Silly Drawings Novels & Stories

And once questions started, they rarely stopped. She leaned forward and brushed a hand gently through his hair. “Silas…” Her voice softened. “That’s a difficult question.” He nodded seriously. “I know.” “You do?” “Yes.” He held up his drawing. Three small stick figures stood in front of a house. One taller. One smaller. One somewhere between. “I think families are supposed to look like this,” Silas explained. Evelyn studied the drawing carefully. “Which one is you?” He pointed to the smallest figure.

It was most likely because she had been away for too long this time. At this moment, right as she put down her phone after chatting with Sherry, Flint’s little head peeked out from her side, and his hand held up a piece of drawing paper. “Mommy, this is the drawing I just finished.” He looked at her with bright and shining eyes, his face looking like it was begging for praise. Sylvia smiled and took the drawing into her hand. There was no sense or skill in the drawing. It was all kinds of different colors and shapes gathered in one space, so she did not know what he was trying to draw. However, the colorfulness was full of childishness and was very cute.

At that moment, my eyes spotted a drawing on the chalkboard. A caricature of me was drawn on the board with sticks for legs and chicken wings for hands. I knew it was me because there was a rash dotting the face and a giant pimple on the forehead. A small caption was written underneath it: (Beware of the gifts you receive, UGLY NIVIA).

She walked up to them and laughed out; they looked as if they were made by some kid. There were many such drawings carefully framed and decorated on the wall; there were drawings of mountains, houses, something that looked like elephant, flowers and apple. Bee was a brilliant artist and couldn't stop herself from criticizing them. She said to herself, "These are so childish, why would he keep them framed?"

Pixie : ) I rolled my eyes in annoyance, shooting him one of my deadly glares, he burst out laughing at my reaction, I turned looking again to the drawing he just send me, I started drawing excitedly, he thinks he's funny, I looked at the middle finger I just draw perfectly, not writing anything, just a simple middle finger. I throw the plane and watched as it started flying towards Anthony but not quiet landing on his desk, I gulped when I noticed it landed on someone else.

Shelly blushed. Ace grinned widely. "Tell me something special about yourself." "I used to draw," she muttered. "What! Why did you stop? I mean you are perfectly capable of creating memories through drawing." "I was very good in it and I enjoyed drawing. It would suprise you but when I was much younger I was a nerd." "A beautiful nerd, you mean." Shelly blushed at the compliment, "when you put it like that I guess I looked cute with my glasses and my pig tails hair."

He happily skipped to where I was, and it was then that I noticed a rolled piece of paper in his hands. "What is that, bub?" I asked, caressing the paper gently. He shyly bit his lip and opened it. My eyes widened when I saw a cute drawing of what looked like a...family? Sarah nosily craned her neck to see it, too. "Oof," Sarah muttered. "You clearly didn't take after your mom with that artwork." I clicked my tongue and glared at her as Andy hid the drawing behind him. Sarah cleared her throat. "I'm joking, Andy!" she exclaimed. "It's great! It's the best drawing I've seen in my entire life."

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“I don’t know how to draw. This isn’t working.” Darryl buries his face in his hands in frustration as he lets Goldie stare at his chicken scratch scribbles on the notepad. He had spent around two hours trying to draw a man shoving Goldie’s head into a bucket of water, but he can’t quite figure out the anatomy and physics behind it. Goldie tosses the notepad back to him and gives him a thumbs-up, only to receive a scowl from the other male.

With my brother's help, my son and I quickly found them. Silas and Iris were wearing matching family outfits that day. Three doodle faces—two large, one small—were printed across their chests. The moment my son saw them, his steps froze. "Mommy… Daddy doesn't actually hate childish things, does he?" Last Christmas, Felix's gift to Silas and me had been a family portrait he'd drawn himself. The lines were clumsy, the colors messy in places, the paint even spilling past the edges—but it was obvious he'd poured his heart into it.