Joker Pencil Drawing Easy Novels & Stories

Jessica slowly started walking again. Later that night she sat in her room sketching. Her pencil moved softly across the page. Without thinking, she began drawing herself. She stopped halfway. Jessica stared down at the picture. Because she had accidentally drawn herself smiling. She had never done that before. Not once. She sat frozen. Looking at it. Then quietly whispered: "I don't even look like that." Silence filled the room. Rain tapped softly against the window. Then somewhere deep inside her... a tiny voice answered:

Then he started drawing. I frowned I'm confusion, wondering what the hell he was doing. First, he sketched a stick figure in the corner of the board, labeling it "Me." Then, he drew what vaguely resembled a rollercoaster track that spiraled widely, Circling the equation multiple times. He added arrows, random squiggles, and even a doodle of a cat before writing the answer at the bottom of the board. 4 The class erupted into laughter. Mrs Turner s face darkened, i feared she'd probably kill him. "What on earth is this, Jace? Explain yourself!"

“ Boss they’ve done it again , some fucker has a serious boner on getting you banged up “ Joker comes in slamming a folder down on my desk. I glanced up from the papers I had been reading and watched as he folded his long limbs into the chair in front of me. He pulls a joint from behind his ear and lights it up taking a deep drag and then drops his head back to blow the smoke up in the air. His blonde hair was up in a bun tied at the back of his head. His piercing blue eyes come back down to look at me and he raises a pierced brow at me.

I smirk as I watch Baby Joker scramble up into my dad’s lap, his tiny legs swingin' as he glares across at me like he owns the place. “Kid’s all you,” I mutter, pointin' at Joker with a grin. “Been teachin’ ’im the way, haven’t I?” Joker smirks, lookin' between my dad and Robyn. “Teaching him alright,” Robyn mutters with mock annoyance. “You realize he’s been drawing pink elephants—his version of them—on the wall and talking to them?”

My hands shake uncontrollably, my vision tunneling. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I force myself to open my bag with trembling fingers. Everything is there. My books. My notebook. My pencil case. And something else. A folded piece of paper. I pull it out slowly, unfolding it with care I don’t feel. It’s a sketch. Black ink. Sharp lines. A familiar grin. The Joker. I stare at it until my hands stop shaking. And for the first time all week, I understand.

But sleep didn't come easily as it should, so I decided to go to my studio making myself cozy at the drawing table. His face was the first thing I started to outline, then his eyebrows. My fingers gripped the pencil with ease, my wrist moved with precision finding its rhythm and started drawing creases, longer than shorter points. His intense eyes were next, they looked bored yet particularly intense at the same time. I paused, took a deep breath, and rested back in my seat. I reached my side table and poured the golden liquid, savoring the burn in my throat.

I need a drink and some coffee, no, tea and toast. The symbol from the dagger is what won't let me go, I can see it so clearly. I have to draw it. Tilting my whole body to the edge of the bed, I fumble around my bedside table looking for… got it, my sketchpad. It falls open to the next empty page, because I tuck my pencil in the centre. The lead feels like an extension of my hand, guiding me, not the other way around.

But nothing on my forehead, I don’t need Jace walking in and murdering you on sight. "No promises." He’s already reaching for a pen from the nightstand. ”Stay still." I sit up straighter, arms crossed as he leans in, his breath warm against my skin as he drags the pen across my cheek. He takes his time, which makes me even more suspicious. "What the hell are you drawing?" I demand. He pulls back just slightly, grinning. ”You’ll find out." After another moment, he sits back with an exaggerated flourish. ”Masterpiece complete."

he said without looking up, “what do you do, Jethro?” “Construction. Sometimes delivery work. Depends.” He nodded. “Hands-on type, huh?” “Guess so.” “Good,” he said. “You’ll appreciate this more than the kids who come in asking for angels and infinity signs.” His tone made me smile, though I tried to hide it. After a while, he turned the pad toward me. “Like this?” It was simply a perfect circle, but slightly uneven, hand-drawn. It looked alive. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “That’s it.”

“I need… a book. And a pencil. A specific one.” Amy, anticipating the need, was already moving. She retrieved a hardbound sketchbook and a charcoal pencil from a shelf and handed them to him. Mello took them, his demeanor shifting into one of intense focus. He quickly flipped to a blank page and began to draw with swift, sure strokes—an ornate drinking fountain. As he put the final detail on the page, the air in front of him shimmered. With a sound of trickling water, the exact fountain he had drawn materialized into reality, standing solid and real on the floor.