Sick Drawings Novels & Stories

"What’s all this? Working on a big project?" She shook her head mutely, her hand never stopping. The air smelled sharply of charcoal dust and something else… a faint, metallic tang of distress. My gaze drifted from her bowed head to the drawings scattered around her. At first glance, they were abstract, swirling, chaotic masses of dark lines, smudged shadows that seemed to writhe on the paper. Then, as my eyes adjusted, shapes began to coalesce from the darkness. Jagged lines that suggested cages. Rough, huddled forms that could be… figures? Small figures. Curled in on themselves. My breath hitched.

The dark, anguished abstractions of his captivity? Then, he started to draw. Not what he thought he should draw, but what he saw. A gnarled tree, its branches clawing at the sky. A pigeon with a ragged wing. The quick, impatient lines of people rushing past. His hand moved with a new energy, a raw, untamed urgency. The lines weren't careful or precise; they were bold, messy, full of life and movement. He wasn't trying to create a masterpiece; he was trying to capture a moment, a feeling—the gritty reality of being alive and on the run.

Nikini sat beside her and handed her the sketchbook. Emlin began flipping through the pages as Nikini sat there tugging at her fingers, nervously. This was the first time anyone has ever seen her drawings; not even Boris had seen these. She worried they might be a little too dark. She often drew what she felt, and her thoughts and feelings were often dark due to her constant unhappiness. She drew a lot about her childhood and drew some about her current life with Boris. She often drew herself and her many stages of emotions.

Even the tattoos on his arms were hard to recognise, they just seemed like black smudges on his skin in my mind. “Okay, so we know we’re looking for a male with arm tattoos.” Alpha Devin noted the description of the man behind the sketch and proceeded to label the first two sketches as well. “What about this one?” It was one of the more chaotic ones, drawn the day of my father’s funeral, I could hardly get a clear image in my mind to put on paper, but my hands kept moving, scribbling an abstract image onto the page. “I’m sorry, that shouldn’t be here- it, I drew that the day of my father’s funeral, my mind was too clouded to think clearly.” I stumbled over my words, pulling the page from her

I could hear him being beaten every day, but he never cried. Although he was a year older than me, he was small and thin, even shorter than me, and was often kicked out to sit on the stairs, starving. I had taken him in and given him food in exchange for posing as my art model. Later, he stayed with my family for years, and my room was filled with his portraits. At first, his eyes were empty, but in the later drawings, he was smiling, his face as bright as a sunflower. I was proud of what I had accomplished.

"So," I started. “So,” he answered, sending me a meaningful smile, to which I gave a dramatic sigh in return. “Do I really have to go in?” “Did I really have to sneak out so we could get here? No. But I did that anyway. See?” “Again, Spongebob, we did not sneak out. We said bye to your parents twice,” I remarked between chuckles. “And yeah, we also waved at them before getting in the car. See? Not a sneak out.” “Well, that’s your version of the story. I’m sticking with mine. So, sneak out it is.” He raised his hand as one chanting a freedom cry would, while I just shook my head in mock exasperation. “Remind me why I’m friends with a weirdo like you again?” “Because…” He pretended to consider

"She had a younger sister in our school who told everyone. His name was Mr. Pond Monster for that entire school year." "They ruined my childhood," Dimitri sighed, resigned at that point. All of us laughed at that. Dimitri rolled his eyes before snapping pictures of Max. Most of his body was covered in drawings. The most prominent one was the huge penis Dimitri had drawn on Max's face. Max is a huge guy and could easily intimidate anyone with just a look. But him glaring at Dimitri in a photographer mode had no effect. It was hard to take him seriously when his body was filled with absurd drawings. Nat had written ‘Talia's bitch', ‘Talia's property', 'At Talia's service' and many such crazy t

“Open your chemistry book to chapter seven. We’re starting with chemical bonding.” I rolled my eyes and dropped into the chair across from him. My tiny skirt rode up my thighs but I didn’t pull it down. I popped a fresh piece of gum in my mouth and started chewing loud on purpose, snapping it between my teeth. While he talked about atoms and electrons, I grabbed my notebook and started doodling. Big thick dicks. Veiny ones. I wrote “Mr. Sinclair’s cock” under the first one, then drew another one even bigger with balls and everything. I smiled to myself, pussy tingling the whole time. He kept talking, explaining shit I didn’t care about, but I just kept drawing, making the dicks look like the

He was too handsome for an ugly person like me. I looked away from them. On my way home, I spot an elderly guy with a huge sign along the road, written, "Beware of the beast who hides in human skin that walks among us." I didn't understand why I was so frightened when I read it. Briggs, the elderly guy, was insane; he lost his mind when his daughter went missing. Nothing he wrote on that piece of cardboard was sane. Arriving home, I went straight to my room and locked myself in. I sat at my desktop and typed in the search engine, "Beast who hides in human skin."

Then suddenly, a frown formed between his brows, and he said, “Are you crazy? Why are you drawing a man’s d*ck?” A man’s what? D*ck? I looked at my drawing again. I felt my face turn hot like a fireball. “No!” I freaked out and showed my drawing to him again. “This is n-not that! I swear! I would never draw that! Why would I d-draw something like…” My eyes went to the bulge on his pants and quickly back to his face. “That’s not it!” I explained, almost sobbing in embarrassment. “I would never do something like that. I swear!”