Intolerable Acts Drawings Novels & Stories

He was too handsome for an ugly person like me. I looked away from them. On my way home, I spot an elderly guy with a huge sign along the road, written, "Beware of the beast who hides in human skin that walks among us." I didn't understand why I was so frightened when I read it. Briggs, the elderly guy, was insane; he lost his mind when his daughter went missing. Nothing he wrote on that piece of cardboard was sane. Arriving home, I went straight to my room and locked myself in. I sat at my desktop and typed in the search engine, "Beast who hides in human skin."

Of course, there are so many others in here admiring the artworks. “This is…” I start, but Michael completes it. “Erotic.” I blush hard. “I’d say sinful. A very sexy, sinful artwork.” I study the drawings starting from the one with a woman shoving a dildo into her big pussy, her face scrawled with desire, and her mouth dropped open to her chest. I move to the next with the drawing of an older man with his cock in hand while his seeds drip from his crown like droplets of water. There’s one with two teenage girls on their knees, their hands bound as they suck a cock from a glory hole.

Before Linda even finished speaking, North had already flipped open the sketchbook. Everyone’s expressions changed at that. Linda’s words became stuck in her throat. All of the designs had been obscured with ink. On the paper were various writings in red pen, saying things like, “B*TCH” and “VIXEN” that made the sight an unbearable one. The handwriting was angry and twisted, and it could be seen that the person who wrote it hated the owner of the sketchbook greatly.

From the drawing, it's lunch break and students are milling about around me but I'm standing there, looking stuck and feeling exhausted from the healing process. My eyes are a muddy brown but my lips are stretched out in a wide smile. My shoulders are slumped but my nostrils are flared like I'm angry and my fists are clenched so tightly, it's like I'm trying not to go wild. Like I'm trying to rein in my demons. And I don't even remember this. “These drawings are incredible, Jeremy.” “I should know, I made them and they're called outlines.” I slap his chest playfully, “Show a little gratitude.”

Her belly button was tucked inside the muscle and that's where the drawing stopped. May scrunched her nose. This drawing reminds her of someone. Someone she doesn't want to be reminded of, Bella. Her eyes shifted to the next drawing which she found to be the worst. A woman and man having sex. No, it looked like she was being raped cause her hands were tied. May's stomach churned. She felt uncomfortable. Why does he have such obscenities drawn in his room? The third and fourth drawings she loved, however. She thought the artist had done a wonderful job drawing a rose that looked like it was dying with its leaves dropping to the floor.

She continued reading: "While searching the Hoffman house, the officers found some drawings in Sandy Hoffman's room, drawings that some time later Adrien confirmed were real and that the man his brother was drawing as well." Below showed the pictures of the drawings Sandy had, Camilla froze and froze as she looked at them. Her breath hitched and her skin bristled, those drawings were the same ones Bea was doing. There was a tall man there, with no face and instead of hands tentacles. There were others that said "No. No. No. No" repeatedly, and another one with the phrase "Don't look out the window. There were more, which were like "He's there" "He's watching you" "He's getting closer" and so

She placed a sheet of paper on the corner, right beside his keyboard. It was a new drawing. It showed two tall, black rectangles. One had a frowny face, but the frown was being gently pried open by a multitude of tiny, multi-colored hands coming from a small, yellow-circle figure. At the bottom, it said: Helping with the heavy lid. Luther looked from the drawing to Keila’s earnest face. The lawyer in my ear was asking a question. I couldn’t speak. Luther picked up the drawing. He studied it with intense focus. “The small hands. They are applying upward force to the… lid. Representing an emotional obstruction.”

The lab was very quiet for a moment. I moved to the far wall because standing still in a room that smelled the way this one smelled while processing what Kaelen was reading was not something my body wanted to do. The drawings stopped me. Crude, scratched directly into the stone rather than carved with any skill, but specific. Bodies in various states that I was going to file in the category of things I had seen and would deal with the feelings about later. Wolves. Figures with something flowing out of them that the artist had rendered as light, though whether they had intended it to look hopeful or terrible was genuinely unclear.

I always lock it before leaving the premises. “But I… Did I…” Brushing it off, I pull the mini door open, and yelp when a heap of papers rains on me as if waiting for me to open it all along. I stay still for a moment, just blinking at the drawings. They’re ugly exaggerated images of me; big head, messy hair, thin legs… I’m as tiny as a doll, while a big guy towers over me, his pants down, and I’m choking on his… What?! My heart drops.

And the first thing that caught my eye? The drawings. The first one was dark. Black scribbles, angry strokes all across the canvas like someone tried to scratch their pain into it. In the middle, a small girl drawn in thin red lines stood alone, facing a locked door. She had no eyes. Just emptiness on her face. The second was a mess of words, written over each other—"HELP," "ENOUGH," "WHY," "PLEASE"—scattered across a shape of a woman curled up, her back to the world.