Frodo Baggins Drawing Novels & Stories

There's also a portrait of someone I guess I saw on F******k who is as gorgeous as barbies but in my drawing, she looked like a dying zombie who hasn't devour any human since she has turned into one. I thought it was the last drawing but when I dropped it and turned to the last page, I saw a realistic painting of a baby wrapped in purple cloth with silver linings on the edges. The baby has green eyes, plump lips, and chubby cheeks. I traced the lines until I noticed something written on the cloth. It's not very visible, the reason why it took me a little while to understand it. Then suddenly, the letters started dancing in my eyes until I understand what was written on them.

Natalie No, back then and right now, I'm still thinking about Jaxon. How amazing he's been with Harry, how patient and kind, and how I'm getting dangerously used to having around. "Mommy!" Harry's voice cuts through my spiral of panic as he bounces out of the house, clutching a piece of drawing paper covered in crayon scribbles. "Look what I drew!" I glance down at his artwork. They are stick figures that are clearly meant to be me, Freda, himself, and...a much taller figure with dark hair.

Wendy said. “He’s young with blonde hair and dirty skin. Wait! I think recognize him. Fuck! I remember where I saw him. It’s from Adrian’s drawings. Shit! It was his third drawing, a certain lady was behind him, she handed a sword to him and he used it to slay a giant wolf. I think I’m starting to understand those drawings. If only I can see them again.” West said. “Okay, that makes sense. Just tell me where you are, I’ll come to you right away.” Wendy said.

He unfolded it with surprising care before holding it out with both hands. "Look." I took the drawing from him, already smiling before my eyes had even settled on the page. The drawing showed four figures standing side by side on a grassy ground, all holding hands beneath an enormous tree. And on the grass was a brown basket and what looked like a picnic blanket. I smiled immediately. "You drew us having a picnic." Rowan beamed and I pointed to the littlest person in the drawing. "And is that your baby sister?" He nodded without the slightest hesitation.

"We're gonna draw something on the sand." "Oh boy," Andy muttered, but she heard him and elbowed him slightly in the ribs. "Ouch, that hurt!" he cried. "It was supposed to, genius." "Fine, I'll go first." He shrugged. He picked up a stick and got busy. I watched his hand movements on the sand curiously. When he finished, I nodded in an impressed fashion. He drew a tree. It was not a Leonardo style but it was wonderful and near. Peering closer at the diagram, I shook my head in mild amusement. How convenient that the tree he drew happened to almost resemble the acorn tree I had plucked the frisbee from.

In the end, I think they turned out great. Not that I knew what the others were for but there was also a frog on a log, a humming bird and a fat Cardinal. The very last one I was drawing was for Arlo. He got those picture for us, or more for me. It was of a wolf. It’s head was downward with his teeth showing. The hair was standing straight up with a human skull under it’s paw. There wasn’t any flesh on it, just the bones. Originally, I was going to make it a dead rabbit or something but this seemed appropriate. Keeping this one black and white, kept some of the mystery alive. “Charlotte??” Waylon yelled as he was coming in.

Harris ran into the room, his fingers gripping pieces of white cardboard as he hurriedly came to the bedside. "Let me see." Bopha stood up from the ground and came to the bed as well and sat next to Haris. "Here." He handed over the first piece of cardboard and showed it to me. It was a drawing of me, a rough sketch that made tears well in my eyes as I gazed at it. He had drawn a caricature of me in the prettiest gown I had seen and my arm sling had hearts all over it. "It's so pretty." Bopha squealed pinching Haris lightly on the cheek, "You are going to be a great artist!"

I wiggle my toes in the soft carpet as my eyes dart around. I run my fingers over some shirts that hang, and stop when I see a framed picture resting on a dresser in the center of the large space. It’s a drawing of me. Maybe a thirteen year old me. I’m smiling and my eyes look happy, excited even. It's just a gray charcoal piece but my hair looks so real I can almost see the brown that I know it to be. How could he possibly have captured that? Even a couple of freckles I used to have that faded are there and I run my fingers over it. It must have been so impossible for him to have waited for me all this time. Yet he’s not once complained or shown me he’s mad about it. The literal opposite of

Jo accepted the paper gently, unfolding it with careful fingers. At first glance, it looked like a simple child’s drawing — messy lines, smudged colors. But the longer Jo stared, the colder her blood ran. It was a drawing of a massive wolf, dark and powerful, kneeling under a broken moon. Its silver eyes were hollow and sad, its paws chained to the ground by thick black tendrils. Beside it, a man — tall, crowned, broken — stood slumped over, clutching his chest as blood spilled from his side.

From outside, very faintly, almost nothing at all, came one heavy thud that might have been somebody’s body hitting the wall or somebody’s ego splitting in half. Poppy didn’t even turn her head. She held out her drawing to me proudly. “Look. This is the new castle. This one is for me. This one is for Bunny. This one is for Mommy if you behave.” I looked at the drawing of a giant pink tower with a helipad, a vegetarian dragon, and something that might have been a conference room. “Beautiful,” I said. And outside, the world was welcome to keep burning itself down.