Ugly Christmas Sweater Drawings Novels & Stories

“He’s always busy now.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, Aurora. That must have felt really sad.” She nodded, then reached into her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I made this for you. At home last night.” I unfolded it carefully. It was a crayon drawing of stick figures: a tall man with dark hair, a little girl with pigtails, and....my stomach dropped, another woman with brown hair standing beside them, holding the little girl’s hand. A bright sun smiled overhead, and a clumsy wolf shape sat in the corner.

Kathy mustered up what strength she had to smile as brightly as she could at her granddaughter. “I drew you this.” Eve handed the picture to Kathy that she had drawn in the car on the way over. “Oh, what a lovely picture it is.” Kathy complimented the drawing. “That’s me, that’s you, and that one is Mommy. We are all watching The Grinch while we open our Christmas presents.” Eve pointed to each little thing as she explained her drawing in great detail. “Aw that is lovely.’’ Kathy cooed sweetly. “Would you draw me another one?”

Aunt Cathy says it's nauseating but she's always smiling when she says it, so I don't think she really minds. I go back to my room and flop onto my bed, pulling out my phone. Sophie texted asking if I want to come over, but I tell her maybe later. My desk is covered with pictures. Me and my parents from last Christmas, all of us wearing matching ugly sweaters that Mom found at some thrift store. Dad and me at my soccer game last month where I scored the winning goal. Mom and me at her piano, her playing alongside me even though I'm nowhere near as good as she is.

Blue eyes with actual laugh crinkles at the corners, the kind you earn from years in the sun. He’s holding the ugliest Christmas sweater on the planet. Bright red. Giant kangaroo across the chest wearing a Santa hat and sunglasses. I stare at it longer than is polite. "Nice sweater," I finally say. He looks down at it, then back at me, and grins. "Gift from my mum. She thinks I need reminding where I’m from." "Australia?" "That obvious?" "The accent helps. Also, that kangaroo should be arrested." He laughs. It’s a good laugh. Real. The kind that starts in his chest.

Sighing, Ethan really could be an absolute idiot when it came to some things. “So if I jumped in the river as wolf…” “It would probably start dulling the hair dye, yeah. I can’t believe you didn’t realize that.” The sizzling of the pan took his attention and I shook my head. Opening up the box, I pulled out the stack of four sweatshirts. I put the box on the floor and looked at the four different sweatshirts. There were two designs with two different sizes. Smiling, I started to take them out of their individual wrapping.

3rd January, 1999(morning) The Warehouse Lana Its a never ending circle. A repeated sequence I experience everyday, locked up in this room with little or no contact. A hollow feeling in my heart whenever I think about my family, the grief I feel whenever I remember those who died in that bloody Christmas party.

He yawned, still blinking at her like an owl. Whitney’s tension cracked at the edges, yet she knelt, brushing his hair back. “I’m here now.” He nodded solemnly, as if that solved everything in the universe, he held up a folded paper from behind his back. “What’s that?” she asked. “A drawing,” he mumbled. “For you.” She unfolded it, revealing a crooked house, two boys badly drawn but smiling, and a tall woman with ridiculous silver hair that swooped like a superhero cape.

I'm pretty sure that when I get home, my window ladder won't be there anymore. "Alright, honey. Sure, you and dad can get donuts together. Heavens knows it's early enough. Is that a Grumpy Cat sweater you're wearing? You must have gone to see Brittany, no way you'd go visit your boyfriend wearing that ugly outfit." "Thanks, mom, now I feel super attractive," I say with defense. "It's a hideous sweater. Why did I buy you that? We can try again. We can get you another Christmas sweater. Maybe a reindeer or elf one."

By the time Yves Golding got home, it was already midnight. I was lying in bed, staring at a photo of him and Melissa Lane. His abs showed faintly beneath his red Santa suit as she leaned against them, eyes shyly closed. Their colleagues had left comments below the post, saying that they were a perfect match and that Yves was quite bold. Melissa commented, "You guys, stop making things up. Mr. Golding was just being kind by keeping a lonely soul like me company for Christmas!"

But what girl doesn't want this? Mia laying sadly on the bed sighs then continues to roll over. She does meaningless actions because she doesn't know what to do. Her gaze drifts to the white papers neatly stacked on the table then sit up. She sits down on the chair. Pick up the pen and folds the papers in half. She works hard to write something, very hard. Make sure to draw each picture of a pine tree, a gift box, and a Santa. But she doesn't know how to draw people, and she doesn't know what Santa looks like, she just remembers him with a very bushy beard. So she draws according to what her instincts tell her. The girl completes a total of 16 cards in 4 hours. The content inside is just the