Someone Drawing Novels & Stories

"Something like that." She nodded slowly, turning this over. Then she picked up her pencil and went back to her picture, and the kitchen was quiet again except for the scratch of her pencils and the wind in the hedgerows outside. I looked at the drawing she'd given me, now propped up against the wall by the window. Two figures, one tall, one small. Holding hands. Both with big smiles. My stomach turned again, a slow, rolling protest. I pressed my palm flat against the table and breathed through it.

She was somewhere around seven or eight, completely absorbed in whatever she was drawing, her tongue pressed to the corner of her mouth in concentration. I lowered myself carefully into a chair near her, mindful of my ribs, and looked at the paper. The drawing was full. Not in a crowded way, in a deliberate way, like she had a clear picture in her head and was working her way across the page with intention. There was a dragon in the top left, red and blocky with impressive teeth. Below it, a woman in a red cape with a pointed hat on a flying broom, carefully coloured with a orange crayon. To the right of that, something with fangs and a dark cape that I was fairly certain was meant to be a v

Such a childish and girly tantrum. I covered my face. This was truly embarrassing. It was a good thing that I am the only person seeing this. I could not let Lucas know that I have such a habit before! This would be my secret until the day I die! "Mom, look here! I draw myself and mom!" My mother and I looked at the drawing book. There were two stick figures on the paper. The taller stick has long hair and a big smile with very long lashes that expand longer than the ears. While the shorter stick has twig tails and a small smile.

Something fluttered from her hands as she turned the corner, a piece of paper, drifting slowly before landing near my chair. Silence swallowed the room, causing my stomach to drop. I stood up slowly and walked over, my movements heavy, like gravity had suddenly doubled. I bent down and picked it up. A drawing. Crayon and paint, bright and uneven, edges smudged with fingerprints. I stared at it. Three figures stood in front of a house. The woman had long hair and a wide smile. The little girl stood in the middle, holding both their hands. And the man, tall, broad, unmistakable stood on the other side.

He unfolded it with surprising care before holding it out with both hands. "Look." I took the drawing from him, already smiling before my eyes had even settled on the page. The drawing showed four figures standing side by side on a grassy ground, all holding hands beneath an enormous tree. And on the grass was a brown basket and what looked like a picnic blanket. I smiled immediately. "You drew us having a picnic." Rowan beamed and I pointed to the littlest person in the drawing. "And is that your baby sister?" He nodded without the slightest hesitation.

"You can look now, Ate Graziel." Graziel accepted the drawing with a warm smile. Three stick figures were drawn on the paper. One was a tall man. One was a little girl. And the last one was a woman with long hair. All three of them were holding hands. A gentle smile appeared on Graziel's face. "It's beautiful." "This is Daddy." Junie pointed at the tallest figure. "And this is me." Graziel nodded. "And this..." The little girl smiled brightly. "...is you."

She’d taken an interest in drawing lately, and it had stuck more than her previous interests had. But then again, she’s only five. There was plenty of time for her to find herself yet. “This is me, this is Mommy, this is Daddy, this is you Uncle Kells, and Aunt Gemi, Simon, Sawyer and Sadie,” she frowns. “I couldn’t draw Uncle Haden and Aunt Gemi big, so they are small.” She points to the smaller figures at the side. I notice another figure drawn in between Lucy and the figure who is supposed to be me, smaller than everyone and beaming.

He's been with Theo all afternoon—I can tell right away by the state of his knees, which are covered in grass stains and a burgeoning hole in one pantleg. He puts something on my desk. I look down to find a stack of paper and a mess of crayons spilling across the surface. The paper on top of the others has a colorful drawing, a four-year-olds expert rendering of stick people. "That's you," he says, pointing at a figure. Medium height, somewhat circular. "And that's me." The smaller figure. "And that's the Alpha." A third figure. Tallest. I look at the drawing for a moment, trying not to break down in front of my son. "Why is the Alpha in the picture?" I ask carefully.

"Hello, Maya." She went back to her drawing. "I'm busy." He almost smiled. "I can see that." "Grandma said I could draw until lunch. So I am drawing." "What are you drawing?" She held up the sketchbook. The sea. Waves. A boat. Three figures on the shore. A man with light brown hair. A woman with dark hair. And a little girl between them. "That's me, mama and Papa Sam," she said. "We are looking at the ocean."