Novelas y relatos de Drawing Stuff

As he open The door opens. The crying subsides. I press the crayon harder against the paper until it snaps. I stare at it for a second. Then I drop it. I don’t fix it. I don’t pick another color. I just sit there. The crying eventually stops. Of course it does. It always does when he goes in there. I look down at my drawing. It’s supposed to be the new house. I tried to draw it earlier, with the big windows and the long hallway and the stairs that make noise when you step on the third one.

A piece of paper fluttered out. It was a drawing. Crayons on construction paper. Catherine picked it up, and her blood ran cold. The drawing showed two stick figures standing on a jagged white line (the ice). One was labelled "Daddy," drawn in blue. The other was labelled "Sad Man," drawn in red. They were fighting. But above them, the sky was ripped open. A black hole was drawn in the clouds. And coming out of the hole wasn't light. It was a tentacle. A massive, black, spiraling limb covered in eyes.

The question felt like an incredibly welcome opportunity. I paused, then spoke quietly, “I need to go outside for a while.” His jaw immediately tightened in firm resistance. “Go outside to where?” “Anywhere at all that isn't this room,” I pleaded. I took a deep breath. “I need to go shopping for some things.” He raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. “ For food supplies?” he questioned. “No. I need to get new art supplies.” He remained silent for a long moment, thinking it over. “I am completely out of paper and charcoal,” I explained further. “Drawing and sketching is truly the only thing that keeps the fear quiet in my head.”

The way Kara showed off her drawing to the screen was like someone presenting a priceless gift. “Mommy, look! There’s a big person and a small person. It’s you and me!” Tina looked at the big and small stick figures that were holding hands and wearing skirts. They looked close. Only, there was a scribble of black to the side. Curious, she asked, “What’s this black thing over there?” “Oh, that’s Daddy!” Stunned, Tina asked, “What…?” “I only drew you and me, but the teacher said to draw a father. Since Daddy died ages ago, I drew a huge coffin!”

I said quietly. Once the butler left, closing the door behind him, I didn't approach Noah right away. I didn't do that overly bright, fake-cheerful voice adults usually use with kids. I just walked over to the opposite side of the room, sat cross-legged on the floor, and opened my oversized tote bag. I pulled out a thick pad of heavy-grade drafting paper and a tin of professional sketching pencils—the only things I refused to leave in the storage unit. I started to draw.

I opened a blank page and picked up a pencil. I started drawing.

A handful of graphite pens. My fingers curl around the paper. The memory hits me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. The shoe designs. The factory layouts. The stitches. I know exactly how to draw them. I know the exact measurements. I let out a soft, involuntary breath, my lips curving into a wide smile as I stare at the page. "Betty?" The uncertainty in Adriel's voice is like a cold drop of water down my spine. I stiffen, but it is too late. I have already let the smile stay on my face for too long. I turn my head slowly, the drawing pad still clutched tightly against my ribs.

“Are you okay, Raelynn?” “As I can be. It’s just a little tense at home, you know.” I eyed the half finished sketch that was scrawled on the paper. A rough drawing of a girl sprawled out in a flower field. Thick curls weaving between the honeysuckles and roses and lifeless eyes shaded a dull black. I glanced away, “I need a moment to breathe.” “Uh-huh.” She hummed, “Do you like to draw?” “I love it.” I gushed. I honestly wouldn’t know where I would be if I wasn’t able to draw. “It helps.”

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.”

It lay on a nearby table, its intricate lines and contours waiting to be brought to life once again. With focus, Ariana picked up a pencil and hovered it over the next blank space before her. The sketch held a special meaning, a piece of art that resonated deeply within her. As she began to recreate the lines, her hand moved breathing life into the paper. Ariana immersed herself in the act of drawing. Each stroke of the pencil represented a connection between her imagination and the tangible world. The rhythmic sound of drawing. As she meticulously recreated the details, Ariana's mind wandered, her thoughts drifting towards Mateo. The memory of his kind gesture lingered, intertwining with th