Pencil Easy Gangster Drawing Novels & Stories

Simple and complex at the same time. Back in my room, I sat at my desk. The black-covered notebook was already open, a pencil beside it. I looked at the blank page for a few seconds and, without thinking too much, began to draw. The lines appeared almost by themselves. First, a feminine gaze, with long eyelashes. Then, the outline of a smiling mouth. My fingers kept moving, adding subtle details — a scarf over her shoulders, a book in her hands. It wasn't Giulia. Not exactly. But somehow, it seemed to have something of her in it.

“It’s ready. Just waiting on the details. Blaze was gonna do it, but I told him no. Customer paid for Ghost, they’re getting Ghost. I can’t risk anyone finding out otherwise.” I sigh and walk over, pulling the papers out of the folder. The sketch is mine, hours of drawing it until it was perfect. Flames licking around the tank, shadows curling in subtle shapes, like smoke forming skulls if you stare too long. It’s my work. My mark. I grab the brushes and paints Echo left, sit on the floor, and start. For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet rhythm of brush to metal, the hiss of paint as it spreads, the world narrowing down to colors and lines. It grounds me and steadies the storm in my hea

“It helps.” Her blue pools softened to a sweet gaze. “I’m happy that it helps.” Fingers twirled the sleek pencil in my hand in a fidgety tick. I peered down to take another look at my half finished sketch. The lingering poison slowly began to sprout in my head as I sigh lowly. “Me too.”

But they all grabbed a marker pen and started drawing anywhere they could reach. They all seemed to know what they were drawing. When they finished drawing their individual pictures, they went to a larger blank wall. Where Max drew a big circle, Eden then drew a slightly smaller circle inside of it. Before Jaxon drew some lines connecting the circles. It made it look a little like a clock. But Eden added some wavy lines at the bottom of it. When they finished, they went to a sofa, curled up with Evie and cried. I looked at their pictures. Max had drawn a man’s shaver but with small lightening bolts coming off it, Jaxon had drawn a bucket and Eden had drawn a knife.

A loud grunt came from the sack. The gangster frowned and kicked the sack, "You are damn heavy!" Another grunt sounded. The gangster was not satisfied and he kicked him more. "Hey, fourth brother, don't start yet. The princess hasn't talked yet." The other gangster said and took a broken chair from the pile in the corner. He then sat up and massaged his muscles. Ella and her friends had already sat on the couch. "Release him." The gangster, fourth brother, opened the sack and dragged a thin middle-aged man from it.

she switched her black crayon to a yellow one. "Oh, what do we have here? Can I take a look?" Ruth said, diverting Gianna's paper to her, "Wonderful! You did this?" Gianna nodded. "So here is your beautiful mummy, I presume," she pointed out a not-so-straight stick drawing representing a woman with red hair and an ear-to-ear smile drawn in red crayon, which no doubt represented her mother's signature garnished lips. "And this is you, right?" Ruth acknowledged an almost similar version of the first drawing, except it looked small, had a black yarn-like excuse of a ponytail above her head, and no red represented ear-to-ear smile. "Yeah."

Alice I walk over to the flip chart and pick up a red marker. There aren't a lot of colors to work with: green, blue, red, and black, but I think I can create something that will grab Nathan's attention. While music blasts, my hands work their magic. A smile is stretched across my lips, and I pick up my red plastic cup to drink while creating my hilarious art on this paper. I'm drawing a portrait of Nathan, but I'm being bold. This is Picasso's style I'm using for inspiration.

“It’s us! That’s me in the middle, and you—and him! Pancake guy!” Alli’s throat caught. She took the paper, studying it. It was chaos, really. Wild scribbles. Wavy lines. No real sense of proportion. But she knew instantly who was who. Three stick figures: the tallest one with blonde hair and what looked like a beard and motor oil stains on his shirt; the shortest with impossibly long arms and pancake wheels beneath his feet; and her—with what appeared to be coffee in one hand and a heart drawn between her and Johnny’s stick figure in crayon red.

"Almost done! Just a little touch-up!" A focused Travis hissed as his slim fingers made shades of lines on a portrait he had been drawing. He carefully made a four with his legs that were nervously trembling as he traced his pencil on the portrait— afraid that he'd make a mistake. He stopped for a brief moment and went on to take a sip of orange juice. "And-d-d…done!" He expressed happily while exhaling deep breaths of relief. His eyes that were glowing with glee averted themselves from the portrait, towards a void of blackness that was decorated by birthstone-blue stars in the shapes of pentagrams.

I then flopped on the red beddings on my bed, my head at the foot. I nimbly pulled a piece of paper from the pile. My breath caught when I saw it, as it always did. I ran my fingers across the page, hoping to feel all the curves and edges that were drawn. But I didn't. They weren't real. It was just a drawing. I picked up a gray pencil and added something to the picture. My hand moved swiftly across the page. I then picked up a yellow pencil crayon and added the details. I smiled at it.