Sad Eyes Drawing Novels & Stories

Sadie's meticulously applied makeup was marred by her tears, giving her the appearance of a disheveled mess. "Yaslyn," Sadie whispered, "you're kind-hearted, aren't you?" Yaslyn chuckled, her lips curled in disdain as she pulled away. "You leave me be, I leave you be. I never claimed to be kind-hearted." From Yaslyn's words, Sadie realized the bleak truth—she was not going to be let off easily. Resigned, she sat on the ground, silent tears streaking her face. Fear had gripped her heart. She could not predict what would happen next. All she knew was that she was doomed.

It makes me want to cry. A painting of me. The central figure—a solitary face—emerges from a backdrop of deep, brooding colors that seem to absorb all light. My eyes, brimming with raw, unspoken emotions, the intensity. The rich, dark hues of the canvas, ranging from shadowy blues to somber grays, so somber, melancholic atmosphere, amplifying the depth of sadness in the eyes, my eyes. So many details, I look tortured but at the same time there's something free about the painting and my eyes they look bright and happy. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

My heart feels heavy. Claire is in her room, drawing. When she sees me, she smiles and holds up the paper. “Look, Mommy! I drew us. You, Daddy, Uncle Harvey, and me. All together.” In the drawing, the four of us are holding hands in front of the house. A yellow sun in the corner. And a bright star in the sky — Sirius. Tears rise again. I sit on the floor beside her and pull her into my lap, holding her tightly against me.

Breathing hard but grinning. "To make you feel better," Karin added. She thrust a piece of paper toward me. "Because you looked sad." I took the paper. Held it up to catch the moonlight. A drawing. Crude but recognizable. Four figures holding hands beneath a smiling sun. Me. Karson. Carl. Karin. A family. "That's us," Carl explained eagerly. "See? That's you with the crown because you're a princess. And that's Dad. And that's me and Karin."

"No, buddy. I'm good." He stared at me with those grey eyes — my eyes — in that unnerving way he had, like he could see straight through to whatever a person was actually feeling. "You look a little bit sad," he said. "Maybe a little bit," I said. "But when you're here it gets better." He thought about this seriously, then gave a small nod like that was a reasonable and acceptable answer, and turned back to pull a drawing out of his bag and present it to Bella with both hands.

"Emma, sometimes it's easier to show feelings than talk about them. Can you draw me a picture of how you feel?" Emma picked up the crayons and started drawing. She worked intently for twenty minutes while Dr. Chen and I sat quietly. When she finished, she pushed the paper across the table. Dr. Chen looked at it. Her face went pale. I leaned over to see. The drawing showed a small figure—clearly a child—locked inside a cage made of black bars. Outside the cage, two large figures faced each other. One had sharp teeth and claws. The other had wild hair and angry eyes. Both were drawn in dark, violent colors.

Right as he was caught up in his thoughts, Kelvin felt a little tug at his sleeve and quickly turn toward the children's safety beside him. Aiden had lifted his drawing board and turned towards Kelvin excitedly. On the blank, white canvas, he drew a man and a woman holding the hands of a young child between them. The skies were blue, the grass was green and the sun was golden yellow in color in the drawing; it was a beautiful sight to be held. When Kelvin saw this, he was stunned by what he had drawn. “Aiden! Do you want to have a mommy?

Chloe had asked if he was sad. Mama had been quiet for a moment. Then she'd said, "I think he is. But the sadness is his to carry." Chloe had thought about that. She had thought about the photograph on his mantel from her fourth birthday, the one where she wasn't smiling. She had drawn him once, standing outside the structure in thin grey lines, the kind of drawing that was accurate but that she did not need to look at again, and it was in the back of the sketchbook with the others.

Afternoon light filled Emma's room as she arranged her art stuff like a little scientist. My girl was sorting pencils by color, getting her space ready like it was the biggest thing ever. "Dad, wanna help me draw a picture?" she asked, still focusing on her pencils. "It's for Mom, but I want to get all the feels right." "What kind of feels?" I asked, sitting next to her. Emma grabbed a big paper and started drawing, real good for a five-year-old. "Sad and happy and scared, all together. Like when you really want something but you're worried it'll go away."

"What's it, sweetie?" Saben pushed the paper in her face. "Look! I did this for you! Sabrina took the paper, her heart softening at the sight. It was a drawing of their family—stick figures with big smiles, holding hands. Above them was a bright yellow sun, and beside them was a dog that Saben often talked about wanting. “It’s beautiful, Saben,” Sabrina said, pulling him into a hug. “You’re such a talented artist!” Benedict walked over and crouched beside them, ruffling Saben's hair to give him an occasional genuine but rare smile. "You did this all on your own, buddy?"