Ponyboy Outsiders Drawing Novels & Stories

Mercedes' POV “Can I see?” I asked Carter who shrieked and hud his paper behind his back. “Carter what's wrong? You've been drawing for hours, can I see?” I asked again but the little boy shook his head. “Why not?” I inquired. “I'm not yet done,” he replied. “Carter never shows me his drawings and he laughs at mine.” Penelope pouted as she rose her paper and showed me her drawing. There were four stickmen, two bigger ones on either side while two smaller ones stood in the middle smiling as they held their hands together.

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 couldn’t remember which one we’d taken to get back to the house, or which one I should take now to reach the conservatory. Great. I was lost. Shading my hand over my eyes, I decided the far right should take me in the general direction I wanted to go. So I went that way, only to end up at the edge of the house, but not where I’d started, and not close enough to the rose garden to get me inside. Strangely enough, however, a boy played outside, using sidewalk chalk to color a picture of…what the hell was he drawing? Maybe some kind of dying animal with blood gushing from its side and an arrow sticking out of its back.

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.

Thought maybe he’d take my hand and say, Let’s run away. I wiped my face, forcing the sobs back down. I reached for my phone in my coat pocket but as I pulled it out, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I frowned, picked it up, and slowly unfolded it. A drawing. Crude lines. Oversized eyes. Wild curls drawn in loops. Me. Sort of. At the bottom, in clumsy crayon letters, it read: Mummy. I could tell it belonged to the little boy, Nolan.

he exclaimed, pulling out a piece of paper and rushing over to show me. I knelt down to get a better look. The drawing was simple, but unmistakable: Joe had drawn himself and Liam standing next to a racecar at the track. Joe’s stick figure had a huge smile on its face, and Liam’s was taller, a bit more detailed, with a cap on his head and a wrench in his hand. “See?” Joe said, pointing. “That’s me, and that’s Liam! We’re fixing the car together. And look, I even drew the racetrack!”

It could be seen that Jackson’s living conditions were quite favorable. Mentally, however, this child’s truly happy days began the day he met Madeline again. Madeline’s heart ached as her gaze was suddenly drawn to the picture on the desk. She picked it up and took a closer look. It was a crayon drawing which was probably drawn by Jackson himself. There were two adults in the drawing holding a little boy’s hands. The three of them showed similar happy smiles on their faces, strolling across a field of green grass that was full of flowers.

“Hey buddy! How are you?” He bit his lip, suddenly shy. "I'll miss you, Sister! Come back soon.” Before I could reply, he turned to Xeros and handed him something– more like, pushed something into his hand. Before we could ask anything, he darted away. Xeros carefully unfolded the paper, and I found myself peeking over his arm in curiosity. But never could have prepared me for what I found: it was a drawing , with me, Xeros and Adam. Adam had drawn himself smiling in the center, clutching both our hands as we ran through the rain and storms together.

I glanced at a few of the books, some fantasy novels and a small sketch pad. I opened the sketch pad and looked through it, she was good. Really good. The scenes were mostly outdoors. Forests, waterfalls, mountains. All done with such grace and precision. Each more lovely and realistic than the last. I noticed at the bottom there was a J written as beautifully as the drawings themselves. I got to the last page and there was a drawing of a moon. Bright and beautiful in the sky but there was something else to it. The drawing felt sad. “What the hell.” I snapped as I lifted my hand and wiped a tear from my cheek.

About Logan’s steady eyes. I don’t write about betrayal tonight. I write about beginnings. I write about hope. A few nights later, there’s another knock. Missy again. This time, she holds up a drawing. It’s of three stick figures: one tall man, one curly-haired woman, and a little girl with a bunny. I crouch beside her. “Who’s this?” She grins. “It’s you. And me. And Daddy. I drew it at the table all by myself!”