Paint It All Red Novels & Stories

Red added and she was right, everything in this room is beyond perfection, the painting on the wall, the colour, everything looks so royal. "Does this mean our mate is super-rich than what the world knows?" "What if he is rich? Do you plan to run away with his wealth?" "You are so silly Red, well I need to feel my eyes before he comes in," I said. "Better be careful not to break anything in here, I guess the vase alone here can buy your dad home." Red started her stylish talk of exaggerating things again. "I heard you," I replied when I mistakenly hit a small sculpture , my heart almost left me but luckily I caught it.

What fucking bullshit is the Shit Witch going to throw at me now? “Bum bum bum bum. Painting the roses red. We’re painting the roses red. We dare not stop, or waste a drop. So let the paint be spread. We’re painting the roses reeeed. We’re painting the roses red. Oh, painting the roses red. And many a tear be shed, because we know, they’ll cease to grow. In fact, they’ll soon be dead. NOOOOO… And yet we go ahead, painting the roses red. Painting the roses red. We’re painting the roses red.” A trio of voices sang as I saw shadows of you guess it PLAYING CARDS! “OH FUCK NO! I’ll kill them all!” I clenched my hands into fists, pocketing the watch for the moment.

While sleep was long gone from my eyes and I found myself here, unable to find a surge of relief. In the tapestry of my existence, colors have painted the chapters of my journey. Initially, I perceived red as the embodiment of warmth, a hue that whispered the name "Shawn." It seemed like the brightest, warmest color, a beacon guiding my emotions. However, now I realize it was a poignant illusion, a tender mistake, perhaps a misinterpretation veiled in the innocent naivety of my heart. That red, once so radiant, now carries the undertones of danger, a warning masked by the allure of its intensity.

Sasha went to her side to calm her down “I walked over to where the paints were laid. Every color she mentioned was there, except for lavender. Instead, there are 2 extras, Red and blue” Wait a minute! When you miss blue and red what do you get?? “Move aside” I said as I brought a bucket. Then I poured the red paint in but not too much, if it’s too much it’ll look like violet. Then I mixed it with a full can of blue, turned it and wallah!! “Here’s your lavender boss. Just as long as they don’t mix the red in too much it’ll come out fine” I smiled and I waved. Off to paint Lilly’s room then…

I whispered, my voice softer than I intended, like a secret slipping between us. I bent down, dipping the brush into the paint. Guess what color? The red paint. Thick, deep, and vibrant. Carefully, I dragged the bristles around his waist, circling him with the color of fire. He opened his eyes, watching me with quiet intensity. “Why red?” “Because I think it suits you better,” I answered simply. But that wasn’t the full truth. I painted him red because that’s how I felt when I was with him. To others, red might mean danger, a warning, and a stop sign.

Dan had described to his mistress. I opened my makeup drawer and bypassed the muted roses and the soft corals he preferred. I reached for a heavy, square tube I had bought in secret, hidden beneath the velvet lining of my jewelry box. I uncapped it, revealing a shade so deep and visceral it looked like an open wound. Blood Red. I applied it with surgical precision. The pigment was thick, matte, and unapologetic. It didn’t soften my features; it sharpened them into a blade. It turned my mouth into a weapon. This wasn’t makeup; it was war paint.

“Bring me paint. Black, gold, and the same red.” She blinked. “Paint? The cleaners” “Now,” I said. She ran. When she came back, I took a brush. I didn’t scrub the insult first. I covered it. I painted a wolf in black. Big. Alone. Facing forward. I painted thorns in gold around it, tight like a trap. But the wolf still stood. Then I used the red. I painted one drop on the wolf’s chest, right where the heart would be. The insult vanished under the image.

In the past six months, I have been painting none stop, trying to make my dream of holding my own gallery come true. I have been painting the people of the mansion. Dalinds and Milton, Cane and Connor, Kevin, little Miles and his ex wife, who all still live with us, and finally Elijah. Even Dante and Harvey got into one of my canvases just for the sake of it. I only needed one last painting, which was the one I finished a few minutes ago. My painting have been getting brighter and brighter, and, I have been using a lot of red lately. Once I was over my fear of the color, it was quickly growing on me.

She sat, crossing her legs, her red-painted nails tapping against the vanity. “Hmm… nude or red?” she asked herself, holding up two lipsticks. “Nude says sweet. Red says dangerous.” She smirked, twisted open the red one, and applied it slowly like war paint. “Red it is,” she said, grinning wickedly. “Red means danger.” Her phone buzzed on the table. She picked it up, dialing grandma. “Good morning, Grandma,” she greeted, her voice sweet as sugar and twice as smooth.

Talk about sensory overload. Malcolm almost chuckles, but he’s too busy fucking me, and I can barely even move as every nerve in my body lights up like a firecracker. But somehow, I manage to grab the tube of acrylic and twist the top off. Giggling, I raise it up over Malcolm’s head. “Hey, Daddy, you want to paint with me?” I squeeze the tube, splattering his muscular back with cadmium red. His hips halt, and he looks up at me in shock, eyes wide, jaw open. I bite my lower lip and giggle.