White 07 (The Museum)

Exhibit 01 - White Hearts In Pained Remorse

They are ancient, stony things with nothing left in them except a bit of despair, a bit of desperation. They cannot pump anymore, petrified like prehistoric wood, fossil records of living, breathing, loving things. They have sat under glass, slowly changing, ever blanching and whitened since the dawn of time. They were discovered under this very bell jar on the first Sunday of a cold month, a wintry day defeating a verdant spring's advancement. There was a barely audible gasp from the archeologist, amazed at such a pristine and defeating find. He was never the same afterwards. His head never rose again from its bowed and morose position. There was much debate as to whether or not to display them. A narrow margin of the Museum's board, sadness addicts all of them, okayed the exhibition, but placed a stern little placard beneath the hearts: "Surrender is equal to tolerance."
It has frightened only a few prospective visitors away.

Exhibit 02 - Sacred Fragments, the Ashes and Bones of the Holy Sister

What was once just a fragile hoax to tempt the gullible has become, over time, a piece of history itself, perhaps even more valuable than any true relic because of the truth behind its lies. The Sacred Fragments were interred in some forgotten, cavernous sanctum, lit by pungent candles and strung through with miles and miles of whispering cobwebs. Pilgrims would come, their blind eyes, their mute lips, their deaf ears, their lame legs and demand justice and healing from the human soot and bone chips that remained of the Holy Sister. Not a single miracle was performed by the ossified remnants, though the steady stream of believers didn't stop until the bones were declared fake by a council of the church's elders. They were disposed of, still in their ivory reliquary, and never thought of again.
But the ornamentation on the box, a mesmerizing pattern of etched and dyed swoops and scrimshawed curlicues caught the eye of one lucky trashman. He had heard the stories of the false bones, of course, but had never really believed that they weren't real. Like many of the defeated faithful, the trashman swore that the elders were merely tired of the parade of supplicants. He held fast to the Bones of the Holy Sister, and lived a long life free of worry or concern. He died peacefully and, in a gesture of kindness, willed the Fragments to the Museum.
The forgotten church, perhaps, would have petitioned for their return, but the walls of that place had long since folded in from indifference.

Exhibit 03 - A Rather Haughty Pearl

See how this one seems to smile at you? There's nothing like friendship in that smile. That, there, is a smile of condescension. Of ill regard. Its iridescent sheen might take you in, might make you let your guard down. But don't be fooled. Don't allow yourself to think for one moment that something so gorgeous, so rare and so lovely could care about anything other than itself. Its beauty is damning and cold. And no matter what it may think of you, no matter how it may treat you, what terrible manners and calculated cruelty it might extend toward you, it will always have a queue of admirers.
Maybe it's best not to look at all.
Nothing good really comes of it.