Blindfold Drawing Novels & Stories

"Son what do you mean by she is blind." Jake mother asked him looking at Anastasia who can't see a thing. I instantly tensed and Jake could feel it since our hands where kinda of brushing each other. "You heard me right mum. She is blind she can't see a thing mum." Jake said squeezing my hand under the table. The tension was so thick in the air that you could slice it with knife. No body spoke for a minute or two before the voice I came to realize as Jake mum spoke.

Focused on nothing. He can't see me, she reminded herself, desperately trying to calm her racing heart. He’s blind. Damien leaned down, his face inches from hers. But instead of pressing his lips to hers, he tilted his head, his warm breath brushing intimately against her ear. His lips parted, and he whispered in a tone so low, so dangerously sharp, that only she could hear it.

"Redwood? I don't remember much. The accident is what they said there was. A fire. But... it's blurry." The counsellor paused her pen. When you draw do you ever see anything? Isolde blinked. "See?" “Patterns, symbols, words, things that you do not remember choosing to draw.” She dropped her eyes on her sketchbook. A fragment of one page sticking out, in the angle of a page, was a wreath of golden lines, twisting in on itself, to a point that almost seemed to be a wolf-eye. "Sometimes," she said. "They just happen."

"So, I have a theory that something malicious happened inside our school that made the blind man that angry... to the point he was ghosting the school." My head suddenly ached, feeling the same spinning sensation before. I saw the blind man lying down the library as I have dreamed of. There was only him who's left inside. There was a gun. Probably mom's gun she left. The blind man's right hand hardly tried to reach the gun. A couple of trials and attempts made, until he successfully reached the gun and held it tight. He was bathing in his own blood, as he tried picking up a book placed on the floor. It was old and big. He tried to sit, hardly moving because of his blood lost.

I had never done it before. I usually finished sketching the eyes at first so that all the other features of face and body could be sketched and painted proportionally and not seem cartoonish. But Valeria was panicking for some reason, and I didn’t want to make her anxious. Telling her to close her eyes would make her feel bad, and I didn’t want her to feel discouraged because of her lack of sight. She was more than enough for the painting and I could adjust anything for her. Seeing her relaxed body lounging on the chaise with her eyes blindfolded in a black satin, different thoughts took over my mind. Dirty, filthy thoughts. So much so that I had to force myself down and focus on the sketch

normal. Too normal. Blue sat in the art room again during lunch. Alone. I walked in quietly, closing the door behind me. “Hey,” I said. He looked up, offered a small nod. “Hey.” I took the seat beside him, careful not to touch him. Not because I didn’t want to—God, I did—but because I didn’t want to ruin the quiet space between us. He handed me his sketchbook without a word. Inside was a drawing of two boys standing back to back, one with his eyes open, the other blindfolded. They weren’t touching. But their shadows were.

“You like designing so much and the drafts you draw are amazing! I’m sure you will be able to get good results!” Fia was a design major and besides the subject of culture, there was still the professional subject examination in design. The theoretical professional examination required her to draw. She was quite confident in her culture paper, but she was a bit uncertain about her professional paper. She was now drawing after practicing. If she could achieve fifty to sixty percent of her work when her sight was good, that would be great. Because of her eye problems, she learned to use the paper and pen used by the blind, but she was not very proficient and didn’t know if it would help in draw

“This is your fault anyway. You keep hitting me and my body is just reacting weirdly. It does not mean I want any of this. Any body will react the same way..” He did not bother answering. Instead he reached into the drawer and pulled out a black blindfold. My stomach dropped straight to the floor. No. Not that. “Wait,” I said quickly, trying to shift back even though I was already on my knees. “I do not like things over my eyes. I really do not. Please do not put that on me.”

The facilitators handed out charcoal pencils and paper, setting a playful, yet meditative mood. “Now, this activity is simple,” one facilitator said with a bright smile. “You’ll draw your partner’s face… without looking at the paper. No peeking. Let your hand follow what you see—without judgment. Don’t try to make it perfect. Just see them. That’s what matters.” Laughter rippled through the group. Most people immediately looked horrified and delighted by the idea. Kingsley lifted an eyebrow. “Prepare to be impressed,” he said with mock gravity.

Then he unwrapped a ruffled piece of paper then threw it at her. " Here you go, look at this! Your pictures are all around! Your husband paints you naked then sells it for a very high price! " " Even men at the brothels now look at you and masturbate with his paintings! " " I got this one for a million dollars! That's how high he sells a naked painting of you! " " They call him the blind painter! Blind painter my ass! " Blind? Painter? Cinderella couldn't fathom every information at once. She looked at the piece of drawing, and was amazed.