Vent Drawings Novels & Stories

It was folded into a small square. "I drew a picture," he said. "Did you?" Aurora took it. She unfolded it carefully. It was a drawing of the penthouse. A tall black rectangle. At the top, in the windows, were four stick figures. A tall one (Papa). A medium one (Mommy, with a circle tummy). A small one (Ethan). And another tall one with a hard hat (Uncle Marcus). But around the building, Ethan had used his black crayon. He had pressed hard.

Still here, I said softly. Eli made a small satisfied sound and leaned back against my chest and looked at the room from this new vantage point with the calm interest of someone who had upgraded their view and approved of the change. I looked at the drawings above the bed. Marker on paper in the bold oversaturated colours of someone who had been given a full set and had used all of them. Shapes that suggested things rather than depicting them. A large yellow circle that was probably the sun and possibly also a face. Several figures of varying sizes that may have been people or animals or both. What appeared to be a house. What appeared to be something flying.

Genesis’s sweet voice floated through the door. I looked up. She stood in the doorway, nearly three now, with messy hair, a giant grin, and a piece of paper clutched in her hand. Behind her, Cameron leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, amusement dancing in his eyes. "She’s got that determined look. You’re in for it," he said, smirking. Genesis rushed forward and shoved the paper at me, her tiny hands clutching it like it was a treasure. The drawing was chaotic but earnest. It was a colorful doodle of a dress with hearts for buttons and a giant bow at the back.

Looking at the huge frame displayed on the wall, he gulped out of growing nervousness. Then, he looked at the event proposal. Attached in it was a sample drawing. A peaceful mountain under the scattered bright afternoon sun where the dancing leaves and embracing wind were filled with consoling tranquility. This sample drawing would be used as an immense visual background on the four walls in the event hall for the grand opening of Venere Art Gallery & Studio. Serin thought of having that magnificent visual background, not only to complement the theme of the grand opening of Venere but more especially to turn that lovely and consoling view into a meaningful painting.

He reached into his bag — past the textbook with the torn cover and the pencil case that didn't close properly and the collection of small objects he kept meaning to remove — and pulled out a drawing. He held it out to his father. A figure in a black dress with butterflies around her head. The dress had careful detail,more careful than the scale of the figure really justified, the work of someone who wanted to get that part right. The butterflies were possibly the size of small horses, which was a scale issue he was aware of and had decided to commit to anyway. At the bottom, in his best handwriting, which he had been practicing specifically for this: For Miss Vale. From Cassian Ardent. I th

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.

I frown, picking it up and opening it, gently pulling the pages apart to avoid any ripping. Initially, I think I’m looking at a photo. That’s how beautiful the art is, how accurate and painstaking. But then I notice the smudges, the lines that sometimes stretch a little too long, and no. This is a drawing—an architectural drawing of a vault, flawlessly executed. My heart thuds louder, but I couldn’t say why. With trembling fingers, I start turning the pages. There are sketches of rooms, offices, storefronts, piers, houses, bridges, stations. Large and small buildings, statues, domes, cabins.

We were almost done when Eli appeared in the doorway in his coat and boots with a drawing clutched in both hands. “For the King,” he announced, and held it out to my father. Terence studied it with great seriousness. “Ah. This is excellent work.” “I know.” Eli turned and looked at me. “You can have one too if you want.” “I would love one.” He grinned, flashing two missing teeth right in front, and climbed up into the chair beside mine and pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. He smoothed it out on the table in front of me. It was a drawing of what I assumed was the village: a large yellow circle overhead, a building, and several stick figures standing outside it.

Maybe he thinks I’m going to vanish into thin air, or maybe, just maybe, his brain hasn’t fully accepted the fact that I was alive. I reached into my apron to take out a towel, but something else slid out with the towel. A drawing. Small, but very colorful, and impossible to miss. I froze instinctively for half a second, and that was all it took for Zenith to piece things together, as he reached for the drawing before I could even blink. Mama and Eli was boldly written on it with crooked writing, and little hearts and star shapes, and below the writing, was Eli’s drawing of the two of us. The meaning was clear as day.

"What does your new friend look like, Heidi?" Heidi proudly lifted her drawing. It was a crude, childish sketch of a very tall figure standing between two giant green trees. The figure was colored completely in dark gray and black crayons, but the most unsettling part was the face. Heidi had used a bright yellow crayon to draw two massive, perfectly round circles for the eyes.