Someone Drawing Novels & Stories

He opened his backpack, drew out a black, thick sketchpad, and then flipped some pages before presenting it to me. He showed me an etched drawing of a beautiful girl with her long fingers brushed on her hair and as though her charcoal eyes were looking straight at me. “You can draw? Drake, this is amazing!” I gasped. He scratched his hair. “It’s not much. I’m still practicing.” “It looks beautiful to me.” I stared at the drawing. “She looks so real. Who is she?” Probably his crush? Please, let it not be his crush. “No one. Just in my imagination. I haven’t tried realism yet.”

His employees had gone home. His secretary had left nearly two hours ago. The cleaning staff had already passed through. Yet he remained where he always remained. Behind his desk. Working. Or at least pretending to. His attention drifted toward the drawing again. A crude picture made with colored pencils. Stick figures. A smiling sun. A flower that looked suspiciously like a potato. And in the middle of everything... A man in a suit. The drawing had clearly been made by a child. A very young child. A very energetic child.

I said firmly " I'm not coming to ask you about the work sir, I'm fine with the new position." He smiled " So?" " I remember that person is one of the undercover leaders of the Blackstone who lives in the US, I forgot to show you." He gave me his phone I looked at that picture, it's hand-drawn. It's from a left-handed person, I can see that from the tips," Who drew this?" Harvey looked at me shocked then swallowed, " Sir, I found one of the men, good at drawing and I described the man for him."

"A triangular like structure to support something with the mechanics of a sling shot" he repeats slowly as he looks off into the distance, looking as if he were now in some type of thought. "Interesting" he says as he perks back up. "I like that! I think we can work with that." He smiles as he opens his notebook to a blank page. Luca brings his pen down to the page before drawing different lines across the space. He brings himself to state of concentration as he continues to sketch an image on the page.

When I come back to Jeremy’s room he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, and he’s holding one of the drawings in his hands, the stick-figure family with the three people and no dad. I close the door quietly behind me and walk across the room, sinking down onto the floor beside him without saying anything. He doesn’t look at me, just keeps staring at the drawing with his thumb brushing back and forth over the crayon lines like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

A small drawing desk in the corner, crayons scattered across it, a few papers with colorful scrawls. I stepped in slowly. On the wall, drawings were taped up. A child's drawings — a house with a triangular roof, a sun in the corner with rays drawn as straight lines, a tree with round red fruit. Then I saw it. One drawing in the middle. Three figures standing hand in hand. The small one in the middle, in a dress with long hair. A woman on the left. On the right, a man in a black suit.

I looked over it again and again as I hoped Chris would love it. It is a realistic drawing of him in black and white. No color pencil was used. He is a suit with his arms folded on each other. He looked so manly with his expressionless face standing there. I made the drawing to his stomach and stopped it there, not drawing further down. It looks like a portrait. I wish I could frame it out before he comes back from work but I won't even be going out today. I glanced up at the time and it was up to an hour before he arrives from work.

Hnnngh. He cleared his throat a few times. "Ahem. Uhmm. I draw people, mostly. I like to draw faces, and hands -- hands are so difficult but it's really rewarding to get them just right." I looked him in the eye, trying to figure out how to phrase my question. "I don't wanna pressure you into showing me your work. But if you ever feel like showing me, I would love to see it." "Uhh. Noted." "So what's the best part about faces? You only draw with pencils and black pen, that I've seen, so it's not the eye color."

I take it. It is a drawing of a room. Not the penthouse. Not the foundation office. A room I do not recognize, larger than both, with high ceilings and tall windows and the specific quality of a space that has not yet been decided for what it will be. In the corner of the room, small, a figure. Standing with her back to us, looking at the empty space. In the bottom corner of the drawing is her handwriting, not CB. Something else. I read it. Look up at her. She is watching me with the open expression of someone who has never once performed anything.

Darn! I decide to call back, this time for a video call, but the connection is interrupted. I wait for a moment, pacing back and forth, feeling my pulse quicken. Furthermore, I glance back at the drawing. Some details are still missing, but you can see a woman pulling a man out of an abyss.