Sick Drawings Novels & Stories

I order and watch the boys run back towards the building as fast as they can. I watch with concern as the young boy they were picking on sniffs and works to pick up pieces of his sketchbook. I bend down and help him pick up the remaining pieces before they’re carried off by the wind. I look at one of the pieces of paper and can’t contain the awe on my face as I take in the amazing sketch before me. It’s this incredible real-life style drawing of a sirna with a vibrant red tail surrounded by all the elements. It takes me a second to recognise the likeness, but this is a sketch of the God Ezillus as a sirna! This might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. “You drew this?” I ask in astonishment

Damn. Another deep breath later I shook my head then moved his sketch aside and started drawing my latest victim instead. Willing my mind to think about my latest kill, I started sketching, fast. The lines, the shape of his slouched body, and the fear show his level of stress without showing off his face. The blood dripping from his stomach made them perfectly in line with the moment his life was slipping away. My wrist moves hurriedly, line after line, shading, shaping Rudy the tattletale. The coloring comes next, then I decided to stop when my back felt too tired to continue.

Not even a single try. “What does it say?” I asked, brows furrowing as I rubbed both of my palms to create warmth. The cold had been much cruel today ever since we arrived at the healer’s cabin. I encouraged myself to look at the drawings instead; the art style is pretty much gothic, if not ancient. It wasn’t inked. Hues of black and white were embedded on the golden brown pages of the material. I saw the graphics of a human and a werewolf. They were doing something strange… some sort of a ritual. Elliot did not flip the pages further so I ended up guessing that that was it.

They were all pretty convincing. A big spiral-bound notebook made of drawing paper lay on the chair. I flipped through a few pages. Some had charcoal drawings made with angry looking strokes. Dark and rough, but still recognizable as fields and hills you’d find around here. Other pages had diagrams in pen with clusters of spidery notes. Prop guillotines and coffins with spring-loaded lids. But most of the pages had monsters. Some drawn, some cut from movie magazines and pasted in. Some were more Polaroids of James in makeup; others were ordinary pictures of people from advertisements or news stories. On those he’d painted open-throat wounds or gouged out eyes with pen.

It's just my bed and some of the things I've left in here such as some of my old books, my school projects, my puzzle boxes, and scattered puzzle pieces on my old study table. I sat on the chair and opened the compartment under the table. I was surprised to see the stories I've written when I was in high school as well as my sketchpads where I attempted to nurture my drawing skills even if I really suck in that field. I opened it and chuckled when I saw how gross Pikachu have become in my drawings. There's also a portrait of someone I guess I saw on F******k who is as gorgeous as barbies but in my drawing, she looked like a dying zombie who hasn't devour any human since she has turned into o

Odell walked closer to her and asked, “What are you doing?” Sylvia chose to remain quiet. Odell approached her side and saw her scribbling a dark drawing. The entire drawing was dark, drawn only with different shades of black. The dark sky, the black forests, and the crows on the branches, the entire drawing screamed of depression. She was scribbling with charcoal, so her hands were also tainted black. Odell frowned and said in a heavy tone, “Stop drawing.” Sylvia ignored him and continued moving her charcoal across the canvas.

Tabitha’s POV We take turns sketching across the stone wall, passing the marker back and forth. We layer over each other’s drawings like we’re trying to outdo the last. Reed snickers while drawing an alien with three eyes and a meteor shaped like a dick. And then, there’s also something he claims is a “space wolf,” which I honestly think is quite cute. It’s the only decent thing he drew. We keep laughing until my stomach hurts and I’m wiping tears from my eyes. I lean over the narrow window to catch my breath.

I did really become free. I smiled as I continued to check my drawings in the old sketchbook. I draw many things but the tone was dark and gloomy. The rabbit I drew was lost in a dark and sparse forest. A bear cub was crying alone in a cave. The flower was wilting and dying. The rocking chair was broken and could no longer be used. They were all expressions of my feelings. It was truly gloomy. When there were only a few pages left, the tone of my drawings changed.

Masterpiece complete. I shoot him a glare before grabbing my phone, flipping the camera to selfie mode. My eyes widen. ”RICH!" I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. Because staring back at me is the most obnoxiously crude drawing I have ever seen. A very detailed... "You drew a dick on my face." Rich falls back onto the bed, howling with laughter. ”Not just a dick, sweetheart, it’s a work of art! Look at the shading! The realism!”

A few days pass after the Donnie incident at school. I don’t remember what happened, but I’m amazed that I stood up to him and fought back. The doctor told me everything that I had done. I was forced to write an apology letter to the school, Donnie and his parents. That wasn’t fun in the slightest. I sit at my desk in my room and open up my notebook. For some reason I’ve been drawing strange sketches recently of a strange creature. I don’t know what it is I’ve just drawn them. They’re quite disturbing. Especially that in my mind the creature murders children and takes their souls. It’s a bit dark…