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The Pharaoh's Ring

Sometimes breaking the rules pays off

By Renessa NortonPublished 3 years ago 2 min read
The Pharaoh's Ring
Photo by Lewis Westwood Flood on Unsplash

"He's never done anything like this before."

It was a lie, of course; he did this every bloody time they set foot into a museum. Celia would comment on some brilliant artifact, receive no reply and half an hour later Jack would be hauled out from behind a “staff only” door, huge grin on his face and inevitably something priceless in his pocket. Their house was starting to resemble the ancient world, and Celia was mortified, but all she could do was try to preserve things as best she could, lest Jack would surely go to prison.

The ride home was terse and awkward.

“Why, Jack? Why do you do this?”

“Why do you keep coming along?”

“Because when you get caught, your smile is electric; I’m addicted to it.”

“Ah, the smile. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”

“Can’t you find a new hobby? I can’t invite anyone over for dinner or they’ll want to know how we have Princess Amelia’s ring, a chunk of a rocket or Tutankhamun’s dagger. I also don’t ever want to know how the hell you smuggled that last one out.”

“I just hitched up-“

“Stop!” Celia laughed. “I said I don’t want to know!”

“I thought you liked wearing princess whosywhatsits ring?”

“Her name was Amelia. My god, it’s sacrilege we have all of these things floating around the house and you don’t even bother to find out the history.”

“They’re usually not labelled out the back.”

“So what did you get this time?”

“Let’s at least get out of the eyeline of the building first. Anyway, you haven’t told me your favourite part of the exhibit.”

Celia started rattling off the highlights: a small pebble found with an etching of a goat; a painting of a girl with her teddy bear that could have come from 1530 or today; a photograph of a gentleman she could have sworn must be related to her as he was the spitting image of her grandfather, and so forth. Before she realised, they were pulling into their driveway, and Jack was looking lovingly at her.

“What?” She asked, suddenly very aware of every mannerism and facial expression.

“I just love how beautiful you become when you talk about something you’re passionate about.”

Celia felt herself blushing. Even after 7 years together, he made her feel like they were in the first throes of passion.

“C’mon, I want to show you our latest catch!”

They hurried inside, and sure enough, they had their own erratic exhibition happening right there in their living room: a taxidermied parrot; a skeleton with a crack down the left hand side; a half burnt flag from a now defunct nation.

Jack flopped onto the couch and out fell a brass lamp. Celia scooped it up and rubbed it in jest. Out popped a wizened looking chap.

"What's it going to be then, eh?"

Short Story

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Renessa Norton

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    Renessa NortonWritten by Renessa Norton

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