A Man's Perspective Novels & Stories

THE MAN IN YELLOW

a man sitting on a crate with his arm resting on his knee responded not willing to take his eyes off the boy who was being marched down a cleared pathway. "Ummm what in all the hells is the guy doing?" "Yea this is definitely a bust, look at him he's dancing about talking to the crowd like a crazed idiot." The man sitting on the crate slowly breathed a sigh closing his eyes. 'Damn. I had so much hope. I thought things would finally be different that, I wanted to believe the rumors that've been making rounds on the streets of the city and throughout the darkness. .... "Yea you're probably right, let's -" The man opened his eyes beginning to rise to his feet when through his narrowed eyelids h

Turning to see who had cleared their throats, I’m taken aback by the view I have in front of me. A man, probable in his early forties, his eyes are hooded as he stares at me, he is tall, probably 6’1 give or take. His road shoulders is an indication that he hits the gym more times than he lets on and with my eyes playing tricks at him right now, I wonder what he could be doing here catching me watch these couples being intimate. “A little voyeur, huh?” He says accusingly. My face deepens and I blushed profusely, watching him close the short distance between us.

I put that understanding away and focused on the three figures at the edge of the outer approach because understanding what a thing was designed for did not change what I was designed for, which was this, which was standing between Lena and whatever was coming and making myself larger than the problem. Two of them I had not seen before. The third I recognized from the photographs Julian had pulled, a man in his sixties with the specific stillness of someone who had spent decades making decisions about other people's lives from a safe distance and had never once been the person standing in the open. He was standing in the open now. He looked at me and then passed me at the inner compound and

Vihan's POV A man. Mid-thirties, lean build, with a slightly unkempt appearance. His clothes were plain — a grey shirt untucked over faded jeans. A cap was pulled low over his eyes, and a scruffy beard covered half his face. The moment I saw him, I knew something was off. The man stood out immediately. He wasn’t just walking. He was prowling. He moved with a nervous energy, glancing around like a rat searching for a hole to dart into. His eyes shifted left, then right, scanning the corridor. He looked like he didn’t belong. Like he was waiting for something — or someone.

But at least for now, I had shown them that I wasn’t someone to be underestimated. As I walked through the crowd, a man entered the building, immediately catching my eye. He was a middle-aged man with a pot belly, his demeanor exuding a sort of quiet authority. My gaze followed him as he made his way over to Mr. Konrad, exchanging a few words. I noticed Grayson out of the corner of my eye, his expression one of disbelief as he watched the man. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see him here either. Grayson quickly composed himself but continued to watch the man like a hawk, scrutinizing every person he spoke to.

Third point of view: The man watching from afar fisted his hands in anger when he heard a loud commotion from inside the house. The expression of malevolence on his face passed for a split second and puzzlement took its place. He immediately realized that things weren’t going to be as simple as they had previously predicted. It was not going to be that easy to get to her. Firmly and deftly, yet as stealthily as possible, the man leaned sideways to peek around the bush.

His eyes are amazing, dark brown ringed with copper and gold, and they crinkle at the corners, like he’s spent a lot of time in the glaring sun. He’s as ripped as Killian Kelly and his lieutenants, but maybe because he’s from that hardened generation—or because he lives alone in the woods—he doesn’t have that cocky swagger. He exudes pure grown man confidence as he hangs out on the crone’s front porch looking hungover, uptight as hell, and inexplicably frozen with fascination by the view to the west. I follow his gaze just to make sure I’m not missing anything, like maybe a flying saucer, but there’s nothing but scenic wilderness. Is he ignoring me on purpose?

Not casual scrolling. Directives. Short sentences. Clear instructions. “Yes.” “No movement until I say so.” “Rotate the men at the south entrance.” “I want eyes on every approach.” Every approach. My stomach tightened. I turned to look at him. “How many people work for you?” He didn’t look up from his phone. “Enough.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only one you need right now.” I crossed my arms. “I thought you were done with that world.” He finally glanced at me.

“It's fixed at that.” “You might want to think twice about that, I'm not like the other men you must have encountered.” “Nothing about you is different, Mr. Smith. You are just another normal man.” “That's okay, can I ask your permission for something?” He was surprised, but nodded in agreement. “Sure thing.” I added one more contact to the video chat, and watched the way the man's eyes went wild with fear. “Do you like what you see?” I asked him with a smirk on my face.