A Man's Perspective Novels & Stories

If this was a Death Match… ‘Musclehead wouldn’t have lasted that long’ That was what Mane’s intuition told him. “How do you know all this?” Lam sighed in admiration for Mane’s sharp eyes. “Because I’ve fought most of my life. When you start fighting too, you would get to see things from another perspective after a while.”

Peracetamol pills, that is. “Thank you for saving my life." Said the man. He's beard seemed to cover his lower lips. I wondered how he was able to drink anything with his mouth. Imagining it felt like a nightmare. I felt as if I was suffocating, unable to breath from the image. I cleared my mouth, but could not speak right away. I observed the man for a while, his skin was very dark, his eyes wide and big. He did not seem afraid, but rather calm. He trusted me, which I found to be strange. Some people would tell me that I have eyes of a killer which always brought me insecurities.

Gable asks anything about my previous employment. I was so focused on my own head that I almost missed him. A man leaned against a lamppost half a block from the bus stop. Nothing remarkable, just wearing a dark jacket, cap pulled low, hands in his pockets. The kind of man you’d pass without a second glance. Except he was looking directly at me, not with the casual glance of a stranger but with the focused attention of someone who had found what he was looking for. I looked away and kept walking, telling myself I was paranoid. When I glanced back, he was still watching, and now he was moving in my direction.

I learned to walk into rooms like this one and not break. But love?Love did not survive. I moved away from the crowd. I stood by the window. I looked at the quiet street. Tulsa never changes. News travels fast here. Secrets do not last. “Excuse me.” I turned. A man stood there.He held a drink. He looked out of place. He was young. He was tall. His eyes were curious, not judging. He did not belong with people twice his age. “Yes?”I said. He paused.Then he spoke. “You know, despite how beautiful the sky is—blue and white—people still get tired of looking at it,” he said. “But do you know one thing people will never get tired of looking at?”

I manage to stare back at him hollowly, like the bombed-out shell of a person. I suppose I am the bombed-out shell of a person. To my surprise, the steel in his eyes softens and melts into an expression I can't place, but it doesn't look like the face of an enemy. Is he different from the rest? Can this one see a person in front of him instead of a battered bank vault? "Has she said anything?" the man asks. The cold expression has tightened his features again, leaving me to wonder if the image of a sympathetic soul behind

For the first ten, I turned to take in the view of this man who looked like he hadn't had a bath in days calling the day beautiful when I thought it was one of the most miserable days The hair on the back of my neck rose as I caught him in my periphery, and I fought not to shift to the edge of the bench. To me, I saw deeper into things, it was probably why I didn't see the man sitting close to where I was word's as being pointless, now with him stuck to my side. I wanted to know what gave him so much hope, I wanted it. I didn’t want to bring more attention to myself so I asked without looking. "What is beautiful about this day?" I scoffed. The man who appeared to be in his fifties, with blon

They look corporate and indeed, they're handsome. One man got my attention. He's not chatting with the other men. He's looking intently at me, his eyes are full of unreadable emotions that I can't explain. I don't know if he's displeased or what. I didn't lose my focus. 'Make me move like a freak' I ground myself to the cold pole and honestly, it sent shivers to my spine while doing it looking directly at one man. It felt like I was dancing only for one person that I didn't even look at the other guys.

He doesn’t look at life with a narrow view. He interacts with every part element of life. I can only strive to get t a point where I can see life that way. I would like to believe tonight is the start of me seeing life differently. I want the vibrant and beautiful energy I feel around me to be present in my life. “This one is my favorite.” A man says standing behind me looking at the painting I’m looking at. I’m at the very end of the corridor. I look at the man surprised there are other people in the gallery. I was so engrossed in the art I didn’t realize there were so many people around me. I thought it was just me and the others.

That's when I saw him. A man standing entirely alone near the terrace doors, half in shadow, dressed sharper than anyone else in the building, watching the whole spectacle unfold with an expression that gave away absolutely nothing. He hadn't laughed. Hadn't reached for his phone like everyone else angling for a better video. Just watched, still and unreadable, like the chaos of the room couldn't touch him at all. Something reckless and desperate finally uncoiled in my chest, some last, cornered piece of pride refusing to let this be the ending.

“That tracks.” I rub my palms together slowly. “Out there, nobody cares what you did to survive in here. They just see what you became.” Manny looks at me then. Really looks. “You didn’t become something ugly, Jordan.” I scoff. “You didn’t see me at my worst.” “I saw enough,” he says calmly. “And I’ve seen worse men than you turn mean as hell. You didn’t.” I don’t respond. Compliments make me uncomfortable. Especially from men who know exactly what I’m capable of.