Namine Drawing Novels & Stories

A man, there is a girl in the middle of them and a woman holding hands. Well, I assume that the two in the drawing are women because they have skirts. Of course, who else are these three. It's Kenzo, Yelena and Marga. Their family drawing made by Yelena. I looked at his other drawings, there are mountains and then in the middle is the sun and I think the flower farm below him is the water color used in the drawing. There are also other drawings that look like the three of them again, but the same colors were used in the drawing.

I asked, crouching beside him. Without hesitation, he held up the paper and showed it to me proudly. “This is my family.” I looked at the drawing. There were three figures, sketched with bright, cheerful colors. In the center, a small child with the name Noah written above him. On the left, a man with black hair and a tie—clearly Liam. And on the right… a woman with long hair in a red dress. Emily. Her name was written, too. I wasn’t in the picture.

"What will we draw?" "You will draw something or someone that means a lot to you, Danae. And once you are done each one of you will show and tell a story about your drawing with the rest." I gaze at the female with her long neatly groomed braids who is sat closely next to Calix as I answer her. These two are Argus's closest friends. "Can we draw butterflies?" "Yes, you can." "Can I draw my favourite fruit? It is an apple." "Yes." "What about the hut I live with mama?"

“You guys rock. I absolutely idolize you. I want to be you.” “I want to do you,” Trey said, toying with the hair at the nape of Mark’s neck. Brian scratched his head behind his ear, deliberately staring down at the drawing to avoid watching Trey’s actions. “Nice design,” Brian said. “Sure, I’ll sign it. Do you want my real name or my stage name?” Mark smiled brightly and handed him a black, fine-point pen. “Just Sinclair would be awesome.” Mark glanced at Trey, who leaned up against his back to stare over his shoulder at the drawing. “And Mills.” Mark swallowed. “Please.”

It wasn't a bill. It was a drawing. Charlotte held it up to the light. Her breath caught in her throat. It was a drawing of a woman and a child. The woman was sitting in a field of flowers, and she was laughing. The child was reaching for a butterfly. The drawing was simple, but it was full of so much love that it made Charlotte’s heart ache. In the corner, there was a small signature: N. "Naomi," Charlotte whispered. She looked at the drawing for a long time. She remembered how Lucas used to look at Naomi. She remembered the way his eyes would light up when he spoke her name.

he protested, puffing his chest out. “Training doesn’t mean breaking things.” Lexi laughed softly, the sound broke the air between us. I glanced at her, and I knew this would be a great moment to maybe tell her I want to take her out for dinner or something, but I didn't. And then, the moment passed. Wayne and Nia joined in, their chatter filling the porch. Nia held a drawing, thrusting it toward me with the kind of pride only a child could have. “I drew this! It’s a horse.”

Daniel stared at it, something sinking in his stomach. The drawing showed a stick figure with long hair and a big smile. Below it, in careful, childish letters: "MAMA." No other figures. Just Alina. "When I asked who this was, Junior immediately said 'Mama Alina.' Then I asked, 'Who else is in your family?' And he said, 'Just Mama.'" Daniel stared at the drawing, unable to speak. "I probed deeper. Asked about Papa, about grandmother, about Mama Rissa who I heard recently returned. And Junior drew this."

she says, very serious for someone whose ponytail is halfway to falling off. “Really?” I lean forward and catch the watercolor box before it drops. “Tell me all about it.” She sits up, shifting again: legs tucked under, one knee up, sketchbook on her lap. She flips to the middle. The page is full of doodles. There’s a drawing of a round table, four little stick figures with names floating over their heads: ME, CLARA, LEO, ANAÏS. In the middle of the table, a small box labeled in big letters: “CRAYON (NO EAT!)”

“We just didn’t know his name yet.” He typed one final message. Patricia, would you be willing to send a photograph of the drawing you kept. I think it might help us understand more about who he is, and what facility this was. The reply came a few minutes later, an image attached. Dave opened it slowly. It was a child’s drawing, rough and uneven, a small boy standing beside an empty wooden chair, both drawn with the careful seriousness only children bring to things that matter enormously to them. In the corner, in small, careful handwriting, someone, presumably staff, had written a name and a date.

Zayn pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out on the table. It was a drawing. Simple. Uneven lines. Bright colors. Three figures. Aira recognized it immediately. Zayn pointed at it proudly. “This is me. And that’s Mum. And… that’s you.” Lucien’s gaze fixed on the drawing. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His fingers moved slightly, as if he wanted to touch the paper but stopped himself. “And you made this?” he asked. Zayn nodded. “Yes.” Lucien’s expression didn’t change much.