Passionate Drawings Novels & Stories

The dark, anguished abstractions of his captivity? Then, he started to draw. Not what he thought he should draw, but what he saw. A gnarled tree, its branches clawing at the sky. A pigeon with a ragged wing. The quick, impatient lines of people rushing past. His hand moved with a new energy, a raw, untamed urgency. The lines weren't careful or precise; they were bold, messy, full of life and movement. He wasn't trying to create a masterpiece; he was trying to capture a moment, a feeling—the gritty reality of being alive and on the run.

One day, I’d give anything to see my very own drawings on display in a gallery, until then, me appreciating what I’ve worked on is enough. Stopping on the one I was working on earlier, I trace my finger over the pencil strokes I’ve already created. My cheeks flush slightly at what my inspiration was—or who for that matter. The detail of the muscles is something I wish I could show somebody else. I’m impressed with my attention to detail on them. I pick up one of my pencils, continuing to shade the perfect ridges of the abs I was working on. With the sound of crashing waves surrounding me, I get lost in the drawing. I don’t know how much time has passed when I suddenly feel hot.

I moved on. Now, I'm strangely feeling the same fixation as those nights, but on something peculiar. The obsession forms dangerous roots around something I should ignore, but it's stronger than I am. I pull the black card from my jeans pocket and examine the three-headed dog that begs to be deciphered. I scan it with my cell phone camera and wait. Nothing happens. I slowly slide my thumb over it, trying to feel the raised letters, and I notice a tiny sequence of numbers in the bottom right corner. Against the light, they glisten a bit more. -23.517635, -46.703601

"The designs on these papers...They're identical to Alyssa’s draft!" someone exclaimed in shock. “Alyssa, you claimed your draft was created last night. If that's true, when did I draw it on these papers?" Renee sneered. Compared to computer drawing,Renee found hand-painting to be the richest source of inspiration. "If you take my draft to a professional agency for inspection, you'll find that I drew it five days ago," Renee declared.

BROOKS I haven’t been able to stop thinking about those drawings. Venita. Dozens of her. Inked, shaded, posed. Naked. Some were tender. Most were obscene. All of them were intimate. Zade’s obsession in pencil and charcoal, and it was nothing short of a punch to the gut. I didn’t know what to make of it. Since that day in the studio, I’d been keeping my distance. Deliberately. Avoiding his texts. Dodging his casual invites to come hang out.

The fire in Evelyn’s body had only burned hotter. As if possessed, she had grabbed his hand and guided it over her body, breathlessly whispering, "Touch me..." His sharp eyes had darkened with lust as he obliged, his hands roaming her body and causing her to moan with every touch. Responding to her moans, he had pulled her closer, deepening their feverish kiss. One of his strong hands had gripped her waist, while the other had tangled in her hair, holding her in place as their passion escalated.

And that pair of fiery eyes that stared at her intimately. Lauren took a deep breath and got up from the bed. She sat down at the table. She took out her sketchbook and pencil. She closed her eyes for a few seconds before sketching on the paper. After about ten minutes, a face with sharp features bearing a mischievous charm akin to that of a handsome rogue began to take shape on the paper. That touch of provocative arrogance was also captured in the drawing. Lauren was in a daze as she stared at her work. She stroked the pair of eyes she drew lightly.

- Draven touched my shoulder, gently encouraging me. - Very well, now your Brendon. - I said, letting go of my shoulder and moving on to the other man. When I looked at my sketch I was really feeling good and happy, I was smiling like a fool at the drawing, but that didn't stop me from listening carefully to what my colleague was explaining about his that would have a feeling between lovers in a garden seemed to be beautiful, and I was eager to see his result, apparently I was the only one there to try a darker feeling, I didn't feel bothered after all I know my work will turn out well, and even if it is a sad feeling it was still beautiful, after all life was to be expressed with joy especi

"… But we wanted this one to be outstanding. Take a look for yourself. Tell me what you think." Despite his weary expression, Bob exudes an air of Smug as a whole sheaf of drawings is spread over the tabletop. Hand-sketched, the dozen or so drawings are seen from different angles and perspectives. Some are plain pencil. Others charcoal and pastels. They all depict the same bridge, soaring over the river, dominating the skyline, reaching for the heavens. I flick between images. "Architect, you said? Artist would be nearer the mark. I'm not sure whether this has been conjured up out of stardust or Shakespeare."

Facing him was not easy, despite her efforts to remain strong. "I don't even have my phone with me….. otherwise I could have played some games on it to kill boredom. And when I saw the notepad, I just couldn't help it. I love to draw….it is my passion." She told him in a small voice, looking at her cold hands which were still fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She silently prayed that this worked.