Comforting Drawings Novels & Stories

There, hidden behind a curtain of weeping carbon-fiber vines, was a small, dilapidated shack. "What is this?" I asked. "The only place the grid can't see," Xander said. He pulled back the vines, and I saw a wall covered in jagged, hand-drawn charcoal sketches. I gasped. The sketches weren't of buildings or machines. They were of us. There was a drawing of a man and a woman standing in a mountain of gold; a drawing of a girl with a wooden ring; a drawing of a man with orange eyes holding a woman in the rain.

he teased. I laughed—just a little. Later, Luca handed me a drawing pad and colored pencils. “Here. When words are hard, draw instead. It helps.” That night, I drew a wolf curled in a corner, wrapped in shadows, but with one small beam of light shining through the window. That light was shaped like Killian. I didn’t show anyone. Not yet. A few days passed. I kept trying. Talking in bits. Writing down short thoughts. Drawing more. Every time Killian entered the room, my heart jumped—but not out of fear. I started waiting for him. Watching the door. Listening to his footsteps.

I couldn’t even hide my smile… it stretched slowly and warmly across my lips before I surrendered the board to him. He took it with careful fingers, like he was receiving something sacred. He stared at it. And I watched his face instead of the drawing. My drawing was small and cute… a tiny family holding hands under a sun, smiling. A mother… a father… and a little child between them. No crowns. No pack symbols. Just love. Just peace. Safe to say it was exactly what I wanted. A life with him and our kids, safe from chaos. “I love it,” he said quietly, eyes still on the drawing.

Victor stepped back just enough to appear as though he had only just arrived. Silas collided gently into his leg. “Victor!” Victor forced a warm smile. “Hey there, champion.” Silas held up the drawing proudly. “I made this.” Victor took the paper slowly. Three stick figures. A family. His gaze lingered on the third figure longer than necessary. “Very nice,” he said calmly. Silas pointed to the drawing. “I’m trying to figure out who this one is.” Victor’s smile held steady. “I see.” Silas nodded.

"See? That's you with the crown because you're a princess. And that's Dad. And that's me and Karin." "We're all smiling," Karin added. "Because we're happy. Because we're together." My throat tightened. "I made another one too." Carl produced a second paper. "This one has wolves. See? That's your wolf. The silver one. It's the prettiest." I looked at the drawings. At the love poured into every crooked line and misshapen figure. My children had seen me upset. Had noticed my frustration and exhaustion. And their solution was to make me pictures.

“Can I draw something for you instead?” He led her to the couch, handed her the sketchpad and colored pencils that had just been delivered, and sat beside her. As she began drawing, he let himself study her. Her brows furrowed the same way Vera’s did when she concentrated. Her lashes fluttered in the same rhythm, and when she bit the end of the pencil, it was all Vera again. “You really love drawing?” he asked. She nodded. “Mom says when I’m sad, I should draw how I feel. It helps.”

Who knows if government officials decided to take me away to prick and poke me anyhow and do some mind control experiments on me? I noticed Ken on the field. He looked our direction and smiled when he saw Tiffany. Then frowned when he saw me. Wow. “What else have you been drawing.” I asked Tiffany. She turned to previous pages and showed me some of her art. There was all random stuff I could easily find on the internet, and luckily Tiffany labeled the drawings with dates and descriptions. Some had ‘dream’ written on the corner, others had ‘web’ written on them. “This one was kind of creepy.” Tiffany pointed to a drawing of an old man looking ill on a bed. The blanket was the only item colore

"Mr. Warner, these are the drawings Felix made during the psychological therapy sessions I conducted. Can you discern what they represent?" Bradley opened the folder and noted the dates on each drawing. With just one glance, he sensed the overwhelming weight in the drawings. Although Felix used vibrant colors, there was no hint of brightness or joy. Instead, a suffocating sense of oppression permeated the artwork.

I looked over it again and again as I hoped Chris would love it. It is a realistic drawing of him in black and white. No color pencil was used. He is a suit with his arms folded on each other. He looked so manly with his expressionless face standing there. I made the drawing to his stomach and stopped it there, not drawing further down. It looks like a portrait. I wish I could frame it out before he comes back from work but I won't even be going out today. I glanced up at the time and it was up to an hour before he arrives from work.

“Maybe, but I never took it seriously. Life didn’t really give me the chance for hobbies. My mom always said I had a talent for it, but… I don’t know. I just enjoyed sketching. Making small designs. Nothing special.” “It is special,” he replied immediately. I looked up, taken aback. He held my gaze with a quiet conviction. “Anything that brings you comfort is special. Anything that calms your heart matters. If drawing once did that for you, then it truly is important.” He paused, looking closely at the weariness on my face. “Do you want to give it another shot? Nothing serious, just sketch something little to take your mind off things.” I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what I’d d