Pulp Fiction Framed Poster Novels & Stories

“We should head out to the basement. It's time to end this.” The dim light in Russo’s basement cast eerie shadows over the walls, giving the place a menacing feel that matched the intensity burning in my chest. The air was thick with the smell of smoke from a metal drum nearby, flames flickering inside as if eagerly awaiting a sacrifice. Russo’s men stood at the edges of the room, silent, stone-faced, the embodiment of Italian mafia resolve.

There were thirty seconds left until 9:05. As long as we got through these thirty seconds, we would have changed the outcome of Elan’s death within those five minutes. My heart nearly leapt into my throat as I clung to him desperately, grappling with him with everything I had. Then, in the next second, he suddenly shoved a pair of scissors from the tabletop into my hand. I was startled and used all my strength to push him away. Elan lost his balance and tumbled out through the police station window. With a loud crash, the clock struck exactly 9:05.

I instinctively put my phone away and brushed him off casually. "A lawyer friend sent it to me and asked for my opinion." Only then did Julian relax. Then he handed me a paper bag. "Come to tomorrow's photography exhibition with me." The next day, guests filled the gallery. I walked in on Julian's arm. The moment I stepped inside, I realized every photograph in sight was of Vivian Blair. Some were from behind. Some were clean, youthful front-facing portraits, full of bright innocence.

I did not disturb him and endured the pain as I quietly rummaged through the cabinet. I was looking for a bottle of expired ointment, which should be in the bedside drawer. Instead of the ointment, I discovered an old tin box in the drawer. Opening it, I found several yellowed slips of paper and a fruit candy wrapper. I opened one of them to find Titus' handwriting. The childish handwriting wrote: [Letter of Guarantee: I will be good to Melissa and share everything with her...] I quickly remembered what Titus had said yesterday. It turned out he had made this promise to Melissa a long time ago.

I looked at Olivia's messages and did not reply immediately. Almost ten minutes had passed since I received the notice. A decision flashed through my mind. Since the comments said I would be framed, then I would gamble on them.

The judge slammed his gavel. "Order in the court. Defense counsel, you may continue presenting the evidence." It was footage from a home security camera, and it clearly showed Jessica crushing sleeping pills before pouring them into the chicken soup. Upon seeing the video, Jessica turned pale. Her makeup started to run from the sweat pouring down her face.

I gave him everything—my loyalty, my time, my love. While Noah Reed rose to fame as the NHL’s golden boy, I stood behind him through every scandal, every pressure, every sacrifice. Then he destroyed me in a single interview. One accusation. One lie. Suddenly, I wasn’t his girlfriend anymore—I was the traitor who sabotaged his career.The world turned on me overnight. And just when I had nothing left…Tyler Vane stepped in.The league’s most feared enforcer. The man everyone calls a monster. My ex’s greatest rival.He offered me a deal I should’ve refused—fake date him until the season ends, and he’ll bury the evidence that could end my life. I agreed for revenge. Not for love.But T

They even dragged me to the hospital against my will. "They forced me to apologize, demanded compensation, and tried to make me get on my knees. Just because they're rich and powerful, they think they can do whatever they want? "I'm just a regular guy trying to start a business through hard work. What did I do so wrong? Is there no justice left in this world?" He even added a few photos with fake red marks on his arm and a shot of himself looking miserable in a hospital hallway. The angles were chosen perfectly to make him look fragile and pitiful.

At the start of graduation season, my boyfriend took more than two hundred photos of Madison Vale. Chase Whitman was president of Westbridge University’s photography club. He knew how to find flattering light and how to coax people out of stiff smiles. Madison stood beneath the maples outside the library in a white dress, her graduation cap tucked under one arm. “Am I taking up too much of your time?” she asked. Chase checked the last few shots and smiled. “You make my job easy.” When it was finally my turn, he barely looked at me. “Stand by the tree.” He clicked the shutter twice and lowered the camera. “Done.” I stared at him. “That’s it?” He turned the screen toward me. In one photo my ey

Antonio soaked in the comments, his ego swelling with every word. He pointed at the scar on the back of my hand and said to the camera, "See this scar? This is proof he's in the mafia. This is the mark of a criminal!" I clenched my teeth. The cold wind sneaked in through my collar, making me shiver uncontrollably. Yet I didn't utter a single word. Instead, I just kept my eyes locked on Antonio. "What are you staring at?" Antonio pulled out a folding knife from his pocket and waved it around. The blade glinted harshly against the snow.