Panda Dunks Drawing Novels & Stories

He smiled cockily. I pushed his chest. "I'm being serious. Did you really do this?" "Yeah, no shit." He scoffed. "Who else would be so willing to take you to the dance?" I pushed his chest once more. I took the card away from the panda's arms and turned it around. It was a drawing of me.

Lucas ran toward him holding a piece of paper. "I made this!" He proudly shoved the drawing into Damien's hands. Damien studied it carefully. Bright colors. Bold lines. Shapes that didn't seem to belong together. He smiled. "Is this the park?" Lucas frowned. "No." "It's a dragon." "Oh." Damien nodded seriously. "Now I see it." Lucas beamed. Apparently, that was the correct answer. They started walking their usual route. Past the giant puddle. Past the rough tree. Past the empty bench where an elderly man usually sat eating sandwiches.

“I draw something.” “You drew something,” I corrected gently, softening. “I drawed it,” she insisted, pushing the paper toward me. I took it carefully. It was… two kids. Holding hands. Standing in front of a messy version of my house. One had dark scribbles for hair. The other had little curls—Damien. His name was written in shaky baby handwriting under his stick figure. Diana bounced on her toes. “Damien made half. I made the grass. And the sun. And the flowers. And the dog—”

Not when everything was dangerous. But God, I wanted it to be the time. We found Luca at the kitchen counter, covered in flour, with Maria looking fondly exasperated beside him. "I made pancakes shaped like dinosaurs!" he announced proudly. "See? This one's a T-Rex. And this one's supposed to be a pterodactyl, but it looks more like a blob." The pancakes were disasters. Barely recognizable as anything except a six-year-old's enthusiastic attempt at art. They were perfect.

Hazel ran toward them carrying her drawing. "Want to see it?" "Of course." The little girl handed him the paper. Dante accepted it carefully. Then froze. Because the drawing showed four people. Aurora. Darius. Hazel. And beside them... One extra figure. A man labeled in large, childish letters: UNCLE DANTE Hazel pointed proudly at the drawing. "That's you." Dante stared at it for a long moment. Then asked softly, "Why am I there?" Hazel looked confused by the question.

“Draw me.” Goldie looks at Darryl and takes the pencil. He moves the tip of the pencil on the paper and begins to scribble a couple of circles and lines. Darryl watches him with intent, The drawing highlighted some of his facial features more than the others, almost like in a cartoonish style. “Good,” Darryl nods at him, “Now, draw what they did to you in Bilibid. Did they torture you? Blackmail? Kidnapped? ”

This is the game where I can't apply my excellent shooting skills. I looked inside the claw machine and saw a small version of the panda I am holding. My eyes twinkled as I looked at that panda. No matter what, I will get it. "Do you like pandas that much?" "You won't know since you don't know. Hold this panda for me and I will play this." Jean had no time to react as I pushed him the human sized panda. I stretched my body and get ready to play the claw machine. 'I will get you today.'

Jane asks excitedly, “did you guys make me a card?” The pups pull out a big piece of construction paper covered in their drawings and folded in half. “Oh it’s beautiful!” Jane exclaims, “Let me guess, Ryder drew the dinosaur, and Paisley did the unicorn?” They nod happily, and Ryder chimes in, “It’s a doctor dinosaur! So it can make you all better.” “Are you sure it wouldn’t eat me?” Jane asks with faux worry. “Mommy i’s a doctor!” Ryder exclaims, “it took an oath not to eat ‘ny people at work.”

And if Chloe is safe here, then she’s home too. _Silence. Kitchen. 9:16 AM._ Alex finished drawing. Slid it across table. To me. _8 PEOPLE. SMILING. WITH PANCAKES._ Labeled: _ME. MAMA. DADA. IVY. ISLA. FEBRUARY. CHLOE. BEAR._ Bear had a pancake. In drawing. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump._ “See,” Alex said. “8. For pancakes. Not for 2:47 PM. 2:47 PM is still 7. Plus Chloe. On weekdays. Weekends are 8. For fun.”

Necessary things. The purple dinosaur blanket with one corner fraying. Her favorite pajamas with the peeling rainbow print. A stack of crayon drawings, rolled and smudged, each signed in crooked letters: ZOE. She laid them out on the desk one by one, flattening the curls at the corners with her palm. A smiling sun. A house with crooked windows. One with three stick figures: Mommy, Zoe, and someone in a suit with a question mark for a face.