Photoshop Troll James Novels & Stories

"Don't worry about that, Kirstie. Email it to me and I'll take a proper look at it." "Can you do anything with it? I don't know much about this image-enhancing stuff." "No, but I do." "You do?" He glances askance at me. "There's a reason that I'm the Technical Director here, you know." He yells to the back office. "Mrs Gillis, can you man the front desk, please. I need Kirstie upstairs." ***** The picture displays on James' laptop, a grainy shot of a busy cafe scene.

Adams ordered. James powered up his camera and wandered toward what looked like some kind of water lily—or maybe it’s just weeds. Whatever. Not really knowing what to do, he attempted his first shot and studied the screen to see how he had done. Looks clear enough, anyway. He looked back at the water and saw a small frog emerge. He quickly aimed the lens and allowed it to focus automatically before clicking the shutter button. “Good eye, James,” said Adams. “Thanks, Mr. Adams.”

He even went to the extent of paying a private investigator, everything was yet the same. It was as if she had disappeared from the surface of the earth. That damned woman! Trevor grunted and tugged his hair in frustration. She added to his miseries and he wondered when it would stop. Glaring at the large mural which was supposed to calm him - as the artist who painted it had said- whenever he was bloodthirsty, it did little to no good. Rather, it seemed blander as he stared at it and felt no strange warmth that was supposed to come out of it after staring intently.

DANIEL'S POINT OF VIEW As I sifted through documents, my tie loose, hair disheveled, and suit jacket off, with papers scattered across my table, James walked in, a friendly smile on his face. "Dude, have you heard from Troy?" he asked, taking a seat in front of me. I ran my hand through my hair, frustration etched on my brows. "Who's Troy?" I replied, genuinely oblivious. James looked puzzled. "Troy Macbeth working with Madame A? Ring a bell?"

“Everything will be perfect.” I felt taken aback by this sudden kindness. “Wow,” I breathed. “Um… Thank you. All of you. Really.” James, however, waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s the least we could do in return for that free photoshoot earlier.”

On those he’d painted open-throat wounds or gouged out eyes with pen. On the last page was another photo. It stood out from the others because it had no makeup. James posing in a crisp service uniform looking off into the distance with a modest smile on his face. It wasn’t a Polaroid like the others, a regular squared off print. I reached for it to get a closer look, and heard footsteps on the stairs behind me. I turned and saw Mrs. West. I waited for her to speak, but she just met my gaze and seemed to wait for me instead.

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“James is an animal. He has a wife and a kid, and yet he destroyed another woman’s life. I don’t care that he’s dead.” “Shangrila Group should apologize to Taylor!” The clamor at the nurses’ station traveled far. With Winnie’s blood running cold, she held onto the wall to steady herself. “That wasn’t what happened… “Taylor was a sister to James and me. We went to Lilyrose Art Institution to meet with her. At the time, she couldn’t get booked anywhere. “We hired her for an ad campaign and recommended her to a film and television company in the south for better deals.

James' POV Feeling satisfied upon seeing the topic I had paid for shoot up the trending chart, I prepared to turn in for the night. Not even 30 minutes later, Wanda Foster's hurried and heavy footsteps sounded outside the room. "Is this your way of getting revenge, James Gulliver?" she demanded. "Who is she?" She then threw a photo in my face. One half of the photo showed a flirtatious image of me as I lounged on the bed, while the other half of the photo showed my brother, Mason Gulliver, pressing Wanda against a window in an explicit position.

In the video, a voice whispered to James, "Bro, was it worth wasting this wine just to mess with Alex?" "Pfft, it’s just a few bucks a bottle. You think I’d waste my good stuff on this bunch of fools?" "But what if they figure out it’s cheap wine?" "Ha! They wouldn’t know good wine if it hit them in the face. I could fart, and they’d say it smells like roses." His sidekick eagerly agreed, "You’re right, James. You’re a genius." When the video ended, James’s face was a sickly shade of green. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the crowd had already turned against him.