Vent Drawings Novels & Stories

Victor’s POV As we stepped into Emily's new apartment, laughter filled the air. We had just come back from picking up her son Adrian from school. The little guy was bubbling with excitement, showing off his latest crayon masterpiece. “Look, Uncle Victor! I drew a dinosaur!” Adrian exclaimed, waving his colorful drawing in the air. “Wow, that's impressive, buddy!” I said, kneeling down to his level to get a better look. “Is this a T-Rex or a Brontosaurus?”

It told me almost nothing. I turned to the bottom half of the page. I drew a horizontal line representing the forearm. Above it I sketched the viper — rough, approximate, the raised head and the coil of the body the way I remembered it. I had no talent for drawing and it showed, but the shape was there, the proportions close enough to be useful. Beneath the line I drew the word as best I could. Six letters. Maybe seven. The first one tall. The middle ones compressed by the italic lean. The last one with a curve at the base.

What was that about? I stared down at the drawing in my hand once more and I noted how Carter had drawn long canines elongating from the wolf's mouth. The drawing clearly showed it was not a dog but a wolf. “Why don't you kids go play with uncle Ethan while I go show these beautiful drawings to daddy?” I suggested. “But I want to show daddy mine,” Penelope pouted and I pinched her cheeks. “We'll go show daddy together later alright?” I told her and that seemed to satisfy her. The children ran off and I stared down at the drawings one last time before I headed towards Mr. Ford's office.

Everyone else had gone home hours ago, leaving me alone in the glow of the overhead lights. I reached for my planner, intent on scribbling down tomorrow’s priorities, when a folded sheet of paper fell out. It was Erwin’s drawing—a crayon sketch he’d shyly handed me the night before Family Day. In his childlike scrawl, he’d drawn three figures holding hands: Carlisle, Erwin, and me.

"How do you feel about that?" Instead of answering, Miguel bolted from the room, returning moments later with a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out carefully before handing it to Victor. It was a drawing, clearly made weeks ago. Three stick figures stood hand in hand in front of a house: a tall one labeled "Dad," a smaller one labeled "Me," and a medium one labeled "Mom." "I drew this before," Miguel said softly. "When I wished really hard." Victor swallowed the lump in his throat. "Looks like your wish came true, kiddo."

There is no point in closing it because the drawings are in my head whether the book is open or not, and having them on paper gives them somewhere to be that is outside of me, which is the only relief available. I have been drawing since I was seven years old, since the first vision hit at a birthday party and my mother took me home and I sat at the kitchen table and drew what I had seen because I had no other language for it. Helena formalized the practice when she found me, gave it structure and purpose, told me that externalizing visions through image reduces their hold on the interior, that the act of drawing a thing moves it from inside the body to outside it, which is not the same as u

he chuckled I laugh,ms.Samuels gave us a raise eye brow and I smile innocently, opening my note book for the first time a blank paper was in there,I turn it around and It was an drawing of a pair of eyes.I was confuse to why these were in my two books,I showed it to tent and he smile but shrug.I look back in my Geo book and took out the picture,I place but of them on the desk. "A baby and a pair of eyes,wow these are amazing drawing".

Then he put it on the table by the window. Next to it, slightly overlapping, was a drawing Soren had left there when he prepared the room — a quick sketch from when Soren was nine, which Caelum recognised as one of the dozens Soren had made that year. This one: the training yard, stick figures, one unmistakably taller than the rest. A note at the bottom in nine-year-old handwriting: this is Caelum teaching me. I wanted to remember it. He looked at both drawings. The nine-year-old's memory and the fifteen-year-old's sight.

“Do you think it means something?” I hugged my knees. “I don’t know. But I think she’s real.” Rhett rubbed his eyes. “Could you give me a sketch or something?” I got out of bed, tiptoed over to the desk, and grabbed some paper and crayons. I didn’t talk—I just drew. Big swirly black veil. Hollow eyes. Long fingers. Long black dress. Rhett stared at it like he was studying a treasure map. “That’s... not normal,” he said.

Right as he was caught up in his thoughts, Kelvin felt a little tug at his sleeve and quickly turn toward the children's safety beside him. Aiden had lifted his drawing board and turned towards Kelvin excitedly. On the blank, white canvas, he drew a man and a woman holding the hands of a young child between them. The skies were blue, the grass was green and the sun was golden yellow in color in the drawing; it was a beautiful sight to be held. When Kelvin saw this, he was stunned by what he had drawn. “Aiden! Do you want to have a mommy?