Someone Drawing Novels & Stories

I'm just posing with the confidence that they are professionals. They're each sitting on a stool in a horizontal line, watching me. My focus is blank; I'm just staring into space while they draw, but slowly I let my gaze travel to Luca's board. His eyes are fixed on whatever it is he is drawing. He stops, shifts back, folds his arms, tilting his head to the side, whilst the brush pinned between his fingers absently goes to his lips, tapping gently.

"Show me a little." Logan looked at the drawing board and then back at Silas. Silas was not smiling but he wasn't being unpleasant either. It was just a simple request. Logan walked over to the drawing board and picked up one of the pencils. He stood there for a second thinking about what to draw. Then he just started. He drew a rough outline of a building first, something simple with clean edges. He worked slowly because he hadn't drawn in a while and his hand felt uncertain if he could do it.

Maybe years. And then I see the drawings. Taped to the walls, scattered across tables, covering nearly every surface I can see. Sketches in charcoal and pencil, some detailed and finished, most of them half-done like he started and couldn’t bring himself to continue. All of them are the same person. A girl. Young, fourteen or fifteen maybe, with long dark hair and this smile that looks like it could light up an entire room. In some of the drawings she’s laughing at something off the page. In others she’s concentrating hard, her tongue stuck between her teeth the way kids do when they’re focused.

God. Everything was fine. Fair. Until the last page. Reasonable honestly. Then she froze. God. Because there was a drawing. Fair. A brand new drawing. Reasonable. Not hers. God. Definitely not hers. Fair. Just scribbles. Reasonable honestly. Lots of scribbles. God. Then one tiny stick figure. Fair. Then another tiny stick figure. Reasonable. Then a tiny circle. God. Everyone stared. Fair. Then Peanut pointed proudly.

Grip tight. He did not draw a house with a sun. He dragged a heavy line across the page, then another, until the paper looked more like a wall than a picture. I asked him what it was. He shrugged. His small shoulder moved once and then went still again. I pushed a basket of figures closer. A father. A mother. A child. A car. A bed. A dog. Ordinary pieces. He picked up the child figure and held it. He did not pick up the father.

"So you remember us.” I watched his face as he looked at the drawing. It was simple…the way all children's drawings are. Three stick figures holding hands. One tall, with dark hair like mine, and then two small ones, one with a dress and one with short hair. And next to them, a fourth figure. Tall, with dark hair like the first one. "This is you," Lia said, pointing to the fourth figure. "And this is Mommy." She pointed to the first one. "And this is me and Luca."

In between her fingers was a pencil and her eyes were on a canvas and she was drawing on it. Her hands shook a little but she wasn’t paying any attention to it, she was focused on her drawing, so keen to make meaning out of what she was drawing. A man in a white coat was behind her with his arms folded and watching her draw. “What are you getting this time.” “What I can remember, it’s what I’m drawing.” He moved away from behind her and went to her side, he stared into the drawing on the canvas.

After saying that, she pulled up a chair and sat down, picked up a cup of coffee and continued drinking. Amelinda Ciara stood in place. Staring at Anne Jenner, seconds later she turned away. The person who just left. Betha just said: "Look at her hot search." Anne Jenner picked up her cell phone in boredom, scrolled through it, Amelinda Ciara drew a comic again, this time she drew three people, a girl in a white dress squatting on the ground, holding a silhouette , whose owner is the same handsome man wearing sunglasses at the airport in the previous drawing, is walking towards a girl in a red dress, but the girl in red is not present. back shadow.

“Darlin’, we’re in New Orleans. You want a crown? I’ll find you a crown.” “Condom crowns don’t count.” My mouth teased into a smirk. “Fuck. Back to my drawin’ board.” “If you can draw anything beyond a stick man and/or a penis, I’ll be very impressed.” “Blow job kind of impressed?” “Aiden.” Elena rested a hand on my thigh softly. “Can you draw anything other than a stick man or a penis?” I ran my tongue over my lips slowly and deliberately and grinned when her eyes flicked down. “I can probably draw an all right pair of tits.”

He had found a pad of paper and a dull pencil in a kitchen drawer. He was drawing. I stood in the doorway, my breath catching in my throat. I didn't want to disturb him. I watched the way his hand moved—it was fluid, confident, but with that slight, human tremor he had inherited from the resonance. He finished the sketch and turned the paper toward the light. It wasn't a blueprint. It wasn't a map. It was a drawing of a single, wild iris growing out of a crack in a rock. It was messy. The lines were unoptimized. It was, in every sense of the word, imperfect.