Gutenberg Museum Novels & Stories

Thinking of that, Megan couldn’t help but sigh. "Forget it, Aurora. You’re still too naïve. There’s a lot you don’t understand." She stomped her foot in frustration. "From now on, leave things like this to me. I’ll stand in front of you and protect you properly." Aurora was speechless. What was this girl even talking about now? Afternoon. Bustin City Museum. The museum housed tens of thousands of exhibits from the city. Many visitors came from afar, hoping to catch a glimpse of the collection’s magnificence.

They deserve applause for the bizarre structure. It is perfect with glaring imperfection and defines the way of nature in personation that both old and new, beautiful and cosy, good and bad have to survive altogether. But away from the seafront, there was something even more memorable for me. A tree-lined road opened past some well-maintained bungalows, an open park, an old complex building, and finally the mysterious museum that was shut down years back. There are varieties of stories to support the lockout. Sensible wolves call it a lockout for a failure while the creative population has webbed a story of it being haunted by a serpent or a 'jinn'.

I recall that eventful day when she used her stun gun. "But I can neither speak it nor am I fluent in it like you are. I can just translate it." She shrugs. "You will tell me relatable Latin phrases to write in my essay." We head inside the museum. I am assuming this is Celeste's first visit since she gasps the very second she puts her foot inside. It's not much majestic like other great museums of the state; the hall is smaller, the management is just fine too, etc. "This isn't just a museum," Celeste whispers next to me, her eyes sparkling with awe. "This is a whole graveyard inhabited by painful memories."

The same way a guillotine smiles at a neck. Marcus cleared his throat now, sliding a document toward Reynolds, the silver-haired vulture from Hong Kong who held the fate of the deal in his liver-spotted hands. "Page fourteen outlines the Laurent Gallery rebrand. We'll scrap the current exhibits for more lucrative ventures." The air left my lungs in an instant. My father's gallery. The place where I'd taken my first steps between his easels, where the smell of turpentine and oil paints still haunted my dreams. Reduced to a bullet point in a PowerPoint presentation.