switch brush

Flickering red candle lightbulbs draw you down the quarter hallway (accented by exit signs). You hear music in a mysterious key, and scraping the air like butter on toast. You read "ANCIENT EGYPT" in heiroglyphicized english. Perched beside it is a quote from a famous writer, spitting colours out like "sanguine" and "papyrus". You cross the threshold into the exhibit. Beyond, a scene of quaint wonder - a psuedomassive unfinished pyramid etched with characters spills shadow across the floor. A still scarved museum guest steps out of the light to reveal the dusky mannequins of slaves pulling a large slab of rock. You wince. Timidly, you inch closer to the slaves to inspect their scraggly beards.
You begin to feel them. "That's enough" uncle A. brushes away your hand. "I've got to keep working." His face strains as he lifts up a tiny brush to wipe some dirt on the disembodied hands. "This is part of our heritage." The fireplace whimpers. You ask "So these will be the guys who made the crown jewels?"
"Well, they cleaned, preserved, and protected them." puffs A, not looking away. You sigh and look away to the corner. Two heads stare past you. "Why do they look like John Lennon and Paul McCartney?" you ask, mouth curving a little. Uncle A glances over and grins "I can make them look however I want! The curator doesn't look at them 'till after they're installed!!"