Paint It All Red Novels & Stories

I just slap the colors on, messy and hard. Red. For the anger burning a hole in my stomach. Black. For the fear that wraps around my throat every night. I paint faster. My breath starts coming in short little gasps. I press the brush so hard against the canvas that the bristles bend and fan out. I drag the black paint over the red, watching it swallow the color. It feels good to ruin the white space. It feels good to make a mess in this perfect, pristine house where everything has a place. I'm so lost in the motion, in the smell of the paint, that I don't hear the door open.

“What does red mean, Lee? In our stories?” “Brave…?” Eli murmured, his breathing starting to level out as he latched onto the logic. “Spot on,” I replied with a wink. “That means my hand is just being very brave right now. It’s a badge of honor.” They both leaned in, the fear in their eyes replaced by curious fascination. “And you know how much we love painting,” I continued, ruffling Lucas’s hair. “I’m just painting with red right here, since I ran out of paper to use today.”

He abruptly lets go of me and because I wasn't expecting it, I fall onto hard ground. I ignore the pain because it's nothing compared to the anguish on Santiago's face. Wow, he's really hurt and it's not just the asshole who sleeps with his mom who did this, but it's also me. I guess if I was color I would be red and not just any red but firery red, the kind that burns everything it touches.

My living room is trashed. The beautifully made white couches are now ripped open with its white stuffing scattered all across the ground. The table is shattered with pieces of glass dazzling on the floor like a disco ball, and the paintings made by my mom are slashed from left to right, the bright and colorful images now holding dark secrets. The windows are vandalized with bright red letters sprayed across the once clean glass. It read You don’t listen. It will be you next. Adair remains silent, his back stiffening in response to the words painted on the glass. He quickly glances back over his shoulder to make sure I’m there, but he’s met with an empty spot.

I was panting; it was quite obvious that I was about to pass out, but I fought against it. “That was actually the reason why the fences were painted red.” The Janelle beside me giggled. “Although it was indeed planned a long time ago that it should be that color. But because your opponents’ blood couldn’t be removed, they immediately brushed them.” The small me turned around to Janelle. And.. She was.. not herself. She kept on holding her head as she complained that it really hurt so bad. Then her eyes were crimson red. She is drooling, and she is staring at me for a moment until she suddenly attacks me. Fangs bared. Claws out.

Servers dressed in black moved around, offering champagne and appetizers, while a stage awaited the host's arrival at the opposite end of the space, ready to commend all the attendees for their presence. “This is beautiful,” I inhaled deeply, my focus fixated on an enigmatic masterpiece adorning the distant wall. It was an ethereal and captivating painting, unlike any my eyes had ever beheld. From afar, I could discern its essence, a mesmerizing fusion of crimson and ebony brushstrokes giving life to a tormented woman, her piercing screams resonating as she desperately clawed at her flesh. To some, it may appear disturbing, but beneath the surface, it encapsulated the very essence of our exi

"So I’ll see you on Saturday then?" He reached for his brushes and paints on the glass table, wanting to start mixing colors. The sky at that moment had shifted to a glowing orange, and he wanted to capture it accurately. He was planning to repaint the clear blue sky on his canvas and replace it with the warm, fiery tones of the sunset. "If you see a mermaid floating in the sea, bring her home right away," his mother teased with a laugh. "I’ll gladly take mermaids as my grandchildren." He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. "What if even the mermaids are avoiding me?"

Left it there for everyone to see. I can’t let Kieran know about this. He’ll look at this symbol and he’ll see an invasion. He’ll think the enemy is scaling the walls. He won’t have the luxury of believing it’s a frame job, because his pack will be baying for blood. I rush to the stables and grab a bucket of water and a stiff bristle brush used for scrubbing hooves. My hands are shaking with a blind, white-hot rage. The red paint is thick. It smears, turning the gray stone pink, looking terrifyingly like fresh blood.

It was damn nice to have things taken care of by someone other than me. “I know, I’m not sure how to make it look like that,” I explained, gesturing toward the painting Ford and I were trying to recreate. It was a tree whose leaves had changed colors for the fall, with leaves blowing in the wind and on the ground and whatnot. Mine was way too orange, but every time I tried to add more red, it got too red, and I had to add more orange. But then it was too orange. She patted me on the arm. “You’ll figure it out, dear.”

I want something that screams at personality change, while still giving a hot and seductive look. “Crimson red.” I say. “Wonderful choice Mrs. Andrea.”