Comforting Drawings Novels & Stories

“We are so sorry about your baby. We love you and hope you feel better soon. Love, Ben.” Tears welled in my eyes as I read the words. The innocence behind them broke through the numbness that had consumed me, their compassion a soothing balm against the ache in my heart. I opened another letter, and then another. Each one carried kind words, heartfelt messages, and simple drawings meant to comfort me. One child had drawn a picture of me holding a baby, the sun shining brightly above us. My heart ached as I traced the lines of the drawing, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. These children, with their small gestures, were giving me a strength I hadn’t realized I needed.

Everything I'd fought for. He looked up when I walked in. Didn't ask where I'd been. Just crossed to me, pulled me close. "You okay?" "I don't know." "Want to talk about it?" "Not yet." He nodded. Let me hold him a little longer. Clara looked up from her drawing. "Mama, look!" I crossed to her. She'd drawn three figures—tall, taller, small. Stick figures with big smiles and a sun in the corner. "Who's that?" I asked.

I removed the towel from my head and fixed it with sweet ointments. I also started applying oil to my skin until every inch of me was covered in oil. I didn't bother to wear undergarments because I felt more comfortable being free. Then I grabbed one of my drawing boards and placed it on the floor. I felt more comfortable drawing on the floor. I grabbed my paint and painter, and I was ready. I drew long strokes on the plain drawing board and closed my eyes, remembering the feeling of home. Shadow Ace was beautiful with many cottages, but I rarely stayed inside, so the thick, sturdy forest became home.

Jack looked at the camera again, beaming like the sun had cracked open just for him. “Wook, Mama! I drawed you!” He held up a crinkled paper, crayons dancing in thick, crooked lines. There she was, in blue. He always drew her in blue. Safe. Calm. Strong. “That’s beautiful,” I whispered. “Is that me smiling?” He nodded hard, curls bouncing. “Yeah! We at da beach. You happy!” I swallowed hard. “That sounds perfect.” Valerie smiled from behind him, gently running her fingers through his curls.

Drawing would be a good way to kill time, and it would help her relax. Crystal smiled as she went into the living room. She sat on the couch, pulled out her book and a pen from the coffee table’s drawer, and began to draw. She had only been drawing for a short while, though, before the cut on the back of her hand split open. She bit her lower lip as searing pain ran up her brain. Luckily, the wound was covered, so she did not bleed on her book, but red roses pressed through the cotton. Fu*k it! - she thought, and she kept on drawing.

He yawned, still blinking at her like an owl. Whitney’s tension cracked at the edges, yet she knelt, brushing his hair back. “I’m here now.” He nodded solemnly, as if that solved everything in the universe, he held up a folded paper from behind his back. “What’s that?” she asked. “A drawing,” he mumbled. “For you.” She unfolded it, revealing a crooked house, two boys badly drawn but smiling, and a tall woman with ridiculous silver hair that swooped like a superhero cape.

As long as he left me alone, it meant that the chances of his assault reoccurring were low. Strapping on a top and a long skirt, I made my way into the closet and fished out the box of drawing materials. At least Tom hadn't found this yet. If he destroyed them as well, I would lose my mind for sure. I hugged the box close to my chest, feeling immense relief course through me. If I searched for escape from my reality, this was it. This was my escape. I cleared the desk in the bedroom, laid out my drawing paper and grabbed a drawing pencil. Swiping through my phone for a drawing video online, I tried to get lost in mimicking the artist's steps and trying to draw up what I could.

This was the kind of thing that woke the city up and left it grousing in its sleep. Around dusk, a woman from the daycare brought Sophie’s little blue spade and a crayon drawing of a family, three stick figures holding hands under an enormous yellow sun. The teacher’s hands trembled as she handed it to me. Sophie had drawn me with wild hair and a lopsided smile. She had drawn Alexander with a big square body and a neat tie. The third stick figure was smaller, a happy, tilted circle with two dots for eyes, Sophie’s own self-portrait. The paper smelled faintly of paste and crayons and every ordinary thing I wanted back.

Whatever happened last night, all the crying and refusing to eat, waved past his head like it never happened — he had forgotten about everything that happened yesterday, at least pretended to so he would not spoil his happiness. Right there on the wooden table was an A4 with a sketch of David's face. Every feature and every detail were measured beautifully correctly — it was so perfect and realistic, and the artist himself could not stop smiling at his own work. Travis smiled and laughed as if he had seen something funny, and interesting. It was indeed interesting to watch his work — a drawing that he started last night when he had decided to find something to distract his poisonous thoughts

It was quite stupid of her to keep wearing the ring Dante had proposed to her with but she could not stop herself from having the ring on and the ring also helped her wave off men. She pulled her hair into a neat ponytail and picked her bag up from the bed where her sketchbook laid too. She picked up the sketchbook and opened it. During the past three months, there were days when she felt very much miserable, lonely and tired and on those days, drawing made her feel better. But her sketchbook wasn't filled with random drawings, they were filled with drawings of Dante's face, any part of his body she felt like drawing. Most of the drawings were that of his face and his abs. She never ever for