Sans Drawing Novels & Stories

They were completely absorbed in their artwork. "Hi, Xai," I said, offering a friendly smile, but she didn't even glance up. Guess she gets that from Francis. Tsk. "What are you drawing?" I asked, peering at her creation. It was a family tree, with three men labeled Tito, Kuya, and Daddy, and a girl labeled with her name: Xai Reign. I immediately noticed that someone was missing.

HANNAH’S POV: It started as just a silhouette. The line of a shoulder. The way a skirt falls when the fabric has enough body to move with intention. The curve of a neckline I had been thinking about for weeks but had not put on paper yet. My hand moved across the wall and the lines came easily, more easily than I expected, like they had been waiting there inside me all this time and the blank wall was simply the surface they needed. I did not think too hard. I just drew.

" Daisy told him to try drawing, if he could see her flaws in the picture, maybe he could draw it. Atlas also did not hesitate to take out a pencil to sketch on the paper, Daisy was beside him observing the movement of his hand, he drew very quickly, it seemed that with just a few strokes, he had sketched the faces of the male and female leads. Five minutes later, the shape appeared before her eyes, and Daisy's eyes almost fell out. "Atlas." She swallowed. Atlas suddenly stopped writing and asked doubtfully: "Why, it doesn't suit you, then let me draw it again, I only occasionally sketched human figures, so it won't be what you want."

"It's because I don't care about writing at all. I care about this, though." I let my eyes trace down to the delicate lines of my neck on the drawing, a line of sweat falling between my breasts. He had taken some liberties there, I don't think he needed to include the sweaty boobs. In fact, the line density was very high in that area, like he had spent a lot of time and effort drawing in my breasts just so. "You really care about my boobs, I guess," I muttered. "Well, uh, I couldn't just not draw them."

Sketchbook in hand, the pens and pencils neatly arranged, I felt the world narrow down to the lines I could draw and the stories I could tell. I sank into the chair and stared at the paper in front of me. The designs Dylan had explained were beautiful, but I didn’t want to just replicate them. I didn’t want to draw the models in their gowns, stiff and posed like they’d been told to forget everything except perfection. That wasn’t me. I wanted something alive, something that could tell a story without even needing words.

Melissa I couldn't stop looking at the drawing. No matter how much I tried and how much I forced myself not to, I just couldn’t stop looking at it. No one had drawn me before whether with my consent or without it, and the fact that Alan was the first to do it without me posing for it was thrilling.

I picked up a pencil and a piece of plain paper and I drew. Not designing. Not solving a construction problem or working through a silhouette decision. Just moving the pen because moving the pen was the only thing that had ever made the noise inside my head go genuinely quiet rather than just quieter. I drew for two hours without stopping or looking at what I was producing. I drew the way you breathe when you are trying to get through something, not because breathing is interesting but because it is necessary. When my hand started to hurt I stopped. I looked at the paper.

Beside the paper and pen lay a thin box with a set of graphic pencils. A drawing kit? I opened the pad immediately and began to draw, the dream pouring through me like water down a cliff. It was vivid and fast, my fingers moving on instinct and guided by the memory that wad etched into my mind. The dizzying swirl of numbers, the images in the holographic screens, the massive glowing codes. I drew it as perfectly as I could, adding the faces of my children. After several minutes, I felt no more inspiration coming, so I sat back and stared at the sketch. My fingers had gone sore, my breathing a bit shallow.

My hand moves without hesitation, like it already knows what it’s doing. Like it’s done this before. It hasn’t. I don't draw people. Other things that catch my attention, yes. Nature, objects, buildings, animals occasionally. But never people. And yet… My gaze flicks down to the page. Two eyes stare back at me, sharp and detailed. There’s no colour to them but I don’t have to add one. The colour is ingrained in my mind already— blue. I stare at them for a long moment, my fingers tightening slightly around the pencil.

"There's no way I look like that. You look like you're being castrated right now." "Here's a better representation," There's a short stick laying between us and I pick it up, drawing the shape of a human face on the beach sand. I start out by drawing out two 'o's as the eyes with curved brows at the top. A small triangle is drawn next to display his small but pointy nose, and then lastly, strike out a straight horizontal line as his mouth. Noah stares at the silly drawing on the sand that now looks like a hairless mutant and raises a curved brow. "It's missing both ears."