Mabangis Na Hayop Drawing Novels & Stories

"Emma, sometimes it's easier to show feelings than talk about them. Can you draw me a picture of how you feel?" Emma picked up the crayons and started drawing. She worked intently for twenty minutes while Dr. Chen and I sat quietly. When she finished, she pushed the paper across the table. Dr. Chen looked at it. Her face went pale. I leaned over to see. The drawing showed a small figure—clearly a child—locked inside a cage made of black bars. Outside the cage, two large figures faced each other. One had sharp teeth and claws. The other had wild hair and angry eyes. Both were drawn in dark, violent colors.

, I muttered and went back to work. ______________________________________________ *** At the Maldives*** " Mummy mummy, look what I drew", Coco yelled excitedly as she ran to show me her art. " It's beautiful baby, I didn't know you could draw vultures so well", I said with a smile. Then she looked at me with a surprising frown. " What's the matter baby?", I asked as I knelt down in front of her with her face between my palms. Then looked at the drawing and in a sulky voice said, " That's not a vulture, it's a butterfly", pouting as she said it. I was surprised honestly, because there wasn't even the slightest resemblance to a butterfly in her drawing. " Of course I knew that, I was just te

she says, reaching into her backpack. She produces a drawing. The drawing shows four figures in a garden. One is tall in a white coat, two are small—one with spiky hair, one with a rabbit—and a fourth figure stands slightly apart, rendered in careful, dark crayon strokes. The labels are clear: Mama. Maple. Me. And for the fourth: The sad man. "That's our family," Rosy says. The word hits me where I am not protected. I keep my face completely frozen, a skill that costs me more in this moment than it ever has. I look at that fourth figure, standing on the edge of the page.

My subconscious blamed me. "You know I will not worry too much about anything." I said to myself. I pulled off my coat and sat on the couch to study the drawings. I have five beings to find and I haven't found any. The three of us had five drawings which were all the same, that made the whole thing look more real. The first, a little boy, around Kabal's age. He has a special kind of eye, it looked too white, not gray, he's a little shepard. Second, like a slave girl, I see that she works in a brothel, She has a short hair that barely reached her shoulder. Third, a male with a pet, a white wild cat. Fourth, also a male, he has a birthmark beneath his left eye. The fifth, it's hard to discern

She ran back to the bedroom and returned with a sketchbook. The drawings were good—really good for a seven-year-old. Animals, mostly. A detailed cat, a dragon, a family of rabbits. "These are beautiful," I said honestly. "Do you like to draw?" "I love it. I want to be an artist when I grow up. Or maybe a scientist. Or both." She flipped through pages. "Maman says I can be anything I want." "Your maman is right." She stopped on a page near the end of the book. It was a drawing of two figures—a woman and a small girl holding hands. Above them, sketched lightly in pencil as if she'd been uncertain about including it, was a third figure. A man.

Even Mondrian would have called them abstract. Nyla was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Why not?" "Because your drawings are way too abstract. No one but you could possibly understand them," Mason whined. Nyla glanced at Damon, who was nearby, and handed him the drawings. "You take a look. Can you guess what these are?" Damon examined the first one. It seemed to depict an animal—but whether it was an elephant or a hippo, he couldn't tell. Furrowing his brow, he ventured, "A walrus?"

Abigail immediately cheered, doing small jumps on the mattress. "What does the Little Miss want to do now? Eat or play?" Moza asked, smiling warmly. "I want to eat chocolate pudding while I draw." As requested, Moza hurried to the kitchen to fetch the chocolate pudding she had prepared. When she returned, she found Abigail absorbed in her drawing book. Her work was simple, typical of a preschooler. There were three figures with round heads and wide smiles. A little girl stood in the middle, flanked by a male figure on the left and a female figure on the right. They were holding hands, like a harmonious little family.

“But did Cameron at least have dinner before he fell asleep?” “Of course. You know he likes his food.” Mackenzie moved to place Calista in the couch, and she noticed the drawing books and pencil crayons around her. “Why don’t you show mommy what you have been doing so far?” Calista smiled eagerly and placed the drawing book on the table, opening it to show some pictures of a small furry dog. As she opened the pages, Makenzie realized that they are all pictures of the same dog. The drawings are so detailed, the colors so realistic, that it would be difficult for anyone else to believe that a four year old drew them.

Now, she sat here in the mornings, drinking the coffee he made for her—the silent, pathetic peace offering he left on the counter every day, hoping she wouldn't throw it out. He looked at the refrigerator—at the blue circular magnet holding up the three drawings. He wanted his drawing up there so badly it made his chest ache, but he didn't know how to ask without sounding desperate. "What are we drawing, Eli?" "Animals," Eli said, his small hand moving with fierce concentration. "Mrs. Yusuf said to draw our favorites." "How many do we have?" "Three." Eli pointed a small finger. "That's a brachiosaurus. That's Patterson. That's Gerald."

“Alpha, if you’d like to grab my chair, we’ll get everyone to the reading circle.” “Sure thing, Mrs. Khan.” I turn and go back to her desk. I notice a board near the front of the room with a banner that says ‘Winter Mammals.’ The class made drawings of animals in the snow with the names of animals over them to identify the type of animal. One drawing only has three dots. A black nose and two green eyes. At the top of the picture, Dre’s scratchy writing spells out ‘Saint.’ “Check it out. I’m a master of camouflage.” Saint chuckles.