E is for ERLENMEYER FLASK
“The fools! They scoff at me?!” the
scientist bellowed. There was no one in the room to hear, save maybe the rats
and spiders that had taken up residence in the secret basement laboratory of
the dilapidated old house. Behind him, a Jacob’s ladder crackled with jagged
threads of energy. Gauges danced as the needles throbbed with the surge in
power, increased through a pattern of flipped switches, twisted knobs and
dials.
“Soon,” he sneered, his face aglow
with the brilliant blue of the formula bubbling in the Erlenmeyer flask on the
Bunsen burner before him, “they will know the genius that they labeled madness!
Soon they will regret their narrow concepts of science!”
With a gloved hand, the warped
little man grasped the bubbling beaker and held it aloft, to marvel in its
existence. He pronounced, “My formula for the revival of the dead!” Outdoors a
lightning bolt jagged across the sky, followed by a crack of thunder, as if in
response to the arrival of this god-like power discovered and distilled and now
in the possession of this twisted misanthrope who longed only for vengeance!
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