Bloody Crayons Novels & Stories

I want to ask him what he means by those words, but I promised to keep this fun and I have a feeling that the question might just ruin that promise. I clear my throat and look away. "Well, mine is red." "Why?" He asks now. "Cause it represents danger. And I guess everyone needs a bit of that in their lives. Danger is fun." I look at him for that last bit and he chuckles, his mouth smile appearing. "You have no idea what you’re talking about. " "What’s your favorite song?" "I don’t have one." Here we go again. That doesn’t stop me from answering mine though. "A thousand years. Have you listened to that?"

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El stifled a groan and turned to Lucas, who looked utterly mortified. "Right, back to class, folks!" The Principle shuffled his chair back as he stood, vaguely gesturing with one arm. They filed out of the office into the main hallway, where the magnolia paint was peeling off the walls in places, revealing a pale green underneath. "Psychiatric green", El had once told her, thought to be a calming colour. Lucas took off down the hall, slamming a locker door as he went. "Well, that's just great," El grumbled.

Her cunt lips parted on their own, revealing the slick pink inside. I walked to the supply table. Picked up a fresh palette. A set of thick sable brushes. A jar of linseed oil. Tubes of oil paint in deep crimson, ultramarine, and raw umber. I mixed them slowly, deliberately, letting the colours swirl together into a rich, dark burgundy that reminded me of dried blood and old wine. The smell of pigment filled the air. Familiar. Comforting. Dangerous. The other women watched in silence. Sophia still sat on the couch, cum drying on her tits. Tara leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Mei knelt on the floor, thighs pressed tight together. Elena stood against the wall, arms crossed under her breas

I pulled the table beside my bed that held the colors I had not touched in a while with one hand, and dipped my hand in the yet untouched brown shade. I used my fingers to smear the colour over the only brown wood, carefully dabbing it until the shade of the wood got a little bit darker in the candlelight that lit up the room. I reached for the colour again, this time, the blood red paint I had collected from the dead soldiers in the forest, and mixed with some vinegar and wood ash to keep it fresh and liquid. My bones slowly relaxed even better as I reached for colour after colour, smearing them carelessly on the wood and willing my mind to come up with a meaningful image I wanted to see on

The scent of washable paint, old juice boxes, and cinnamon graham crackers clung to the walls like the lingering echoes of little voices. Anya Petrova crouched down beside a plastic table smeared with glitter glue and tiny fingerprints. A lopsided construction paper crown perched on her head, sliding to one side like a drunken halo. "Okay, Kings and Queens of the Crayon Kingdom, it's cleanup time!" she declared with mock severity, wagging a glitter-dusted finger at the room full of preschoolers. Half of them groaned. The other half ignored her entirely.

"We like weird, don't we kids?" Me, "yeah." Kat, "totally, mum." Hazel, "what's better than weird?" Parker, "I need more crayons, mummy." Aunt Sarah rolled her eyes. "Okay, liars. Let's go have breakfast now before you kids are late for school." "Crayons, mummy!" Parker yelled. "This masterpiece isn't going to finish itself!" The 'master piece' was a multicoloured blob but of course no one would ever tell him that.