Frisk Drawing Novels & Stories

This thing in the drawing had been made to know things, and the man who drew it had wanted you to understand that at a glance. I turned one page. There was a second drawing, the same creature but opened up, a healer's teaching diagram of a body, lines pulling out to the side with a careful cramped writing beside each one that I couldn't read. In the corner, newer, in ink that hadn't browned yet, someone had drawn a small clean diagram of a jaw and a row of numbers, and under it three words in a hand I didn't know. "That's his," Fenris said. He'd been watching my face, not the book. "The southerner's. He did that last night, in my chamber. He looked at these for an hour and then he asked me f

“Yes, Aunt Fiona, and of course me, oh, and Uncle Carlos.” “I see, you did good, baby.” I looked at her drawings; of course they were children's drawings, so good enough for her age, especially when she got the important parts—that fingers are supposed to be ten, five on each hand, two eyes, ears, and one nose. “I can’t believe you got Aunt Fiona’s freckles.” “Oh yes, she looks just like her, right, Mommy?” “Right, you did good, baby. I'm sure your teacher will give you a sticker.”

"It's not nothing. I know a sad face when I see one. You were all excited a while ago. Talk to me." "I drew something yesterday too," she said. "But it wasn't as good as Finn's. It wasn't even good at all." "Really? Well, why don't you bring it for me to see and I will be the judge of whether it's good or not?" Elliot said. Freya got to her feet, began to walk to her room really slowly. "Go on. I really want to see it now." Freya returned, handed over the drawing to Elliot, and stood before him. Her toes drew patterns on the floor as she awaited his judgement.

“When I was younger, I used to sketch stars—not realistic ones, just shapes. And I’d name each after someone I didn’t know how to talk to.” Yam listened, his hands wrapped around his warm cup. “My mother used to ask why they had strange names,” Franc continued with a soft chuckle. “I never told her they were the people I missed. The ones I didn’t know how to reach.” Yam shifted closer, drawn by the vulnerability in Franc’s tone. “You still do that?” Franc smiled, a little sad. “Not with stars. Now I name brushstrokes. Colors. Places.” He reached for his sketchbook, flipping through pages filled with layered hues and abstract forms. But one page caught Yam’s attention—a portrait, almost, of a

Hearing her daughter's sugary voice, Michelle couldn't help but laugh. Michelle examined the drawings closely. Lizzy's skills were indeed advanced for her age, with vibrant colors and heartwarming scenes. Both drawings depicted "family", one a "larger family" and the other a "nuclear family". Lizzy's keen observation was evident in her detailed depictions: her baby sister with a pacifier, her mom with waist-length hair, her dad in a suit and tie, and herself with big, round eyes. In the other drawing, she'd used lighter shades for the grandparents' hair. While Michelle understood what Lizzy had drawn, she still playfully asked, "Wow, Lizzy, these are amazing! But what did you draw here?"

Crissy will instead fall for one of them other than me. Taking a big sip of my water. The coldness of the water is soothing. Making the hair on my arm stand up straight. What are you doing to me, Crissy? I hardly know you, but I need you. You are the girl every guy wants. I make my way upstairs to my room and went straight to my desk. I grab my pencils and sketchbook and start drawing. My mind focused on Crissy. I start sketching the first time that we met. Her eyes shimmered in the sunlight. Her hair shining. Her fit and tanned body. Giving me an instant boner.

That one stung. I brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “What are you drawing?” She hesitated, then flipped the page toward me. It was a sketch of three stick figures. One was tall with black hair, one with long brown hair, and one small in the middle holding both their hands. Ryan. Me. Her. My throat tightened. “That’s beautiful, Molly.” She shrugged. “I was bored.” Claire appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, that look on her face, the one that meant she’d been thinking about something serious.

He looks at me the way a predator looks at its prey, and my heart skips a beat, frightened. I glanced around the hallway we stood in; everyone was already in class, and back at him. We were alone, and I wished I'd confronted him somewhere we weren't. His stare became less frightened, causing me to become less scared. "I'm a really fast runner," he then said in a tone, trying to sound friendly. "It's impossible for a fast runner to run across the street in a second from where you were to pull me from a fallen sign," I said. Remembering the scratch on his arm, I looked down, and I was surprised to see that the scrape had gone away as if it had never been there.

Enough to remember the curve of her jaw, the exact shade of her eyes, the way her blonde hair fell just to her shoulders. I needed to get it down on paper before it faded. Before the details blurred back into the fog that had consumed the last six months of my life. I'd found paper in Prisca's room and a pencil, and I'd started drawing. Over and over. Sketch after sketch. The first one was wrong — her eyes weren't quite right, too wide, too round. The second was closer but her nose was off, too sharp. The third was better. The fourth is even more so.

I bet when his cheekbones and jaw sharpened into the hard, chiselled man he is today girls couldn't help taking notice. Two of them as well. If his brother looked the same then…and it was at that point I had to think of anything else before Livi rendered me depraved. I stared at the empty paper and charcoals. Usually I could while away an afternoon doodling but when I did sketch, I found myself outlining those distinctive eyebrows. A perfectly straight, handsome nose. It was when I started drawing long tousled hair and shaping his eyes that I muttered, “get a grip Freya,” and pushed the pad to the side.