Ponyboy Curtis Drawing Novels & Stories

"Then give me a reason to let you. Give me something worth five million dollars, Brittany. Because right now? All I see is a traitor." He reached for his belt, his eyes dark with a hunger that wasn't just about revenge. But as he leaned in, a small, crinkled piece of paper fell out of the hidden pocket in Brittany’s red dress. Houston picked it up before she could grab it. It was a crayon drawing. Three stick figures with messy black hair, holding hands under a yellow sun. At the bottom, in shaky four-year-old handwriting, it said, WE LOVE MOMMY. The silence in the room became deafening.

He stops me before I can leave the coffee shop. "I'm sorry. I know you're not my girl. But do you know how hard it is to get a girl to look at me? I mean look at me, I'm not exactly the hottest boy here. And yet you still made a guitar sketch for me. I'm just proud of your art is all." At least we're in agreement that he isn't the hottest guy alive. But he's better looking than he lets on. I decide to stay and this time we sit on the couches toward the back of the coffee shop. I get out my charcoal and draw his hands holding his drumsticks.

The girl was a talkative—something I loved about her. "And why are you still up?" My gaze fell on his drawing book. "Drawing something?" He nodded and sat back on the floor. I took a closer look at the drawing. It was a weird one. Xylon was definitely going to be a good artist when he grew up. But for now, his sketches were still amateurish. Observing carefully, I could tell it was a rough sketch of a man. At least, that was what it looked like. The person had beards and a moustache with a hoodie over his head. The drawing looked poor and unclear, but this was what I could make out.

I don’t even realize a happy tear is falling down my cheek, and I move the page just in time for it to miss. “Wow, just wow,” I simply say, as I trace my finger over the curvy body and a couple of the birds. My heart flutters thinking about how he helped me with feeding the little guys, even if he thought it was stupid. It was important to me, so he made it important to himself. I go back into my room and carefully prop the drawing on my dresser, against something so it's right near the edge. I fall into bed and stare at it. Luke Payne, what a mystery you are.

I've been to after school detentions before though, mainly for stupid stuff like not finishing homework and crap. I take out a sketchbook and begin to sketch Ms Powell. I'm not very good at drawing or painting but I love doing it, I can draw and paint certain things well but others not so much. Like portraits and landscapes are more my speciality, ask me to draw a damn fruit and it will come out terrible. Ms Powell stands up, "I'm going to grab some coffee, I'll be back in 10 minutes. Please behave yourself Mr Carter and Ms Grys." She leaves the classroom and closes the door. I can hear faint shuffling behind me, but I don't know whose surname is Carter so I face forward and continue shading

I exclaimed, trying to sound cheerful despite the tension still simmering inside me. Curtis's eyes sparkled as he held up a colorful construction paper band. "Uncle, look what Ms. Tiara made for me!" he said, his voice bubbling with excitement. I chuckled, my heart warming at the sight of Curtis's happy face. "Is that...?" I began, my eyes scanning the band. Curtis nodded enthusiastically. "It's a band!" he squealed, clearly thrilled. "She made it during our first break," Curtis explained, his face lighting up with pride. "Ms. Teacher said we can do something else apart from studying."

He had taken very seriously Cindy’s instruction to be quick. The boy came right up to Nolan this time, stopping only when their toes were an inch apart. Panting from his sprint, he craned his little neck back and stared straight up at the prince. Then he thrust up his hands, proudly holding up a crayon drawing, presenting it like an offering to the gods. Nolan took the paper in his hands delicately. It had been folded and unfolded in many places and was battered at the edges, looking like it had been carried around for quite a while.

“If I fess up to you, it’s gonna be a long story and we might be here a spell.” Randy picked up the nearly extinguished cigarette and slowly took a drag. Then he snuffed out the butt. “Tell me the story first, then I’ll give ya the whole pack.” Randy tossed a box of Marlboro Reds and a lighter—Curtis’s Zippo—on the table, just out of the chained man’s reach. Smug fucker. He’s in for a surprise. Curtis dropped his chained hands into his lap and leaned forward. “Remember when we were little? You used to come over to my house after school.”

Mariana answered politely. Jeremy sat on the sofa with his legs crossed like a little adult, holding onto a drawing board, he seemed to be drawing. The picture was of the pony standing in the living room, staring blankly. Obviously, the pony was not used to this strange environment. From time to time, they would cry out a few times, looking pitiful. "Mommy quickly say hello to it. It likes me so much." Carolina was extremely excited, and her face was red. She pointed to the pony and said that.

She was crying. He blinked. This wasn't just a drawing. This was... vulnerable. He flipped again. Another scene: The same girl, it seemed, from behind. She was bent over a low table, a plug visibly lodged in her ass, the faint trace of a tail drawn with just a few flicks of the pencil. Her back was arched, and the shape of a flogger hung over her shoulder, just the tips of it drawn mid-swing. In the margin: "Only allowed to cum after she cries."