayons and the one hundred sixty-eight color marker pens.” Miracle’s eyes almost had stars in admiration of how Alex chose colors for him.

The point was… The street artist known as Black Crimson seemed to speak straight to my soul with every showpiece he delivered. He only worked in the spray paint medium and kept it strictly to three colors: black, white, and red. The image-half of his two-part murals always showcased some modern-day fairy-tale retelling, and the text-half had a famous quote that was somehow tied into the picture. The quotes he chose could be silly or deep, but they were always meaningful and enlightening, and I somehow felt as if he’d written them directly for me. Every time.

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.

I looked up at the boy who was adorable with golden-brown hair and large silver eyes that kind of glinted like pearls in the moonlight. “W-what’s a Crayola?” I asked. He blinked, “It’s a crayon, dummy.” He answered waving a flat white board at me. He pointed at it. “I was drawing.” His palm was still open; the weapons or as he called them crayons were in different colors. Red, Yellow, Green… Humans sure had interesting stuff on the land. The boy was putting it back into the box when his little handles fumbled and the box emptied into the water.