Drawings On Converse Novels & Stories

Laughing, I push his knuckles with both my palms, feigning surprise with a gasp when he steals my right shoe. Wriggling my toes in the air, I dramatically cover my mouth with the palm of my hand. "You did not just steal my favorite shoe!" "You have a favorite shoe, really?" Adam asks, shaking his head at my poor acting skills. He holds my shoe between his digits, out of reach from my hands. "Yeah, there are flowers drawn on the shoe you're holding," I tell him. "I drew them myself," "Oh," Adam studies the shoe then, and I giggle at his serious expression.

My hand shake but only slightly, but I clench them into fists until they became steady. That night, as usual Cole return late. His boots drag against the floorboards, his breath already laced with drink. As he collapses onto the bed, he doesn’t speak to me, he kept his back turned to me. I sit at the table with my sketchbook open, the candle flickering beside me, and draw. Wildflowers. I always draw wildflowers.

The sound of tearing fabric fills the room and my breaths come out heavy. His eyes roam over my body and I bite my lip. I'm not wearing any panties and I'm completely naked except for a pair of white Converse I had on with my dress. I decorated them with some jewels and put lace in place of shoes strings. I wanted my feet to be comfortable because I had plans of dancing with my husband tonight. "How do your sneakers always turn me on so fucking much?" I know it's a question, but I don't think he's looking for an answer right now.

Should I pencil it in? I stared at the message. The two worlds couldn’t have felt more different. Caleb...with his coffee and calm voice and quiet humor. And Ashton...crashing back into my life in a giant green dinosaur suit. I didn’t reply. Nathan wandered into the kitchen, still barefoot, now holding his drawing book. "Look what I made today," he said quietly. He opened the page. A green dinosaur with a cape. Next to it... a smaller dino. "This is you and him?" I asked.

The first draw that Emmet opened contained a single hairbrush, come medicinal creams for rashes and burns and the like, and a card of black hair pins, a collection of ribbons, and bobbles - all entirely innocent. The next draw was empty, apart from the approximately ten sets of socks, all black, and only two of them extra warm for the winter, and another two pair of shoes, just placed here. No slippers though. One of the shoes were black boots that would go upto about Lila's mid calf, while the other shoes looked like they would be worn by school pupils as part of their uniforms. Emmet did not blink at them, finding them to be within the confines of Lila's admittedly childish tastes, and clo

“But not clothes. I mean my illustrations. Sketches. I’ve got dozens of them stacked in portfolios back in my office and still sketching more.” “You want to hang sketches at a festival? You do realize this isn’t an art museum, right?” I laughed. “Obviously. I’m not talking about a quiet exhibition with velvet ropes and moody lighting. This is more like… fun fashion corners. Think giant display boards near the games or food trucks – spots where people can stop, look, vote for their favorites. Maybe even try sketching their own designs beside mine.” His expression didn’t change, but I saw his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. Watching me quietly.

My stomach rolls were hidden under the high empire waist of the dress. My thigh hung out from the long slit on the side drawing my eyes to flow down to my feet. It made me a little self-conscious since my thighs looked huge, but I can just keep tugging it closed here and there. I slipped into my black converse since Corrie would supply me with shoes shortly, hopefully, Ellis wouldn't notice or mind.

Mendel would look through them carefully before giving them back, never saying anything about the pictures themselves but sometimes bringing up a specific drawing weeks later, as if the drawings were a language they were both learning. All of today's sketches were of clothes. Silhouettes that were ready for travel and have pockets deep enough to hide something valuable, such as a passport, a ticket, or proof of escape. Hooded coats that made it seem like you could be anonymous. Dresses with high, bold collars that made you look like you were going to a better place than where you were. Angela's pencil slid over a new sheet, making a sleeve from memory. The movement was calming in a way that

"Forty five minutes, buddy. You can make it." He swats my hand away, no doubt detecting the mockery behind my tone. I laugh and take a notepad out of my backpack. I grab a pencil and start drawing. No, don't get the idea that I can draw, because I can't. I get distracted from a figure that looks like Popeye by a long shot -a very long shot- when the door opens and I hear shuffling into the room. I look up to see who our late guests are, to see Jude Walker and Cole Adams come into the room.

He popped another pretzel, crunched it deliberately loud, then licked salt off his thumb. Lennon dropped into the oversized armchair across from him. Pulled his knees up to his chest. Reached blindly for the sketchbook on the side table—black leather cover worn soft at the edges, pages already half-filled with sketches of Damian that he would never dare show the world. He flipped to a fresh page, then completely forgot Archer was even there as he started sketching something new.