Someone Drawing Novels & Stories

Holding onto his sketch book and looking out of the window he danced his pencil carefully on the clear paper slowly making a sketch of a young girl sitting on the tree with her back facing him. When the sketch was finsihed he looked at it, his lips curved into a smile as he kept the sketch pad aside.

A man, there is a girl in the middle of them and a woman holding hands. Well, I assume that the two in the drawing are women because they have skirts. Of course, who else are these three. It's Kenzo, Yelena and Marga. Their family drawing made by Yelena. I looked at his other drawings, there are mountains and then in the middle is the sun and I think the flower farm below him is the water color used in the drawing. There are also other drawings that look like the three of them again, but the same colors were used in the drawing.

Hailey asks as she sat. "Does a trash can with some cacti in it count?" She chuckled. "Anything come to mind yet?" I ask staring at my easel as if it was going to start dishing out ideas. "Not sure yet but I'll definitely just throw some ideas together," she responds. The guy sitting quietly next to me was sketching in his drawing book. Everyone else seemed to be doing the same thing, drawing a bunch of nonsense then choosing the best. I watched him as he drew his third idea then finally said something.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in the living room with my sandwiches, a tall glass of milk, the TV on, serving as background noise, and my drawing pad and pencil in hand. I don’t know how long I sit there drawing, only taking breaks to use the washroom, but eventually I finish drawing Remus, which is surprisingly difficult, not because there aren’t many features to draw, but because there aren’t many features to draw. I try to make it feel as real as I can, as detailed as possible, and try to paint a picture of his personality through the drawing. And don’t get me started on the shading. I feel like my fingers might fall off by the time I actually finish, but I realize this is probably my

"I will help." Kai nods with the satisfaction of someone whose project planning has received the necessary resource confirmation. Then he picks up the drawing book from the chair and he opens it to a fresh page and he begins to draw, right there in the treatment room, with the focused economy of someone who has something to get down before the image leaves. I look over his shoulder. He is drawing three figures: a small one, a tall one, and a third one whose silver hair he renders in careful crosshatched lines, standing in the western quarter with the tree and the lifted pavement stone visible at the edge of the frame.

But Elena slowly walked towards Sarah to peep at what she drew. Sarah sat down, closed her eyes and clenched her fist while Elena peeped at what she drew. "What's this?" Elena muttered to herself as she stared at what Sarah drew. A little boy, lying on a rock on the pool of his blood with a gunshot at his forehead. She wrote the number 9 close to her drawing and circled it. "What the fuck is this? " Elena muttered to herself. "Elena! You've got to see this!" Laura called out to her but she was still staring at the weird drawing.

I look over at him and he holds out the picture he drew. The picture he drew is of a big round thing and I can make out some trees, the sun, a patch of grass and water. I crouch down beside him and smile, “How beautiful,” I say. He beams at me. “Real?” he asks and I nod. “Yes! So tell me about your drawing,” I ask him after quickly switching off the stove. He looks down at the drawing and points at each object. “That you mate. Tree, pond in forest mate drink from and sky, dis grass.”

It feels like a life I built, brick by stubborn brick. --- Later, at home, my laptop is open on the kitchen island, email drafts, and grant proposals competing with a half‑finished bowl of mac and cheese. Our daughter sits on a stool beside me, swinging her legs. Her crayons are everywhere. “Look, Mama,” she says, holding up a drawing. I lean back to take it in. Three figures, vaguely human. One with long, scribbled hair and a microphone. One with short hair and what might be a tie or a very aggressive scarf.

"It's missing both ears." I watch as he picks up the stick this time and makes on the sand, two medium sized 'c's on both sides of the drawing. We both tilt our heads to the left at the same time and stare at the drawing on the sand. One of the eyes are way bigger than the other and the nose seems to be falling out of proportion, the shape of the head looks like that of an amoeba while the ears he just drew isn't fully connected to the face. "I think it's phenomenal," He says.

I think you want to know how you got here. Oh, so I'm no longer a suspect? I think wryly. Giving you food and tending to your wounds has somehow convinced you that I'm not a threat? I get up and go to the hiding place door. I fill my hands with sand and bring it back to him. I spread it on the floor in front of him so I can draw on it. I draw sea waves, a moon and a square floating in the water. I draw a little stick figure on it and point to the foreigner.