Chronicles of Mark Johnson,book 1

Chronicles of Mark Johnson,book 1

  • WpView
    LECTURAS 9
  • WpVote
    Votos 0
  • WpPart
    Partes 1
WpMetadataReadContinúa<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación lun, mar 30, 2015
This is the story of an ex-celebrity photographer, who leaves the high life to return to photographing real people at work. Along the way, he comes across an unsolved murder, and a beautiful spirit. As the story develops, we find Mark not only fighting demonic entities, but his own demons. THE WIND IN YOUR FACE The man sitting on the clifftop at the edge of his garden, taking photographs of birds as they swooped and dived, looked calm and in his element. Until the phone rang. The phone call brought him back inside the house, which was not a good start for Mark Johnson who begrudged spending time indoors. After many years working in laboratories and studios trying to make a name for himself, he longed for the air. “Hello, Phil.” “Mark! When are you going to do some high-profile work again? This damn phone is ringing off the hook for you ?” Further introduction was not needed. Phil Moore, a longtime friend, was the only person who had the reclusive Mark’s phone number. “Well, you know my philosophy, Phil, so you can feed them whatever BS you want. I do not do celebrity shoots, models, or work for tabloids. When I do a shoot it has to be for real. Not because someone needs to be in the limelight for a while! When I get a real shoot I will come back from obscurity - then and only then, Phil!” “I just don’t get you, man! Top of the class in photojournalism; agents calling me for you to shoot their people. You could be out there with the lights on you, making so much more of your talents than selling the odd article here and there.” “You hit the nail on the head when you said photojournalism. I do picture stories, not pretties for the glams and tabloids. That part of my work is what drove me here if you remember. I found it soul-destroying and sickeningly shallow.” “That is as maybe, but it's the best paid work, and you are the best. They all want you mate.”
Todos los derechos reservados
Únete a la comunidad narrativa más grandeObtén recomendaciones personalizadas de historias, guarda tus favoritas en tu biblioteca, y comenta y vota para hacer crecer tu comunidad.
Illustration

Quizás también te guste

  • Pyro
  • His Unwanted Desire
  • Hell's Cave
  • Mine Forever [Completed]
  • The experiment.
  • VOWS THAT BIND US ✔️
  • I Am Sarah Owens
  • If only it was an Illusion!
  • You V.S. Mafia
  • My Vampire Prince
Pyro

Let me tell you my story, the one about how I died. Don't worry, though. I came back. They say when someone shares their story, they're sharing their burden. Seeking someone to help carry the weight that bends their shoulders, hoping their troubles will float away like helium balloons into the endless sky. Your silence becomes their sanctuary, a vacuum they fill with dust-covered memories. If you speak, do it gently - a nod, a smile, the ghost of a touch on their shoulder. But my story? It's different. It carved its path because trust becomes a luxury I could no longer afford. How could it not, when the one person who swore to never betray me did exactly that? The one who promised never to hurt me, broke me. The one who vowed to stay, walked away. So tell me, why trust anyone else when the person I trusted the most killed me in every way but physical? Until they managed that too. They say the most dangerous predators are the ones who look like prey. I learned this truth through split knuckles and shattered promises, through blood on my tongue and threats whispered against skin. Through playing weak while gathering my strength in darkness. Now I watch him, this self-proclaimed hunter in his own game. He doesn't see he's just another piece being moved across someone else's board. The mafia's golden prince, they whisper. If only they knew what lurks beneath that polished veneer. What dances behind those eyes that mirror the shadows I know so well. But shadows? They're born from fire. And somewhere out there, someone's striking matches, leaving black roses on cooling ashes, drawing closer with every corpse that falls. They call him Pyro. And when that name drops in a room. Well, let's just say I'm not the only one with secrets worth killing for. Some demons wear designer suits. Some victims wear crowns. And some fires are worth burning for. Welcome to the game. Trust no one. Not even me.

Más detalles
WpActionLinkPautas de Contenido