Minato Drawing Novels & Stories

"That's what Mama tells me. Be brave even when it's hard." Darius's composure wavered. I watched his jaw tighten, his hands clench briefly before relaxing. "Your mother is very wise." "I know. She knows everything." Soren pulled a folded paper from his pocket. "I drew something. Want to see?" "Very much." Soren unfolded it carefully. Two stick figures—one large, one small. Both smiling. "That's me and Mama. It's just us two. A pack of two." Darius's hands trembled as he took the drawing in. I saw him struggle to keep breathing normally, his eyes fixed on those two simple figures.

I answered for Mahina, grinning. Auntie just looked at me for a second before cackling. "Ain't no such tea. Just be glad you ain't ever had detention with him," she told Mahina. "He keeps those boys busy. You talk to him about the group he has tomorrow, miniature wolf?" "No Auntie, just got in. Stopped in Cherokee territory for some tea." "You don't like my tea any more, boy?" "Special circumstances Auntie. I think I've duplicated it but I'm not sure. What's left is in the skin there."

I ran my thumb over the photo, tracing her face gently. “God… who are you and are you so beautiful?” I whispered without meaning to. A folded piece of paper sat underneath. I picked it up, unfolded it carefully. It was a drawing — a childish one — done by a child of probably six years old, with colored pencils, the edges already yellowed from age. It showed three stick figures, hand in hand: a tall man with dark hair, a beautiful woman beside him, and a little boy with silver hair and grey eyes, a smaller girl beside him, with a big red heart between them.

MIA I look down at my sketch pad for a minute. I need to get this right. Something is wrong with it. I hold it in front of me to get a better view. hmmm. I look back at Noah then back at my pad. It's the eyes. The eyes don't capture the same emotion as his. I look back at Noah. His gaze is so concentrated on the fire that he doesn't even notice. His eyes are so focused and intense. I can see the bright blue ring that surrounds his eye and how it slowly fades into a darker blue towards the pupil. I erase the eyes and redraw them. I keep on flicking my view back and forth between my pad and Noah's eyes. I draw a defined circle. I keep drawing until I get it just right. I look back at it and se

He had found a pad of paper and a dull pencil in a kitchen drawer. He was drawing. I stood in the doorway, my breath catching in my throat. I didn't want to disturb him. I watched the way his hand moved—it was fluid, confident, but with that slight, human tremor he had inherited from the resonance. He finished the sketch and turned the paper toward the light. It wasn't a blueprint. It wasn't a map. It was a drawing of a single, wild iris growing out of a crack in a rock. It was messy. The lines were unoptimized. It was, in every sense of the word, imperfect.

A small drawing desk in the corner, crayons scattered across it, a few papers with colorful scrawls. I stepped in slowly. On the wall, drawings were taped up. A child's drawings — a house with a triangular roof, a sun in the corner with rays drawn as straight lines, a tree with round red fruit. Then I saw it. One drawing in the middle. Three figures standing hand in hand. The small one in the middle, in a dress with long hair. A woman on the left. On the right, a man in a black suit.

I had spent two and a half years waiting to be ready for things and I had learned that ready was a door that did not open from the outside. I took the bag to the bedroom. Sat on the floor. Opened it. The first thing was a drawing. Crayon on paper gone soft at the edges. A house. Two figures. One tall. One very small with what might have been a stick or a flower in its hand, drawn by someone too young to know the difference and too certain to care. I held it for a while. Then kept going.

“Who did the artwork?” Junior perked up a little. “I did. This one’s a dragon. See the teeth?” Nevena leaned in slightly, squinting. “A fire breathing dragon. I love it.” He pushed out a real smile, “Can you draw?” he asked. “Stick figures and crooked stars. But I’m a fast learner.”She replied with a shrug. Unhesitatingly, Junior dug in his backpack, pulling out a marker, and handing it to her like a silent invitation.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in the living room with my sandwiches, a tall glass of milk, the TV on, serving as background noise, and my drawing pad and pencil in hand. I don’t know how long I sit there drawing, only taking breaks to use the washroom, but eventually I finish drawing Remus, which is surprisingly difficult, not because there aren’t many features to draw, but because there aren’t many features to draw. I try to make it feel as real as I can, as detailed as possible, and try to paint a picture of his personality through the drawing. And don’t get me started on the shading. I feel like my fingers might fall off by the time I actually finish, but I realize this is probably my

I said as I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I love mint choco." He said and I stopped. "Disgusting!" I hissed and he laughed. "Why is that disgusting? It's good." "I feel like brushing my teeth when I eat that flavour." I shook my head. "Do you have a pet?" He asked. "I have a black labrador at home. How about you?" "Really? I have a labrador too!" He said and I turned to him completely surprised. "Millie.. her name." "Blue.. his name." I turned to him and looked at him straight into his eyes.