Inanimate Insanity Paintbrush Novels & Stories

All I see, all the audience sees, are words scratched with red ink—words that cover the original painting. Sick. Mental. Delusional. Psycho.

“Since I am so destructive, don’t blame me if I ruin your peace first. Now stop picking on me and give the brush already, it is not as if you don’t expect everything that might happen already.” His mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile, just something else as he handed her the brush. Her hands tightened around the brush that felt extremely foreign in her hand—wet, delicate, and way too light for what it could express. Nirvana eyes found Severin’s painting once again and her hold on the brush relaxed, he had told her not to be rigid, so she can’t treat this brush with the same mindset with which she held a pen used for signing contracts.

She would paint every day, though her paintings were mediocre, to say the least. Her subjects were babies, and every one of them looked alike. It baffled me why the rich would spend a fortune to buy Grandma's paintings. "It's done." Grandma set her brush on the table. I drew closer to take a look. As expected, it was yet another ugly painting. "Bring her in." She rose and brought the painting into a room without turning on the lights. The man hurried out and brought back a pretty young woman with him. He comforted her, "Hey, just go in."

If I hadn’t stopped, I would have spun her around, let her robe fall completely, spanked her, and fucked her until she screamed out my name. My cock twitched hard against my zipper at the thought. I dropped into the stool and pulled the palette close. My hand hovered over the paints. Black. White. Flesh tones. Red. A dozen colors, but none strong enough to capture her mouth. That soft, defiant pink that made me want to ruin her lips until she couldn’t close them again. The brush felt strange in my grip after so long, but the moment I dipped it in paint, it became natural, as if my hand had been waiting all this time.

" Gregorio shouted threateningly at them. He was already irritated by their voices. Charlotte panicked as she glanced at her blindfolded fellow students. "Please, be quiet!" Charlotte pleads with them. Alyssa and Maggie were silent, but they continued to sob softly. The artist handed the paintbrush to Charlotte, her hand shaking as she accepted it. "Paint this part," Gregorio said while pointing to the part that hadn't been painted yet. Charlotte stared at the painting in front of her. A woman wearing an ancient dress is in the painting. She is holding a large fan in her right hand, the painting is very beautiful, but she can't help but be nervous.

I approached the closet and peered inside, my eyes scanning the area where the brushes were normally stored. "Let me check," I said, my voice filled with curiosity. A flicker of anger passed over Brittney's features as she spoke up, her voice laced with annoyance. "Do I have to stay calm? Can't we express our anger when someone has sabotaged our hard work and messed up our paintings?" "Yeah, let's stay calm," Nina affirmed. "We don't know who did this or their intention. Losing our temper won't solve anything." Brittney's eyes narrowed as she stared at the empty space where the brushes should have been. Her face contorted with frustration and anger, and she clenched her hands into fists. "St

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.

I swayed my head and shoulders slowly to Smile by Simi playing softly through my ear pods while I worked the paintbrush against the white canvas. I had finished my day's work much more earlier than usual and hurried away into the painting room. My paintbrush splayed across the canvass, my creation taking its form. I had no idea what I was painting, but there was this image that constantly nagged my mind. My apron was a splash of different colours; some had managed to get to my shorts and sneakers.

"You must think the paintbrush is too thin. Let's switch to another one!" The paintbrush was slowly drawn out, causing me to gasp again. Osborn raised the paintbrush to show me, the red-brown paintbrush was dripping. "Look! You've soaked the paintbrush!"

Why the hell was I feeling suffocated just because I hadn't laid eyes on my stepbrothers? I tried to dip my paintbrush into the pallet, but my leg involuntarily kicked the chair I placed it on, causing the pallet to fall to ground. I stared at the spilled paint colours on the ground in silence. Frustration created a fog around my head, but I was too tired to even show any emotions. These men made me do things I normally wouldn't do. What the hell was I doing with a paintbrush and a canvas when I didn't know a single thing about painting?