Crying Eye Drawing Novels & Stories

His shoes are gone, hair in a messed halo, clutching a folded sheet of paper with a crayon drawing that is both ridiculous and the most perfect thing I have ever seen. “Daddy!” He launches at me and collapses into my lap, arms flinging around my neck. His hug is fierce and immediate and I realize how desperately I wanted this to be normal. His small hands are warm; the smell of soap and crayons surrounds him. His little legs are damp from running through the corridor, and he presses his drawing into my chest. “Eli,” I say, voice thick. “Hey, mate.” He presses the drawing up to my face. “I made another one for you. It’s a rocket-robot that spits water to put out bad guys.” He grins as if he’s

"Never again. I’m done being your shield, Layla. From now on, I’m just Elena. Find another way to fix your life." Layla rolled her eyes, her sympathy evaporating the moment it became inconvenient. "Fine. Be boring. But keep that money close. We’re going to need it sooner than you think." After the door clicked shut, the silence returned, heavier than before. Elena sat on the floor, surrounded by her sketches. She reached for a charcoal pencil, the dark dust staining her fingers. She didn't draw a logo. She didn't draw a layout. She began to draw a pair of eyes—sharp, dark, and filled with a loneliness that mirrored her own. She drew the obsidian mask, the hard line of a jaw that didn't know

Rhys is quiet for a moment. Then, "What does the drawing look like?" "He sent a photo," I say. I pull out my phone and turn it toward him. A child's drawing. Crayon. A woman with yellow hair, which is not my hair colour, and a large circle Rhys tips his head looking at. "Is that a dog?" he asks. "I think so," I say. "Arlo," Rhys says. "Possibly. Derek must have shown him a photo." Rhys looks at the drawing for a long time. Something moves through his face, tender and complicated, the specific feeling of being unexpectedly included in something you had no idea was happening.

Adira… It echoes pushing me to put her image on paper. I move to her nose leaving her mouth half finished; her eyes are the easiest part to put on paper. The image of them comes to me clear as day. The eyes staring at me in my mind have life in them, they have curiosity. They are filled with light but at the same time there is a void in them.

She took her drawing book from the shelf and sat down near the window where the evening light gently touched her face. Petal opened the sketchbook to a blank white page.Petal’s hands shook as she clutched her pencil, tracing trembling lines across the untouched white sheet of her drawing book. Each stroke was uncertain, blurred by the endless stream of tears falling from her reddened eyes. The salty drops trickled down her cheeks, wetting the paper in scattered, translucent blotches that threatened to ruin her art—but she drew anyway, desperate for distraction, for release. The dim lamplight in her room cast gentle shadows over the page, reflecting the turmoil inside her.

I took a look at the drawing and smile, it was a squibbly drawing of her. Blue eyes, Blond hair tied in a ponytail and a wide smile. Tho, it was the proff of a really vast artistic yet Childish cell. I saw it as something else. I saw it as her, standing right there with crayons in arms and a wide smile across her lips. I smiled slightly and carrased the picture, I know just where to put it. I turned it over and I arched an eyebrow on seeing something. “1..9..9..2?” I called out in confusion.

His embraced are tight and warmed but it felt heavy, painful and yearning than usual. Yui looked at them in confused. This child has no idea what was happening. Noticing the pearly tears that falling on her Mother's almond and bluish eyes, he raised up his arm and tenderly wipes the tears with his thumb, "Why mama is crying? Don't cry…" lips are curving downward.

Her perfectly serene doll-like look was ruined however by the tired scowl which decorates her face. Rubisviel Fyaril, the Orchid Butterfly Witch of the Dark Forest wipes the sweat from her brow and huffed after completing a drawing of a Cthulhu symbol inside her circle. Thick black bags hang under her tired golden eyes and her face was paler than usual. Her head hurts like a battle-ax was splitting it open and her shoulders and legs are aching after prolonged hours of sitting on the ground and focusing on drawing the symbols.

She frowned, and put her head down on the table, and closed her eyes for a moment. Dimitri and Pete walked through the door, Pete went to work on the soup, Ivan whispered to Dimitri about her arms. He looked over but said nothing. Pete cleared this throat, and Jade looked up. Her eyes a pale gray, almost white startled him he dropped the bowl of soup shattering the bowl when it hit the ground. He broke his stare, and grabbed a cloth, “My apologies you're eyes aren't as gray as they used to be. It’s almost a pale white,” he whispered.

I said, stretched my arms wide and Liam jumped on me. “Uncle,” he called out, staring at me with those purple eyes that fit his face perfectly. “Um?” I sighed, looking down at his hand to see what he had been drawing since the break of dawn. I let him sit properly on my lap before taking the sketchbook from him. The corner of my lips curved into a smile as I stared at the book. Liam drew himself most funnily and cutely ever. “My...” he pointed his index finger at the drawing and tapped his finger on the eyes. “The eyes.” I moved his hand and pointed at his eyes. My smile widened as I tried to understand what he was trying to say.