Cartoon Guy With Dreads Drawing Novels & Stories

he nodded, offering me the folder. I smiled. Of course, Darius boasts about his brother. I truly love that about these boys. They are always supportive of each other and our granddaughter. The four of them are a great balance to each other. I opened the folder and nod with a smile as I looked at the manga-style drawings. It was apparently me, in my youth, wearing my black jumpsuit with red trim and my face hidden behind the white and red kitsune mask in some panels. It was beautiful even though it showed a story of blood and darkness.

Not more than a year older than me. "How do old people look in your world?" [They get wrinkles and their hair turns gray] "How pathetic," He said, chuckling. He is so arrogant. "Now go draw" I took the vessa out of the drawer and started drawing on the paper. Drew a dress with short puff sleeves and the dress covered the whole body on the top until a little over my knee. A tea length.

The girl was a talkative—something I loved about her. "And why are you still up?" My gaze fell on his drawing book. "Drawing something?" He nodded and sat back on the floor. I took a closer look at the drawing. It was a weird one. Xylon was definitely going to be a good artist when he grew up. But for now, his sketches were still amateurish. Observing carefully, I could tell it was a rough sketch of a man. At least, that was what it looked like. The person had beards and a moustache with a hoodie over his head. The drawing looked poor and unclear, but this was what I could make out.

I would wait till the end. It has been weeks since I have drawn someone's cartoon. Perhaps I only do it when I am sad and happy at the same time. This time, I want to draw a cartoon for Remo. The name alone brings calmness to me. I start from his head and then his round eyes.

His employees had gone home. His secretary had left nearly two hours ago. The cleaning staff had already passed through. Yet he remained where he always remained. Behind his desk. Working. Or at least pretending to. His attention drifted toward the drawing again. A crude picture made with colored pencils. Stick figures. A smiling sun. A flower that looked suspiciously like a potato. And in the middle of everything... A man in a suit. The drawing had clearly been made by a child. A very young child. A very energetic child.

Catelyn inwardly sneered at the thought. "Whatever. This is his home anyway," she said. "Mommy, don't you want to see him?" Ollie's beautiful eyes blinked, staring at Catelyn. Before she could answer him, Cedrick arrived in front of them. Seeing Ollie's crayon drawing halfway through, he said with a slightly blunt but gentle tone, "What are you drawing?" "Spyderman!" Ollie raised his little hand and pointed at his drawing. "This is Spyderman's head, hands, and feet. He can spit out webs from his fingers and fly over walls. Many of my friends in school like him a lot!"

He opened his backpack, drew out a black, thick sketchpad, and then flipped some pages before presenting it to me. He showed me an etched drawing of a beautiful girl with her long fingers brushed on her hair and as though her charcoal eyes were looking straight at me. “You can draw? Drake, this is amazing!” I gasped. He scratched his hair. “It’s not much. I’m still practicing.” “It looks beautiful to me.” I stared at the drawing. “She looks so real. Who is she?” Probably his crush? Please, let it not be his crush. “No one. Just in my imagination. I haven’t tried realism yet.”

He felt better than he did this morning, and it was no thanks to the mean nurse who poked him. Cal sat on the couch staring at the drawing his son made. It was messy, bright, and almost impossible to make sense of at first glance. It took a minute for him to process the page and understand that he was staring at three stick figures. One was tall and wore a black suit. The middle one was small and held what looked like an ice cream, and the last one had long hair. Cal crouched in front of his son and pointed at the female. “Who is this?”

Poor girl was a slave! “Luc, ready to leave?” I called out as I padded down the stairs to the living room, to find my little man bent with his attention on the paper he was coloring. I tiptoed before peeking from his shoulder, then smiled at the little doodles he was drawing on the picture. The back ground was green, the sky blue with flowers all around. The daddy doodle wore a blue cape, with a bold S on the chest, and the mommy doodle wore a red cape with the same S on the chest and between them was a small boy. Emotions clogged my throat at the sight of the picture;

“Draw a better version of yourself—the one you want to become. Then draw how you see yourself right now.” The due date was the end of the year. I started to draw. I started with my face. Big nose. Pimples. Curly hair—the one thing I liked. Then I drew an oversized hoodie and baggy pants. The better version was cleaner. Same hair. Smaller nose. No pimples. Slit eyebrows. Goatee. Muscles, but still skinny. Mason leaned over. “You think you’ll end up like that, Pablo?” “No,” I said. “But you definitely won’t.”