Bloody Crayons Novels & Stories

Where did this woman come from? She shook her head. "I don't want to bother you. You already fed me," she answered in a lazy tone. Then she tilted her neck to look at me. "Don't mind me. I'm just sad I couldn't drop by at the shop today because of this stupid weather. I plan to buy some crayons... just don't mind me," "Crayons?" My forehead furrowed. "Yeah," she grinned, showing her perfect teeth again, "You know, the stick colored wax used for drawing,"

They were old and worn down, some were broken in half. I selected a brown crayon, the same color Evie had used for the mother wolf. Then, carefully, I began to color the father wolf. My hand shook as I coloured. Tears continued to fall, dropping to the page and messing up the page. But I kept going. When I was done, the picture was complete. A family of three wolves, all colored, standing together. But I wasn’t finished. I picked up a black crayon and, under Evie’s words, I carefully wrote in my own messy handwriting:

� 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘐 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵. 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘭𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦� �� 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘺. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

Turning forward again, she asked, “Who’s Black Crimson?” I shook my head. “No one knows. He’s the city’s famous—or maybe I should say infamous—graffiti artist. He only works in black, white, and red spray paint, and all his masterpieces usually depict some kind of meaningful message. They’re signed B.C., which is how he became dubbed Black Crimson.” Isobel wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure B and C are for the initials in his name, not for the colors in which he works.”

I rushed to Cassandra, who was standing in the middle of the living room, clutching her crayon box in her hands. “What's wrong, sweetie?” I asked, my heart still pounding from the message I had just received. “Caden won't give me back my crayon!” Cassandra sobbed, her face red and puffy. I looked at Caden, who was clutching the crayon box to his chest. His expression was stubborn, and I knew this would be a battle of wills. “Caden,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even. “You need to give the crayon box back to Cassandra.”

"Inspection of what? " "Colors. As you may have inevitably notice, we are surrounded with nothing but the color yellow. This is nothing like your world where colors combine. All is separated. With walls, borders, or lines. And no person with their designated colors are allowed to leave or enter another side of colors. Once spotted, you will be thrown to the place of outcast and lose the chance to visit the Outside world. Your world. Or they might take you in as slaves. Or worse, death. "I understood her words but it only arose more questions. "So you are not allowed to interact with other colors? "

Where on earth did we go last night? “Here,” The little girl returned with her art material sets and gave them to me. “Thanks,” I smiled at her, selecting a red color pen. It must be nice being wealthy because you can have all the colors you want. When I was her age, I could only own 8-color crayons, and I only had 32-colors when a relative of the resident in the nursing home gave me one as a birthday present. I selected the red marker and dashed back in front of the mirror.

asked Hunter. The pain was unbearable, but I knew what was this, black blood, I have been marked.

I grabbed the handle and tried to open it, but it seemed locked. The sound reverberated in our ears for a long time. A musty, dank order sneaked into my nose. Weeds of dark leafy were clinging on the roof, due to which any person would faint. The house's walls showed black decay with various names written on them with red ink or blood. Stains of original paint indicated the house's prior affluence. The fresh blood of humans covered the corners of the doors with tiny black spiders thread towards their loot. It reflected a royal yet haunted image as if Kings and queens lived here for centuries.

or something like that. Then there's The Marking. Not like biting or stuff like that. This one is for the entire pack. Special paint made by witches, from moon dust, sun dust, first snow water, dew drops and white roses. Weird, right? Anyway, this one is mostly like drawing tattoos, but with the feather from a white owl.