Grandma Drawing Novels & Stories

She had heard a little bit of noise and knew someone came but had left later. After they were done eating they decided to do something recreational. Nuella was awed at how good grandma was with painting, she on the other hand was a bad painter. “Grandma you are so talented, this is really beautiful” she stared at the painting grandma made of a mountain. Grandma May smiled as she kept on painting “It’s an hobby” “It’s just too perfect” Nuella admired her painting “Which mountain is this grandma?” “A mountain I always go for prayers few times in a year”

"Hello, Maya." She went back to her drawing. "I'm busy." He almost smiled. "I can see that." "Grandma said I could draw until lunch. So I am drawing." "What are you drawing?" She held up the sketchbook. The sea. Waves. A boat. Three figures on the shore. A man with light brown hair. A woman with dark hair. And a little girl between them. "That's me, mama and Papa Sam," she said. "We are looking at the ocean."

I was too young to notice Grandma bleeding from between her legs. Ten years had since passed. Grandma continued selling her ugly baby paintings through the decade. Even if she increased the price by tenfold, many still lined up for her service. However, she recently started to look for an apprentice, saying that she wanted to pass on her skills now that she was getting old. I volunteered, "Grandma, I could learn painting from you!" "No way!" Grandma adamantly refused to teach me her baby-painting skills, even though I was already an adult.

Grandma May took the paper and opened it to see a portrait of a woman drawn by him with a pencil. “Mm, your drawing’s great. It looks like a real person. Your skills have yet again improved,” she praised.

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Three stick figures stood side by side. One had long brown hair, the other wore a blue tie, and between them stood a little girl with yellow ribbons. Off to one side was a fourth figure. Much taller than everyone else, drawn in thick black crayon. Teresa crouched beside the couch. "Emma..." The little girl stirred but didn't wake. Teresa looked back at the drawing. Above the figures, written in uneven handwriting, were the words, Me. Mommy. Uncle Lucas. There was no label above the fourth figure. Teresa folded the drawing carefully, not because she wanted to throw it away but because she wasn't ready to look at it anymore.

It was a piece of A4 paper, and she handed it to her grandmother. “Me and Shane drew that when we were at Aunt Tam's house. We've never met you before, so we just asked Mom to describe what you look like. I'm sorry if the drawing is too ugly, Grandma," Shania said shyly to her grandmother, and her grandmother accepted the paper from her. On the paper was a drawing of a woman, and even though it looked abstract and didn't look like her at all, it was still enough to make Patricia smile again. “This is the most beautiful drawing I have ever seen. You two are truly talented painters,” said the old woman as she moved her arms to hug the children once more.

“She is more than alright actually.” Grace put a fresh cup of tea on the table in front of Judith’s chair. Judith sat down. Lily was drawing something at the far end of the table with her crayons. She looked up briefly at Judith and then back at her drawing. “I am drawing Grandma,” she announced. “So we can show her when we visit.” Judith looked at the drawing. A stick figure in a bed with what appeared to be a very large smile and yellow hair. “Her hair is not yellow,” Judith said.

"You slut! What dirty deals did you make for this funeral? You're not worthy of being my fiancée." He raised his hand to slap me, but a strong grip stopped him. A stern middle-aged man pushed him aside and helped me up. "A grown man hitting a woman? Have some shame." Joseph hurried over, whispering, "Charlotte, this is General Soto." Tears spilled out of me before I could stop them, sudden and violent, like someone clinging to a last scrap of hope. "General," I cried, "they won't let me bury my grandpa. They even put a dog in his grave to humiliate him."

Even with everything going on, they found joy in the smallest things like a storybook, a bean plant, a teacher’s praise. “Mama?” Mabel’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Yes, sweetheart?” “Can we bring some of our drawings to show Grandma when she comes home?” I smiled, warmth spreading through me at her thoughtfulness, “I think she’d love that. Why don’t we pick out a few after breakfast?” Mabel grinned, and Miles nodded eagerly, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.