I love drawing something so simple, that you can’t stop looking at it. Even though there isn’t much there, you just want to keep looking at everything, every little bit. That’s what I always try to accomplish with my drawings.
My friend Holly went missing from where she was camping on the Hood River on March 15th. She was last seen with two men she had known conflicts with, and all of her belongings are where she left them. Oregon Police have not sent out a search party and are going to close the case soon, while a femme of color has disappeared suspiciously. I am looking for people with Oregon connections, experience contacting media outlets, or search and rescue experience please contact
You were walking toward your cabin, wanting to make sure all
of your campers were in the mess hall for dinner, when you saw one of them
sitting on the steps. You thought it was a bit weird – you hadn’t seen her when
you left the cabin earlier – but you figured she just snuck by you. As you got
closer, you could hear her mumbling to herself with a frown on her face. You
walked over to the huffing child, noticing a black Crayola marker in her hand,
attempting to draw on the side of her arm.
“What are you doing, Mack?” you asked slowly, confused as to
why she was drawing on herself. The brunette’s head snapped up and she stared
at you with wide eyes.
“I’ll wash it off, honest!” she exclaimed, “I didn’t-”
“Mack,” you chuckled, plopping down on the step beside her,
“You’re not in trouble; I just wanted to know why you’re drawing on yourself.”
“Oh,” she sighed in relief. She started chewing on her inner
cheek, staring off in front of her. You followed her gaze and noticed the
12-year-old boys’ counselors, Calum, sitting at a picnic table across the lawn.
You looked back down at her as she began speaking again. “I want pictures like
Cal has,” she told you, “But I can’t draw with my right hand.” You laughed
again, standing up.
“I’ll be right back,” you told the 10-year-old, hurrying
inside the cabin. You came back out with a damp washcloth, dropping back down.
You took the marker from Mackenzie’s hand and capped it,
setting it on your lap before scrubbing the few markings she’d already made.
She started to protest, but quickly silenced herself when you put the cloth
down, picked the marker back up, and held her arm gently as you began drawing
on her skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked, much like you had not even
two minutes ago.
“I’m helping,” you stated, concentrating on getting the
lettering for Calum’s ‘ALIVE’ tattoo just right.
“But adults are ‘posed to tell you not to draw on
yourself,” she said.
“Most of ‘em just say that because they don’t enjoy fun
things,” you teased.
“But you’re an adult.”
“But I enjoy fun things,” you said matter-of-factly, “That’s
why I spend all of my time with kids.” Mackenzie giggled quietly as you moved
up her arm to begin drawing on the bird.