The Museum of A Life's History


United States
41° 14' 39.2424" N, 85° 2' 1.4604" W

"Go away," the guard says to you.
But you beg and flatter your way in any way.
You look around, beaming at all the shining pieces.
You pick them all up, pouring out complements as you go.

But then, you reach the back room.
There, all the darkest, ugliest, twisted pieces hide.
You take a few steps in, clutching the pieces you love to your pounding chest.
You attempt to add some of these pieces to your pile.
These things are just too heavy.
You stop.

Then, without warning, you turn and run.
And you don't have the heart to return what you've taken.
You just drop what's in your arms.
You don't even flinch when you hear the shatter you've caused.
You dash out the door without looking back.

"Come back," the guard begs of you.


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