This Man Book Novels & Stories

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Adam glanced back down at the page, a faint smirk returning. “Man handled it though,” he murmured. “Didn’t panic, didn’t fumble it… just stayed in it.” He closed the book halfway again, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. “Still… that’s not for everybody,” he added. “Takes a certain kind of mindset to even step into something like that.” He looked at the cover for a second, then back at the pages. “This book really doesn’t miss,” he said under his breath. Then, without hesitation—

I jumped out suddenly as I found the man's book-like journal and her voice at the same time. "Alright, dug in all of his communication platforms and history" "Copy that" I unfurl the book wide yet floundering to perform clasping the phone and the other on the pages. The book it was like his diary where he sets his satisfaction and further fantasy beyond more a dream but gruesome desires. It was unsettling while reading his strategies and reasons starting from beginning to end. "He has contact with Lydia Manskim in Callme" She responded at last and then I closed the book.

Manik smiles. The white Iru enveloping him vanishes. “Harasho is the most reasonable dogma. You can say that it projects the current life.” Manik reaches into his jacket pockets and draws their contents. There are two books on his hands. A pink book with a couple smiling at each other on a heart frame on the cover is on his right hand and a red book with a short hair woman crying on the cover is on his left hand. “Which Doujin do you like, Your Highness?” Manik asked.

"Hey, what book is this?" The man who was focusing with the microscope lens finally lifted his face, "Isn't there a title there?" "Yeah I know, but about what? I've never heard of Aima before. Is this a book about sexuality? A porn book?" asked Gail happily. This man rolled his eyes, "Seriously, if you are looking for a book like that you can find it at Night Flowers," he said. "Then?" The old man straightened his stiff body then pushed his wheelchair and turned to face Gail. "This is a book about a lost history," he said.

I made my way through the shelves, taking deep breaths as I glided my fingers along the spines of the books. Oh yes, I’d be spending a lot of time here, a lot of time indeed. Ever since childhood books have been my way out, my escape from the shitty reality I live in, and one day something I’ve written will offer someone a means of escape. Yeah, I know, weird idea since I’m a law major. I had exited the shelves upon shelves of books to take a seat when, a few tables away from me, a guy got to his feet. It was like watching a giant who had been crouching down stand tall. The man before me was at least six foot four with raven black hair, a

"I don't know, sir." "A man who came home from Savannah on a Monday evening and asked his wife about her prenatal appointment before he took off his coat. A man who made himself a presence in his own house this week, which he has not been in thirty-three years of having one. A man who is reading about fatherhood." A pause. "He has a book, Jenny. On his nightstand. A small blue book about the first year. I saw it when the housekeeper left the door open." The book on the nightstand.

“unlucky contestants…shelf two, book thirteen.” It sounded oddly like a personal note. My curiosity won out and I skimmed my fingers along the spines of the books until I chose one at random. I pulled out a medium-sized book, a deep shade of navy blue. Earthen twine was wrapped around the book, and there was a picture on the front. A middle-aged man with chocolate hair and dark eyes smiled up at me. The cover of the book read, “Arthur Zimmerman, Game 71.

I even found the karma sutra amongst what I can only classify as the ‘self help’ section, opening it and then quickly closing it in case Enzo or his mother entered the room. A large book at the end of the shelf entitled “The Power and Responsibility of Men” caught my eye. It seemed to be more weathered than the rest of the books, but I didn't get why. “Who would be drawn to a book like that?” I asked myself, pulling it from the shelf.