Pencil Nezuko Drawing Novels & Stories

ALICE I flipped through the pages. The pencil in my hand snapped as my grip on it tighten. I did not bother getting myself another one. I can still draw using what's left of this five inch pencil. This flimsy little thing... is already enough. Just like his lingering image in my brain...is enough to draw his sketch.

There was a small piece of white paper. Nico flipped it over. His hands started to tremble. It was a pencil sketch of his mother. “No way. Is this mum’s book?”

’ ‘Thank you Mama. As soon as I put Mallory to sleep I switch the light back on. I pull a sketch book and pencil from the study table. I turned to a blank page of the sketch book. I hold a HB pencil on my right hand. I grip the smooth body of the blue pencil and positioned my fingers with just right distance from the very tip of the pencil. The pencil is stuck between my middle finger at the bottom, index finger at the middle and thumb on top of it. I lightly grasp the pencil and carefully begin to draw a line. I started to sketch a pair of eyebrows with moderate shading followed by the eyes.

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.

I searched the Luna’s desk for a replacement, but her pencil cup was empty. I scanned the rest of the desk. No more. I opened a slim try in front of me; nothing but extra staples, a hole punch, and white-out. I tried the slim tray drawer next to it. Bingo. An entire hoard of pencils. Weird. But ok. My hand slid clumsily along the pencils, neatly stacked and not sliding everywhere, creating a jigsaw mess of yellow wood and rubber erasers– Except for one. One pencil didn’t move. My fingers stopped, gripping the thing. It wasn’t a pencil at all. Just a small carving that looked so similar to the others I would have completely missed it.

"You want to add the spaceship?" He hesitated, his little hand trembling slightly. He looked toward the door, then back at the paper. Finally, his tiny fingers closed around the pencil. He didn't draw a spaceship. Instead, he carefully pressed the blue pencil to the top of the treehouse and drew a tiny, shaky circle. "A blue sun," I smiled, looking up at him. "I like that much better." Noah’s lips twitched, just a tiny bit, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his serious expression. He sat down right next to my knee, his small shoulder brushing against mine, totally absorbed in the paper.

Jonah’s still at the table, drawing now instead of eating, his pencil moving in quick strokes across the page. I sit there with him for a few more minutes, neither of us saying anything, just existing in the same space while Mara’s music pounds through the walls from her room. Then he turns it around so I can see. I go still. It’s a drawing of a car. Not just any car. Two cars, actually, twisted together in the middle of the page like they’ve collided, metal crumpled and glass scattered everywhere. The lines are dark and heavy, pressed so hard into the paper in some places that it’s torn through.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be near.” I waited until she disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door before turning my full attention towards my drawing book. My awkward fumbling of the pencil stopped as I gripped it in a tight hold. Idea’s grew from the toxic darkness that lingered, the pointed tip of the lead carefully sketching a hand grasping an entwined honeysuckle and rose crown. A flower crown. A simple smile. Erasing some of the shaded blackness that colored the eyes. Yeah, I think I will color this one.

Make out every last curl on her head. In all these intricate and delicate drawings, she looks beautiful as fuck. Beautifully haunting. Like a ghost that comes out at night when you least expect it. And I'm the poor victim who can never outrun them. I lose myself in my thoughts, my black lead pencil moving over the sketchbook, the sound of the short, smooth strokes almost like ocean white noise, lulling me deeper into my drawing.

He climbed onto the sofa beside her and opened the notebook. Crayon lines filled the page. Bright colors. Simple shapes. But the drawing was recognizable. Three stick figures stood side by side beneath a large sun. Evelyn had seen similar drawings from him before. Usually the same three figures. A woman. A child. And a tall man with darker shading around the eyes. Silas held the notebook proudly. “Do you like it?” Evelyn forced a soft smile. “It’s beautiful.” He studied the picture carefully. Then pointed to the tallest figure.