Miles Morales Drawing With Hoodie Mga Nobela at Kwento

Nothing to give me a clue about where I came from or who my parents were. The sound of Miles’ footsteps pulls me from my thoughts. He runs into the living room with a crayon drawing in his hand. “Mommy, look!” he says, thrusting the paper at me. “I drawed our family!” I take the drawing, my heart melting at the sight. Miles has drawn three stick figures—a big one with brown hair, a bigger one with black hair, and a small one between them. Me, Arthur, and Miles. We’re all holding hands, the sun shining above us.

"You're just saying yep to piss me off, aren't you?" "Nope, just checking to see if you comprehend my stupid ass," I said, laughing at her knowing full well she would smack the shit out of me under normal circumstances, but these were anything but normal circumstances for us. "Alright then, let's get you dressed up then," She said as she stood up and opened up the drawers, and after 30 minutes of back and forth, we were able to come to an answer of what to wear. My black boots with navy blue jeans and grey leggings, with a long-sleeve black shirt. To tie the whole thing together we decided on my grey 'Dia de Los Muertos' hoodie that I bought during a trip to Mexico with Jack after a job. I h

sound. She watched his small figure from afar. He was completely absorbed in drawing, his head slightly lowered. His neck formed a gentle curve, and the small, light-brown mole on the back of his neck was faintly visible in the warm light. His shoulders were narrow. The shoulders of his blue pajamas were one size too large for his actual shoulder width, causing two horizontal folds to form on his shoulders.

"What does your new friend look like, Heidi?" Heidi proudly lifted her drawing. It was a crude, childish sketch of a very tall figure standing between two giant green trees. The figure was colored completely in dark gray and black crayons, but the most unsettling part was the face. Heidi had used a bright yellow crayon to draw two massive, perfectly round circles for the eyes.

It looked like a stick figure wearing what might have been a cape. “I can tell.” “And this one’s Mom.” Another stick figure. Slightly taller. “And this…” His face lit up. “…is Ella.” I reached for the paper before I even realized I was moving. Ella stood in the middle of the page wearing an enormous blue cape. Her hoodie was still there. Her long hair hung over one shoulder. Instead of an S on her chest like Superman… Mason had drawn a giant letter E. I laughed under my breath. “Super Ella?”

She turned her head to look thoughtfully at her own casually sketched drawing on the table and then sat down at the table, picked up the pen, and continued to draw undistracted. Those who had a discerning eye would be surprised by what she drew–it was the drawing of the Dodge Tomahawk. Something seemed to have inspired her; she was making some changes in the drawing. After a long while, she looked at the drawing with a satisfied smile creeping across her face. "It's done." Just then, someone knocked on the door gently, and Nicole said, "Come in." Carl appeared outside the door. He looked at Nicole across from him with his lip pursed, saying nothing for a moment.

“Are you still drawing?” I blinked. “Yeah… I mean, kind of. Some freelance stuff here and there.” “he’s being modest,” my mom cut in proudly. “River’s drawings were featured in that art walk last month. People couldn’t stop talking about that one with the fog and the tree.” “It was beautiful,” Elliot added, nodding. “I saw it on I*******m.” “Thanks,” I said quietly, feeling heat rise in my face. “I just… like messing with paints.”

I reminded him. “Geeze. Sorry.” He shrugged and went back to his own work, but his comment made me second guess my own. I looked at it carefully. He was right. It could’ve been any girl with long hair in a cape. I looked at his drawing and wasn’t surprised at all to see that he’d drawn himself shirtless, standing with his arms up, his arms bulging with muscle, his face lifted to the sky in a menacing howl. Even though he was a human in the drawing, his inner wolf was clear. So was the darkness that had overtaken him.

Milo pulled his hoodie back on, fingers trembling slightly as he tugged the sleeves down. The mirror in the hotel bathroom was too bright, too honest. He stared at his reflection for a long moment. His white-blond hair was already starting to curl with sweat, the strands stark and almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. It made him stand out, like always. Like a target. He pulled the hood up over it and yanked it low. His skin, pale like his mother’s Scandinavian complexion, looked even more washed out than usual. Beneath his eyes, faint shadows had started to form. His lips, already a little too pink, too soft, were bitten raw. He hadn’t even realized he’d done it.

My heart softens instantly. “Mama!” he yells, running to me as soon as I step out of the car. “Hey, bug,” I say, scooping him into a hug. “What’s that you’ve got there?” “My drawing!” Liam says proudly, unfolding it for me to see. It’s a colorful crayon picture of me, my parents, and Liam, all holding hands under a big yellow sun. But there’s an empty space on one side of the page.