Chemists Do It...

They gathered around the great black table, solemnity inscribed on their faces. None of them were younger than forty. This was not a place for young men. Ritually, the leader asked, "Are we certain that this must be done?"

There was a respectful pause; then the others chorused, "Yes."

The leader nodded. "So be it, then."

Beakers and flasks and cylinders, filled with solutions clear and colored, were brought around the central vat. Bunsen burners were lit and set to heat the dread cauldron in the center. Water was poured in first. Then came the others - aluminon, potassium ferrocyanide, and other strange and rare chemicals. In they went, in the proscribed order and sequence, and colours swirled as precipitates formed and melted away. Never did gases of poison or acid swirl into the air - these chemists were too experienced for such disastrous errors.

Then the time came. The chemists stood back carefully, and their leader brought forward a great cube of white metal, six decimeters in each dimension. With a shout, he dropped it in. The cauldron erupted in smoke of a thousand hues, and, guided by the carefully prepared channels above it, formed runes rededicating the staff of the Chemistry Department to the chemical gods.

The staff cried out in ritual exaltation as the smoke swirled - then the smoke faded away, leaving only colorful stains to be remembered by. It was done, as chemists do it: on the table, periodically.