Weird Things To Draw Novels & Stories

A piece of paper fluttered out. It was a drawing. Crayons on construction paper. Catherine picked it up, and her blood ran cold. The drawing showed two stick figures standing on a jagged white line (the ice). One was labelled "Daddy," drawn in blue. The other was labelled "Sad Man," drawn in red. They were fighting. But above them, the sky was ripped open. A black hole was drawn in the clouds. And coming out of the hole wasn't light. It was a tentacle. A massive, black, spiraling limb covered in eyes.

“We can work on that.” We talked some more, mostly about the upcoming school festival. He also took me home which was weird because it’s been so long since we did this. After I took a shower, I sat down on my bed, and it all sinks in… what can I do to decorate the announcement board? I got a copy of our class picture and tried drawing it… but my hand felt like it has a mind of its own. I only started drawing one person, but it’s face was so distorted that it would be embarrassing to show it to the class.

She ran back to the bedroom and returned with a sketchbook. The drawings were good—really good for a seven-year-old. Animals, mostly. A detailed cat, a dragon, a family of rabbits. "These are beautiful," I said honestly. "Do you like to draw?" "I love it. I want to be an artist when I grow up. Or maybe a scientist. Or both." She flipped through pages. "Maman says I can be anything I want." "Your maman is right." She stopped on a page near the end of the book. It was a drawing of two figures—a woman and a small girl holding hands. Above them, sketched lightly in pencil as if she'd been uncertain about including it, was a third figure. A man.

I return to my seat and am thankful to have finished before everyone else, who are only now getting up from their chairs to hand in the damn practice to the professor. I search my backpack for a sketchbook, which I carry with me every day, so I don't get bored during free time. I proceed to find the page I've been working on. It's a drawing of a tree, which conveys what we see on the outside but not inside, what we think is good when it isn't. How our eyes and life deceive us, just like that. —Is that you, monster? —I was so focused, better said, relaxed, when this idiot comes to ruin my damn life. He's in front of the desk, waiting for an answer.

"Absolutely. And so I believed Tristian's claim to be false. But later, I checked my notebooks and guess what was filled in the back sheet?" "What?" I roll my eyes. This girl sometimes forgets to use her brain. "Ugh—dress sketches, Tessa! I made sketches while I was bored in the class. And by the look of the drawings,none of them appear like normal, disoriented scribbles or doodles. They are all perfectly designed and detailed drawings. Something I never believed I could make."

I have never been more embarrassed before an old woman like I was at that moment. After eating my fill with Aileen wondering if I would have enough space for breakfast, I rubbed my tummy and gazed at the papers stuck to the fridge. It was childish drawing's definitely from the children at the orphanage. One had a huge caricature drawing with a red crayon with a wrongly spelled Orian written at the bottom. The next was a drawing that had two caricatures, one slightly bigger than the other and it had Orian and Nexus written at the bottom. But I wasn't sure if Nexus drew this or the kids.

He pulled out a small bundle of trinkets—buttons, beads, a broken bracelet—and several crumpled papers. "Bingo," he murmured. Bella gasped. "Her stash. She hides things all the time at our place too." We all sat down right there on the floor, spreading out the drawings. Childish sketches. A house. A crying face. A stick-figure family. A swing set. Then my fingers froze. "Here," I said. "Look at this." We all leaned in. It was a grey, smudged drawing of an oval with a cross on top.

She always prompted him to forget about it. He had believed her when she said that she knew nothing about his dreams, but she started acting weirdly recently and it made him start to think that maybe she knows more than she was letting out. Ever since his mother saw his drawings, she has been acting strange, she even tore the canvas the first time she saw it and she asked him not to draw anymore, but drawing is something he can not stop doing even if he wanted to. Most times, he doesn't even realize he was drawing until he was done. His eyes were usually unfocused, his body unrelaxing as the creativity flowed through him. Anytime he picked up his paint brush, his mind always fell blank and a

God. Everything was fine. Fair. Until the last page. Reasonable honestly. Then she froze. God. Because there was a drawing. Fair. A brand new drawing. Reasonable. Not hers. God. Definitely not hers. Fair. Just scribbles. Reasonable honestly. Lots of scribbles. God. Then one tiny stick figure. Fair. Then another tiny stick figure. Reasonable. Then a tiny circle. God. Everyone stared. Fair. Then Peanut pointed proudly.

For a little guy, he is way too good. There are all different kinds of drawings that are too neat, I shuffle through them, trying to find one to stick on our fridge in the kitchen. I smile to myself when I come across a picture of him and I then there's Jasmine and even Alex, with and without devil horns— that makes me laugh. I pass by other boyish things, like cars, dragons, dogs, dinosaurs and ninjas, lots and lots of them.