Pencil Easy Gangster Drawing Novels & Stories

God. Everything was fine. Fair. Until the last page. Reasonable honestly. Then she froze. God. Because there was a drawing. Fair. A brand new drawing. Reasonable. Not hers. God. Definitely not hers. Fair. Just scribbles. Reasonable honestly. Lots of scribbles. God. Then one tiny stick figure. Fair. Then another tiny stick figure. Reasonable. Then a tiny circle. God. Everyone stared. Fair. Then Peanut pointed proudly.

I looked at the black page in front of me, the sharpened pencil felt strange in my hands, bringing memories of two little boys giggling with identical smiles as they painted and drew on our mother’s wall, standing together through her scolding and punishments when she’d tell us to go to our room, a place we would so much rather be. I swallowed and went to work. The sound of our pencils against the crisp paper filled the silence. The only sound came from Jones cutting up vegetables for our lunch in the kitchen. “You’re pressing too hard.” Felix suddenly snuck up behind me, eyes glaring at the pencil I held. “I like holding my pencil like this.” “You’ll snap the pencil, Elias. I got those from

Iker ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. "What makes you believe in his protection after his own men almost killed you?" Lizzy hugged herself, and her voice cracked. "The contract..." "Lizzy, do you really think Greed will keep his end of the deal? You must remember that he's a gangster, and not just any gangster, but the leader of the most powerful mafia in New York. Trusting him wholeheartedly, based solely on a contract that he could break at any moment, is complete madness." And she knew it. It was complete madness to trust someone so dangerous. But even if he broke his word, she wouldn't break hers to protect herself and her child.

“Glitter only for the back pages. So it doesn’t disturb the serious work.” I watch the watercolor in her hand, tiny splatters already landing on the carpet. My serious work quietly cries in a corner, but honestly, today I don’t care. “Mommy, look.” She draws a small circle in the corner of the page, then adds two dots and a smile. “This is my gang. Table center. Happy.” There are four tiny heads there. One with long hair in a ponytail, green eyes. Above it: ME. I smile faintly. “You look very proud.”

Jade screamed angrily, tearing out and crumpling up a sheet of paper from her sketchbook. She threw it across the room and it landed on the floor close to the door, increasing the litter of crumpled paper and broken pencils in the room. She took a new pencil from behind her ears, her fingers shaky as she began to draw lines and curves, in readiness for another sketch. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture a face, Tiger's face - that was what they called him but she knew his name began with the letter H.

She was using colored pencils. Gaya sat on a different table. She was discussing whatnot with Elijah and Elias. I subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief, seeing how none of them looked angry over my lack of hospitality. I approached her carefully and sat opposite her. The drawing was alive now. Detroit West – her father. It was no longer just a shadowy outline. The sketch now bloomed with deep reds and burnt oranges, warm brown undertones smudged beneath his cheekbones, and his eyes…those unmistakable, calculating eyes, seemed to stare right back from the paper.

I quickly felt the therapeutic effects taking hold, and before I knew it there were four entire blank pages filled to the brim with comedic, insulting doodles of this asshole. Soon, the bobbleheads became extensive drawings. I created an entire character around this guy. A character that went around trying to pick on people before getting his ass beat. The pages of my notebook became comic book blocks. And soon, dialogue flowed from my fingertips. I licked my lips, focusing on the way my pencil markings flowed across the paper. And I thanked my stars I had mechanical pencils. I got them for free at the grocery store, along with the lead. Which meant never having to get up and sharpen my penc

“See mine too!” “And me!” Michael and Leon ran to me, pointing their papers at me. “One at a time, okay?” I squatted and took Nathan’s drawing first. “Wow! It’s so cute!” “This is Papa,” he said, pointing at the tall black stick figure. “This is you.” His finger moved to the next stick figure beside the black one, which was pink and dramatically shorter than the first. ‘I guess even they noticed the height difference between Dante and me,’ I gave a quiet chuckle.

“If you break one more expensive pencil in half, Zan, I’m going to start charging you for the property damage.” I didn’t even look up from the mahogany desk as the sound of snapping wood echoed through the study. Zander was standing by the window, his silhouette dark against the afternoon light, his knuckles white as he gripped the remains of a vintage charcoal lead. On the floor between us sat the “gift”—a hand-crafted, leather-bound painting kit that looked like it belonged in a museum. It had arrived an hour ago with a note that simply said: For the strokes you haven’t dared to paint yet.

She was so gone in her thoughts that she didn't notice the gorgeous building before her. It was modern style and the graffiti walls looked awesome. Most were doodle arts and there were some calligrams too. "How did you paint this?" Marvin was curious. It was the picture of the True Hate band but the picture looked okay from afar. But when you went near it, it was different. For example, Oggy's picture was made of his name Oggy. Chase's picture was totally made from his name Chase. Nigel and Shay had their pictures in the same way too.