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Literature Text
We can learn a lot from hydrochloric acid.
Not the whole dangerously-corrosive part, of course, though I admit that a lot of people probably find us two a bit hard to stomach. A dynamic duo we are not.
What I mean is that dance they do - shy glances across a crowded room (beaker?) as Hydrogen and Chlorine each quietly regret their incompleteness, feeling that hole where another electron ought to be, but never willing to resort to online dating... They were probably lab partners in high school, and then a couple of years later found themselves across the table from one another in that sophomore Shakespeare class, then side-by-side in Differential Equations. But they did their work and answered questions and never made more eye-contact than was necessary.
And then there was that day in the early autumn when Chlorine absent-mindedly collected Hydrogen's laundry from the dryer and started to fold it simply because it was a neighbourly thing to do, and there was that spark of understanding that they no longer had two separate lives, that the holes had been filled years back. They both took, and they both gave, because that's what covalent bonds do, tying Hydrogen and Chlorine together by the things they share.
By itself, Hydrogen was explosive, and Chlorine was toxic, and they're not too friendly as a couple either, but now they can keep each other out of trouble. And they might dissociate when you dunk them in water, because everyone needs a break now and then, and Chlorine might flirt with Sulfur, and I admit that Hydrogen had a brief fling with Oxygen, but it was never anything serious.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'll still be here when you come back home.
Not the whole dangerously-corrosive part, of course, though I admit that a lot of people probably find us two a bit hard to stomach. A dynamic duo we are not.
What I mean is that dance they do - shy glances across a crowded room (beaker?) as Hydrogen and Chlorine each quietly regret their incompleteness, feeling that hole where another electron ought to be, but never willing to resort to online dating... They were probably lab partners in high school, and then a couple of years later found themselves across the table from one another in that sophomore Shakespeare class, then side-by-side in Differential Equations. But they did their work and answered questions and never made more eye-contact than was necessary.
And then there was that day in the early autumn when Chlorine absent-mindedly collected Hydrogen's laundry from the dryer and started to fold it simply because it was a neighbourly thing to do, and there was that spark of understanding that they no longer had two separate lives, that the holes had been filled years back. They both took, and they both gave, because that's what covalent bonds do, tying Hydrogen and Chlorine together by the things they share.
By itself, Hydrogen was explosive, and Chlorine was toxic, and they're not too friendly as a couple either, but now they can keep each other out of trouble. And they might dissociate when you dunk them in water, because everyone needs a break now and then, and Chlorine might flirt with Sulfur, and I admit that Hydrogen had a brief fling with Oxygen, but it was never anything serious.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'll still be here when you come back home.
Literature
Mayfly
It's a nudge from the Naiad orbiter that brings me fully to my senses, and, instinctively, I find myself checking my systems. Power from her solar panels quickly floods my own circuits, and I flex instruments and senses that feel like they've been dormant for all too long. Which they have, of course.
"Wakey, wakey," the Naiad's saying, as I burn through the reports and telemetry my body's feeding me.
Some of my instruments have iced-up, I realise. But that's a minor concern. Everything else is sound.
"Are we there yet?" I reply.
"We are indeed."
"Mayfly, this is control. " The signal's peppered with static, and I quickly adjust for the D
Literature
On the Subject of Finding X
I'll have you know that I've just spent a considerable amount of time searching for x. I've looked in all of the places that x might plausibly reside, and even in some places where I assumed x would never be caught dead, but I've come up empty-handed.
I checked to see if x was under the bed, perhaps hidden among old school notes and forgotten art projects and lonely orphan socks. I scoured the closet, checking in every pocket of every innumerable pair of jeans, which, trust me, is no mean feat. I screened for x in every drawer of every dresser in every room, but it was all to no avail.
I proceeded to flip through all of the books that have
Literature
A Key Point
Hello. I'm your left shift key. You know, on your keyboard? I think it's time we had a little chat.
See, I think I have things better than some others I know. Like my friends P, A, I, and N you know those keys? - well, they've been feeling used. Whenever you open up Microsoft Word, they just start groaning because they feel your poetry coming. Me, though, I guess I'm just feeling ignored. Unappreciated. You know the feeling? I know you do. I saw that poem about your family. Tough stuff, right there. I feel you, I really do.
I know you feel all deep without me. Like the restraints I put upon you shackle your inner poet. I'm not unc
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I love seeing math/ science in lit. pieces Especially as well done as this.