Emotional Deep Drawings Novels & Stories

Alexander’s POV I know this feeling of drawing someone’s picture when you miss them the most. We drew the curves as if we are touching them. We shade the corner of lips as if they are smiling for us and especially, we live in the moment of our past as if it is playing before us. We draw to stay close, to feel home, to feel safe, to feel their warmth and finally to feel them. I did it once after the death of that woman, after pushing Celia successfully because of my arrogant ass, nonsense judgment and baseless assumptions. I drew how she laughed after running away from the thugs. That was the first ever time I saw her laughing and giving a reaction like that. Back then or the other seconds be

Or maybe he is struggling with the loss of someone close to him, or maybe he has terrible nightmares each night and is looking for an outlet…I’m truly reaching at this point. Perhaps some of these explanations would make perfect sense, if it weren’t for the uneasy feeling in my stomach. The drawings are just so...unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Is Noah really like this? I can’t imagine he would be, from the times I’ve met him, but how could I gauge from those small moments what he is truly like? He’s drawn demon like creatures emerging from a smudge of darkness. Each have eyes void of all feeling, of all mortal like tendencies. Dark hooked claws reach out, almost completely off the page, lik

Seeing her lying there looking sad somehow makes me forget that she called me a criminal. I don’t know how long I stand there, but somehow, I feel lighter. Resigned, I pull out my sketchbook and begin to draw. It’s a compulsion that I cannot resist. When I’m done, I appraise the drawing and take a deep breath. I feel drained yet energized at that the same time. My body is sweating as if I’ve run for miles, and my skin feels sensitive. All I can think about is walking across the street and kissing Nevaeh’s beautiful lips.

Beautiful was an understatement for such mastery; little art could compare to such brilliance. “Oh my God!, Mom,” Richard said, absolutely stunned like I was. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and I just stood there staring at the portrait with my mouth wide open. Not a single detail was missed, right down to the strands of hair. The clothing was drawn to perfection, as if the actual articles of clothing were directly on the drawing. It was clear proof of where Roy got her artistic skills from; Cara is truly blessed with great skills. “I know; I can hardly believe it myself. It’s stunning,” Cara said, admiring all the intricate details. “I can’t wait to show Roy and Giovanni; I was thinking of gif

Damn. Another deep breath later I shook my head then moved his sketch aside and started drawing my latest victim instead. Willing my mind to think about my latest kill, I started sketching, fast. The lines, the shape of his slouched body, and the fear show his level of stress without showing off his face. The blood dripping from his stomach made them perfectly in line with the moment his life was slipping away. My wrist moves hurriedly, line after line, shading, shaping Rudy the tattletale. The coloring comes next, then I decided to stop when my back felt too tired to continue.

"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.

The ones soft, being utterly smooth, delicate, made you want to treasure it even through the pictures. A few were rough. Bold if I may. Much like the sketches I had the privilege of seeing in her sketchbook after that night at the bar. It seemed it was a new design she was trying out. A bolder design. One made from suppressed emotions if I may. "She definitely made those sketches and these designs not long before that night." I said to myself, smiling crazy now. "Is that a good thing, sir?" Tom stared, confused. But of course he couldn't understand. He couldn't see that my goddess was indeed showing off her actual emotions through her designs. She was an emotion channelled designer.

Hayden wasn't the type to cry or wallow in sadness, but ever since he met Zenos, he kept on breaking his rules. “You cruel man. How can you leave like that? How can you leave us like that?” Hayden muttered with red eyes. . . Hayden looked at what he had just drawn, a beautiful wet-on-wet oil painting of his Zenos. Turns out he can also draw humans this well. On his first try, he really was so proud of himself! Hayden grinned wildly.

Deep down, I know that what Daze said was true, but I can't let go of the hatred inside of me. Feeling frustrated, I decide to leave the company. Everyone watches me as I go, and I head to the park. From there, I drive off to the bar to drink and find someone to have sex with. I hate women, but that doesn't mean I hate sex. I know that at the bar, I can find a prostitute who will give me what I want. Of course, she'll get what she wants too: money. And that's the end of the story. No feelings attached.

In contrast to the haunting need at the very core of my being to die and be with Kenneth forever. I loosen my arms from my knees. I picked up the shoulder bag left on my side. I closed my eyes and pulled on my memories. Shoving the bad images aside, Kenneth’s smiling face resurfaced and I sigh in relief. I pulled out my sketchbook and pencil and began to draw. In that instant the world dissolve out of focus, my ears shut every sound dared to infiltrate. My hands flew at the surface of the paper, guiding the pencil to dance on the clean sheet. To shape his beautiful face. To put these maelstrom of emotions to expression.