Potato Drawing Mga Nobela at Kwento

His employees had gone home. His secretary had left nearly two hours ago. The cleaning staff had already passed through. Yet he remained where he always remained. Behind his desk. Working. Or at least pretending to. His attention drifted toward the drawing again. A crude picture made with colored pencils. Stick figures. A smiling sun. A flower that looked suspiciously like a potato. And in the middle of everything... A man in a suit. The drawing had clearly been made by a child. A very young child. A very energetic child.

“It stays in story.” Al turned to me, his face already beginning to collapse again. “Mami.” I picked up a blue crayon and drew something on the other side that vaguely resembled a boy with a whale shark. “There. That’s you.” Al studied my drawing. “Why I look potato?” “Genetics.” “I’m not potato.” “No one said potatoes were ugly.” “Gabby will.” “I will,” Gabby said. I pointed the crayon at both of them. “One more word, and this entire family portrait is going into the shredder.”

He grabs a carrot and pops it in his mouth. The older male cuffs him upside the head. The youngster, not chastened in the least, leaves with the carrot dangling from his lips like a cigarette. I figure he’s been chased off, but he returns a minute later with a milk crate full of potatoes. He sits down and joins the older male to do the prep work.

“There are pork chops, would you like those? I know Papa loves them.” “If you would like. I’m not that picky.” Creighton leaned against the sink and folded his arms across his chest, watching as she gathered the meat, then stooped down and took the five large potatoes Nana had him dig up earlier that afternoon from the garden. She placed the items in the sink next to him and began scrubbing the potatoes, preparing them for baking. “Dare I ask what I did this time to make you feel you have to discuss things with me?” she asked with a sly grin.

Gratefully. "Did you work on anything?" asks Dane. "As in art homework?" I ask back. "Yeah." "I did the ten sketches, if that's what you're talking about," I say as I pull out my book. Opening it up to the page, I show him. "I like that one," says Dane as he points at one that I made of Rupert at his house. Rupert sits on the porch, and look out at the huge grassy yard. He sits resolutely and above is the sky and clouds drawn in wavy pencil lines.

He never said so, but she was his favorite. “Genty,” Aaron said as he dug a small potato out of the ground and tossed it into a basket, “have you ever wondered where potatoes come from?” “They come from America,” Genty replied, with a smile. “Oh,” Aaron said with a shrug. “I thought they came from God.” Genty laughed gently and ruffled his hair. “That, too. They come from God, by way of America, silly boy.” Still not exactly sure how both could be true, Aaron moved to the next potato and wiped his brow on the back of his dirt-covered hand. “Genty, do you ever listen to Ma and Granddad talking, when they think we are still asleep?”

Elohim gathered his sack half-full of potatoes and let Maria had her way. “Well, goodbye. You can come back and I’ll be around to do it again,” laughed the impromptu potato farmer at the girl darting to get to her house. He would do it at all to any mortal human. She looked at him and nodded. She was so bewildered that she could not hear what he had said to her. She was so dismayed that she had not seen the man with messy, short, obsidian hair getting his draggled potato bag beside the muddy pit and had gestured good wishes to her.

she says, reaching into her backpack. She produces a drawing. The drawing shows four figures in a garden. One is tall in a white coat, two are small—one with spiky hair, one with a rabbit—and a fourth figure stands slightly apart, rendered in careful, dark crayon strokes. The labels are clear: Mama. Maple. Me. And for the fourth: The sad man. "That's our family," Rosy says. The word hits me where I am not protected. I keep my face completely frozen, a skill that costs me more in this moment than it ever has. I look at that fourth figure, standing on the edge of the page.

"What does your new friend look like, Heidi?" Heidi proudly lifted her drawing. It was a crude, childish sketch of a very tall figure standing between two giant green trees. The figure was colored completely in dark gray and black crayons, but the most unsettling part was the face. Heidi had used a bright yellow crayon to draw two massive, perfectly round circles for the eyes.

Why was he so hung up on a piece of potato? ‘Just eat the darn thing so you can continue your work, Olly. You know he’s as stubborn as a mule. And we have already done more intimate things, so why are you shying away now?’ My mind went back to the kiss we shared last night, and my cheeks warmed. “Fine,” I huffed, and I opened my mouth. He held my gaze and slipped the potato through my parted lips. The flavours of baked potatoes, avocado, and red beans burst through my mouth as soon as they touched my tongue, and I sighed.