Outer Banks Drawings Easy Novels & Stories

Those eyes that looked exactly like mine, that used to look only for me. "Sure, baby. Show us what you made." He pulled out a piece of construction paper, orange like a sunset. Or a fire. The crayon drawing was messy in that beautiful way children's art always is. Bold strokes. Pure emotion. No hesitation. Three figures holding hands in what looked like Golden Gate Park. I recognized the bridge in the background, wonky but unmistakable. "See?" Oliver pointed with his finger, leaving a small smudge on the paper. "That's Daddy in the middle because he's the tallest. And that's me on this side. And that's..."

Gratefully. "Did you work on anything?" asks Dane. "As in art homework?" I ask back. "Yeah." "I did the ten sketches, if that's what you're talking about," I say as I pull out my book. Opening it up to the page, I show him. "I like that one," says Dane as he points at one that I made of Rupert at his house. Rupert sits on the porch, and look out at the huge grassy yard. He sits resolutely and above is the sky and clouds drawn in wavy pencil lines.

I think you want to know how you got here. Oh, so I'm no longer a suspect? I think wryly. Giving you food and tending to your wounds has somehow convinced you that I'm not a threat? I get up and go to the hiding place door. I fill my hands with sand and bring it back to him. I spread it on the floor in front of him so I can draw on it. I draw sea waves, a moon and a square floating in the water. I draw a little stick figure on it and point to the foreigner.

Noah was on the floor with the drawing unrolled in front of him. He had added something in the lower right corner. Small. Specific. We crouched down to look. It was a house. Not Captain Fossil's house. A house. With a pitched roof and four windows and a garden. And three figures at the right side. A tall one. A medium one. A small one with a fossil in his hand. But different from the drawing on the kitchen table. In this version the three figures were inside the house. Not at the right side.

Labels in wobbly, determined letters. *me* *mama* *stoRm* Noah’s mouth quirked despite himself. Storm. He didn’t need a map for that one. Underneath the drawing, mostly covered until now, was a photo. Not a printed one; a clinic snapshot someone had pulled from a phone and run through the ancient color printer. The quality was grainy, the colors too bright. But the subjects were unmistakable.

I replied as I reached down to stroke Little Hayden’s head. Hayden rolled his eyes at me but refused to comment anymore. I started working on sketching Hayden focusing only on his face down to his chest area. To practice both versions, I outline two sketches. Personally, I found the realistic version easier than the other one. I mean, how am I supposed to make Hayden look better than he already does?

"Can I see?" His eyes widen in what looks like panic. "No―I don't really let people see my drawings," he mutters. "Please Jax?" I plead. He bites the inside of his cheek making me sigh. "I'm not going to judge or anything, I just want to see." He takes a deep breath. "Okay fine," he murmurs, handing me the sketchbook. I flip it over and my breath catches in my throat. My eyes widen as my fingers trail over the drawing, careful not to smudge the pencil. "It's me." The detail is insane. I couldn't have been in the water for more than ten minutes.

So that means getting going now. Having a blank page for a commission, and getting started on it, that’s two different things. After wasting most of my free period staring at a large white rectangle, I give up and start doodling in a sketchpad instead. Sketches of faces, mostly. The Pack. Imogen. Mom. The college staff. My tutor, Mrs Bird, as a Sergeant Major in a feathery rainbow uniform, strutting around bellowing orders. Jade as a crow, teaching crow martial arts to a bunch of baby crows. Mary in a Cinderella ball gown. Reese as a tiger. Tom as a warrior fairy, with dragonfly wings and a silver rapier.

She walked towards her desk, ” Good morning class, today I want you to draw or paint a self portrait. I let out an exasperated sigh, portraits are my least favourite thing to draw. My preferred medium of art is drawing so there’s no way that I am going to paint. I think I’ll do a charcoal drawing that way I can smudge away half the artwork to create my face. I take my drawing media out of my bag and take a piece of compressed charcoal and wrap the bottom half in a piece of tissue. I don’t want to get my entire hand full of charcoal… I’m not the biggest fan of getting my hands dirty. Using the piece of Ashrad paper that Miss Wellington gave out to the class I begin. I decide to start with one

Ada Wood thought for a moment and finally ordered a cup of fresh lemon juice. Now she does not love sweet and greasy milk tea. With a brush in her hand, she never needs any pigment. With a charcoal pen, she can paint a colorful world. She closed her eyes, empty herself and take a deep breath. Then open her eyes and start drawing. In front of her, Adair Carter stepped on the beach barefoot and was smiling at her. Adair Carter, has always been with her. The first painting after her release from prison should be for him. She picks up the pen and draws it on the sand on the paper.