Comforting Drawings Novels & Stories

The tears continued silently. The room felt heavy with her unspeakable grief. Damien pushed off the doorframe, his face tight with emotion. He took a step towards her, then stopped, unsure, looking at me helplessly. What comfort could he offer? What words could reach this depth of despair? I stood up slowly. The physical ache in my body was secondary to the ache in my soul for this child. I walked towards the desk, not to her, but to the other side. I picked up a colored pencil – not black, but a soft, warm yellow. I picked up a fresh sheet of paper. I didn’t look at her drawing. I didn’t speak. I simply began to draw.

The corporate situation had kept them busy all day. But the moment they stepped inside, the tension melted away. Aiden ran toward them immediately. “You’re late!” Aria followed, holding a drawing. “Look what we made!” May knelt down. The drawing showed a stick-figure family standing under a big sun. Four figures held hands. “This is beautiful,” May said warmly. Damien crouched beside her. “Who’s this tall one?” he asked. “That’s you,” Aiden said proudly. “And this is Mommy,” Aria added.

(Gabe POV) Being a comforter with each other is like a game. For me, the one who falls in love first will be the loser. But seeing this girl, drinking herself to death, make my heartaches. "Cami you alright?" I caressed her back. "Emm emm, why?" "I'll just buy you Green Lagoon bottled water, it's really good for the head and stomach." "Okay, as long as you come back. Maybe later I'll leave or you'll just disappear suddenly."

Fear sat inside them constantly now. I forced myself to smile anyway. "Of course I am." That earned the smallest reaction from him. Barely there. But I would take anything at this point. I walked toward him and sat beside him on the floor. "What are you drawing?" He hesitated before turning the notebook around. A boat. The ocean. And me standing beside him. Just me. My chest tightened painfully. "You made me look taller," I said softly. "You complain too much to be short."

She laughed and hugged me tightly, she was half a head taller than me, but it wasn't awkward at all. "You really don't have to." I said, smiling at her, only now could I take in the full effect of how much stress this had caused her. Her deep brown hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, a pencil shoved into it, and her shrug's sleeves were shoved above her elbows, where eczema sat red and irritated and brought forth by stress. "Here's the drawings." I said as I pulled a folder filled with 205 different drawings. "I threw in a couple alternates, and you can rearrange them however you think they fit best. Oh!" I pulled out another paper filled with little boxes with intricate des

From the drawing, it's lunch break and students are milling about around me but I'm standing there, looking stuck and feeling exhausted from the healing process. My eyes are a muddy brown but my lips are stretched out in a wide smile. My shoulders are slumped but my nostrils are flared like I'm angry and my fists are clenched so tightly, it's like I'm trying not to go wild. Like I'm trying to rein in my demons. And I don't even remember this. “These drawings are incredible, Jeremy.” “I should know, I made them and they're called outlines.” I slap his chest playfully, “Show a little gratitude.”

I picked up a chair from the east corner of the room and a random sketch paper and pen. Drawing or painting had always been my stress relief. I have drawn Violet over twenty times with just an idea image from pictures but I got to draw her laying feet’s away from me.

Now, she sat here in the mornings, drinking the coffee he made for her—the silent, pathetic peace offering he left on the counter every day, hoping she wouldn't throw it out. He looked at the refrigerator—at the blue circular magnet holding up the three drawings. He wanted his drawing up there so badly it made his chest ache, but he didn't know how to ask without sounding desperate. "What are we drawing, Eli?" "Animals," Eli said, his small hand moving with fierce concentration. "Mrs. Yusuf said to draw our favorites." "How many do we have?" "Three." Eli pointed a small finger. "That's a brachiosaurus. That's Patterson. That's Gerald."

She merely wanted Tiffany to pay for her actions. Their apology and remorse meant nothing to her. On the other side of the sofa, the little Chris laid flat on the sofa as he drew with a color pencil. After Charmine hung up on the call, he shifted forward to present her his painting, “Mommy, Mommy, look! I painted this for you.” Charmine accepted the paper to see that a heart-warning scene was drawn on the paper. Through the natural light coming from the window, she reclined languidly on the sofa. The painting was delicate and refined; it was a painting of high standards.

When was the last time anyone had asked about my happiness? "I... I like reading," I admitted softly. "And drawing, sometimes. When I can." He slid into the chair across from me, his eyes falling on my sketchbook. "These are incredible." His fingers traced the edge of the paper, careful not to touch the actual drawings. "You have real talent." Heat flooded my cheeks. "They're just doodles..." "Just doodles?" He raised an eyebrow. "The detail in these wolves... the way you've captured their movement... that's pure art."