Solitary Man Book Novels & Stories

"Good. You are going to remain in your rooms for the rest of your stay here. On the day before your birthday, at 11:30 PM and not a moment later, you are both going to go to the clearing behind the house and face the forest. You are to wear as little clothing as possible when you go there. Stay there and wait for us. You want to know why we brought you here right? You'll find out then." His instructions keep getting weirder by the minute. He wants us to go to the clearing? With as little clothing as possible? Just what drug was this man on? But we couldn't challenge him, so we just nodded. "And by the way-" Aunt Meghan faced us once again, "-I don't want to see your miserable little faces th

The picture book had a drawing of a full moon shining brightly on the sky with an unnamed man standing directly below the full moon with a smile. “This man was a farmer. He was known to be clumsy and a fool. People in the village hated him because he was poor and he was not a smart man,” Nathan continued with a grieved voice. As Nathan flipped open the page, the picture book had turned to a sad atmosphere with the man getting bullied and tortured brutally by the villagers. Then, the man found himself seated at the corner with his head hidden between his two bent knees. He was seen crying at his own misfortune.

or someone caught her eye. At the far end of the alley stood a man who was half swallowed by shadow and slightly caught by the pale spill of daylight. He was tall, impossibly so, and his build was lean and composed. She felt somehow confused about why he seemed distant and tired. He simply stood there with his head slightly inclined, like someone waiting for time to catch up with him. For a heartbeat, her mind snagged on a useless thought. The man was striking and out of place. She would have kept walking.

The sleepless nights were filled with restless thoughts, as I questioned the traditions and customs that had governed our lives for generations. With each passing day, my doubts grew stronger, intertwining with a newfound thirst for knowledge. Determined to find answers, I sought solace in the towering shelves of the pack library. Books from various eras and authors stood like sentinels, guarding the knowledge within their pages. One particular book caught my attention—a worn tome that seemed to have been neglected for years. Its title read “The Winds of Change,” and beneath it, an image of a solitary figure standing atop a mountain peak, their arms outstretched toward the vast expanse of th

As I turned to leave, his words made my steps falter, as though I were truly guilty of heartlessness and indifference. That night, however, something unexpected occurred. Zachary’s thoughts were so strong and steeped in desire that they seemed to pass straight through the thick wall between us. “How dull it is to sleep alone, without a soft and fragrant wife to hold. I am left with an empty room for company.” I pulled the blanket over myself, but my rest was disturbed, and sleep would not come. Before long, a cautious knock sounded at my door, followed by Zachary’s voice.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

This is the section filled with books that will serve as a solution to one's disastrous life battle. I almost lost to the sight of it that almost reach the highest roof. The man behind me said with a husky yet awed-filled voice, “You're right. It was the classic brought upon the battle of oneself. It was written by the very known...” His voice disrupted by his emotion that suddenly flared. His silence and deep breathing was something I thought as a kind of reminisce for something so dare to him. Suddenly my mind flickered, show a devastating scene. “What...” I gasped, step back with my weakened knees. My mind so strange, and it was so far to a possibly acceptable nature. It give me the taste

Charlotte insisted on doing it herself. “I thought you might like this one,” she said as she handed me the book. “It’s about a man who loses everything. Then…he tries to get it back together little by little.” I glanced at the cover. The title was dramatic. So I said, flatly, “Sounds dramatic.” She let out a short laugh. I never heard someone laugheed like this before. She looked so innocent and pure. Well, she was a budding she-wolf and perhaps still figuring out how the world works.

When you stay alone for as long as I did, what better way is there to spend part of your time so you won't feel alone? I clear my throat. "What is the book about?" I say, pointing to his hands. "It's about a man who has to decide between saving his wife or his newborn son in a fire outbreak." I wince. That sounds harsh. Only if I understood French. I ran my hands over the front cover, mulling over what I was about to say next. "Can I ask you a question?" "Isn't that what you've been doing since we got to France?" "I meant something personal this time."

I mutter, looking at my foot, which was hit by some sort of book. I lift my foot and give it a light massage with my hands before picking up the book. As I read its title, "FAREWELL TO HUMANITY," I remember the events: mountain, rock, handsome man, fainting, handsome man, book, handsome man... Yeah, lots of events. I'm not doing well; I barely left home and I've already gotten myself into trouble, cursed mountain. Still lost in recent events, I run my finger over the couple on the book's cover, and for some reason, Deniel's image comes to mind, causing a small (very small) smile to form on my lips. He's so handsome and masculine.