Flower Crayon Novels & Stories

"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.

The crayon colors blended deeper into her fingerprints—pink, blue, brown, and green, creating a rainbow-like stain on her pale skin. Her nasal passages were completely sore. Tears welled up in her tear glands. This time, there were enough tears to flow. They spilled over from the corners of her eyes, down her cheeks, past her lips and chin, and dropped onto the painting. The tears landed on the butterfly’s left wing, creating small, wet circles on the pink crayon paint. The paint was slightly dissolved by the tears, leaving light pink streaks on the paper. “Why are you crying?” Olivia asked. Her voice sounded confused. The crayon remained in her hand, with the tip pointing downward, tremblin

QUINCY POV There were exactly six and a half crayons under my couch. I knew this because Eva made it her mission in life to find every single one of them before breakfast. "Found purple!" she cried out happily, holding the crayon high up like a trophy before crawling farther under the cushions. "But no orange yet, mommy." I leaned against the kitchen counter, drinking lukewarm coffee and watching her little feet sticking out from the living room as if they had a life of their own.

“Of course. Fire away.” “Well, I know you work in color and in black and white, and a lot of your work features natural settings, but this latest series,” Franklin looked at the large vibrant pieces, each featuring a different insect. “It does seem to be a departure from your usual style. Is there any meaning behind that?”

She tested the quality of the red-colored pencil on her hand on the first page of the intermediate pad; it created a brightly colored line which gave her the exhilaration to continue her practice. She began to inspect the other art material like the oil pastel crayons; she opened the rectangular-shaped package and read the brand name: Crayola. Oil Pastels Neon. There were 12 pieces inside the box with the named colors written as hot magenta, shocking pink, radical red, outrageous orange, neon carrot, laser lemon, electric lime, screamin' green, graphic green, aqua brite, blue bolt, and vivid violet. She found the names funny. In her deep curiosity, she tested the quality again and found it t

I closed my eyes as I anticipated Isabelle's attack and just then, I heard that fluttering sound once again as the wind brushes through my hair tossing my cap a far. As if something flew right above me and was gone in an instant. As I opened my eyes, Isabelle was gone and so was that something. I grabbed my cap and just as I grabbed it, I saw the broken crayon I carried last night to the forest. The indigo color. Clarisse has said that it was Arthur's favorite color.

“We’ll wrap some up for her.” Pascal twirled his spaghetti around his fork, sauce smudging his cheek. He looked up at Nikolai with bright, expectant eyes. “Daddy, today in art class we made paper dragons! Mine breathed rainbow fire. Miss Elena said it was the most creative one.” Nikolai leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, a rare casual posture for him. “Rainbow fire? That’s impressive. What colors did you use?” “All of them!” Pascal beamed. “Red and orange for the hot part, then blue and purple for the magic. And green sparkles because dragons need sparkles.”

"If I was a color," my sister's voice sounds unusually sultry. "I would be violet." "Why violet?" Tatiana asks. "Because violet is a mysterious color and I have to say I'm full of mysteries." I never thought Mckayla could be so poetic, but then again she's high out of her mind, we all are. Tatiana giggles. "Then I guess I'm green." "Because you love the environment?" Kristen asks, laughing as well.

He gave me the violet crayon, Carlisle the blue, and him, the one with the yellow crayon. “Let’s make a family portrait!” he announced, grabbing all sorts of drawing materials—papers, pencils, crayons, and even paint brushes if we want to. “Mommy will draw me, dada will draw mommy, and I will draw dada!” My heart twisted at the word “family,” but I nodded, sitting down beside him. Carlisle took the other side, his knee brushing mine accidentally as we adjusted our positions. I stiffened, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

She picked up the usual colors a werewolf has, brown, white, grey, silver, and black. She held out the crayons for her daughter in an outstretched hand. After pondering over them a little she chose both brown and grey. Her mother ruffled her hair one more time before getting up. In a minute, Sarah had colored the werewolf and now she wanted to color the eyes. Her mother came to her aid once more and held a few colors in her hands such as blue, brown, and black. “Try these sweetie” “Olivia…” Gerald called for her from the dining area.