Kurt Cobain Drawings Novels & Stories

The artist didn’t notice the tears that were on the edge of Sofia's eyes that were now in the painting. Gregorio approached another painting, where Miguel's face was. He stared at it intently. "What a nice masterpiece!" Gregorio left the room. Where the room witnessed what happened to the two teenagers. He went to his bedroom while carrying the two paintings. The artist approached the large black cabinet, where he kept the paintings of his victims. He opened the cabinet, flicked the switch and when the inside of the cabinet lit up, layers of paintings could be seen, placed under the feet of a small statue of Satan.

I said quietly, “the reason why I wanted you alive.” He looked at me warily. I handed him the drawings. They were uneven, crayon-colored, simple shapes of Blue’s artwork. He frowned slightly as he took them. “What is this?” “A child’s work.” He glanced down at the first page. A house colored entirely in mismatched shades. Windows labeled incorrectly. “What does this have to do with anything?” he asked, his eyes flicking up to mine. “Keep looking.” I said. He flipped to the next drawing. He stared longer this time and something in his expression shifted. His fingers traced one of the crayon strokes lightly.

Sinclair, the visual teacher, approached me. I felt shy at her comment and wondered if she was telling the truth or just being kind to me. I settled for the last thought. She led me towards the picture booth. "I'll do good, Ms. Sinclair," I said after she walked off, right after showing me the picture booth box. She nodded, and I slapped my head, wishing I'd said nothing. I haven't been here for five minutes, and I'm already showing my weirdness. I cursed myself. Shortly, couples were popping up, and the party began. Some came to take pictures. Since the school couldn't afford a better picture booth machine. I had to be the one to collect the cash they had to pay before taking a picture.

Kabir asked, placing his hands gently on Kavish's shoulders. Kavish looked up, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm making a family drawing, Daddy! See!" He proudly turned the paper toward Kabir, revealing a colorful array of bear-like figures, each one distinctly different in size. Above each bear, he had written names with arrows pointing to their respective figures: Edhaa, Kavish, Mumma, and Daddy. Kabir's heart swelled with warmth as he took in the artwork. "Wow! Breaking all the crockery kind of helped, huh?" he chuckled, a smile spreading across his face.

"I've gone through Jacobin’s journal a couple of times. Some of the drawings in it made him seem like he was a sadist but really those were his happiest drawings. In his journal, he had a picture of Mrs Wyatt and Fred at an art gallery. On the back of the picture was written fifteenth of May in numbers just like a date. On the same fifteenth of may, a picture of a baby was drawn in the arts gallery" Doris lifted a page of the journal for Roberta to see. The drawing looked more abstract than the one at Nate’s house. "What the hell is this?" Roberta frowned, squinting her eyes. "It's art, anything is art. The most abstract things were art" Doris said.

He coughs, choking on the chemicals and instead of running out the door, he moves further into the room. I go back to my bed and begin to doodle but that doesn't stop Ezra. Even choking he is calling out my name. And when he tries to start a conversation, I shut him down by putting on headphones. What begins as a small doodle turns into a drawing of him as a fly with the tag "I'm an idiot" I get a good laugh out of that, it's one of my best yet childish drawings. I look up for a moment to compare the art and the muse behind it and I find him there, leaning against my door frame and sweating. He hasn't moved an inch in nearly three hours, he has been standing all along.