Crayon Book Novels & Stories

“I figured you and I could use a little fun.” He blinked slowly at me, as if trying to read my intentions. Trust was still so fragile between us. From the bag, I pulled out a stack of coloring books—one with animals, another with superheroes, and a third filled with fantasy creatures and magical castles. I also pulled out a small box of crayons and a few toy cars I thought he might like. “I didn’t know which one you’d prefer, so I got a few.” Ryan looked at them without reaching. I didn’t push him. I simply sat down on the carpet, crisscrossed my legs, and flipped open the fantasy one.

"Dinosaurs. Because dinosaurs are the most cool." In the store he insisted on pushing his own small cart, selecting each item from his list with meticulous care. Crayons, the twenty-four pack, because more colors meant better pictures. Folders, green and blue, because those were dinosaur colors. Pencils, the ones with dinosaur erasers on the end. And the backpack.

"They are much bigger than that, Toby. The world is full of giant places just waiting for you to see them." Maya crawled onto my lap, sticking a tiny green crayon into my hand. "Draw a castle, Rosemary! A big silver one with a moon on top!" "A silver castle it is," I smiled, wrapping my arms around her small frame. For hours, I felt completely lighthearted. I wasn't the broken girl from the kitchens, and I wasn't a heavily burdened Luna facing a hostile pack. I was just myself, sharing stories and drawing castles.

Corrian says as we pass a reading nook with oversized bean bag chairs and a shelf full of books no toddler would read. I catch one title, ‘Teeth Are Not for Biting (But Sometimes They Are)’. I raise an eyebrow. “Special how?” He doesn’t answer. We pass a hallway lined with artwork. Crayon drawings, finger paints, but some of them are odd. Red scribbles in circular patterns, shapes that look more like symbols than animals. One has a giant black figure drawn with scratchy lines and tiny words underneath it. I lean closer. ‘The Bad Ones Are Coming.’

I unfolded it with the care one might give to a centuries-old relic. On the white surface, vibrant crayon strokes formed three stick figures. They were disproportionate and messy, but the intent was devastatingly clear. On the left was a tall man in a charcoal shirt—Gareth’s favorite color. On the right was a woman with long black hair and a green dress—the exact outfit I’d worn when we went to the bookstore last week. And in the middle, a small girl with pigtails held both their hands, anchoring them together. At the bottom, written in large, shaky block letters, was a single word: US.

she said. Jade looked at the book. Then at Dorothy. Dorothy waved a hand without looking up. "She'll grow into it," Dorothy said. Jade looked at the title. Looked at me. The title was something about a woman who had to choose between two versions of her life. I stared at it. Clara put it carefully in the bag she carried that contained, as far as anyone could tell, various important rocks and one very old crayon. Jade caught my eye.

And there on the coffee table sat Aria. Cross-legged. Tongue peeking out in concentration. One small hand gripping a red crayon. And beneath that crayon- Nitya's book. Innara stopped. For a moment, she just watched. Aria was deeply absorbed, little brows furrowed, curls falling into her eyes as she drew looping shapes across the open page.

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.

I asked Evan softly while pulling his colour book and colour holder onto my lap. I opened the book, and a picture of a kite appeared. “Okay. I want to colour it blue,” he demanded coquettishly. That innocent smile on his face made my fingers tremble on his waist. “Okay.” I still replied to him. I handed him the blue crayon. His little fingers wrapped around it immediately, but they weren't as steady as they used to be. The crayon slipped once before he managed to grip it properly. I pretended not to notice.

Luna’s crayon masterpiece had teeth. Literal ones. Lyra stood in the doorway of the pediatric playroom, a styrofoam cup of terrible coffee in one hand, and took in the scene: half the far wall was now occupied by a mural constructed from taped-up paper sheets. In thick, determined strokes of purple and blue, a lopsided wolf with a very large mouth was biting a stick-figure with a suspiciously crown-like shape on its head. Next to it, a smaller wolf—silver scribbles for eyes—held a heart.