When I was in high school, what seems like 100 years ago, I wrote a short story called "And Then There Was Nothing..." The "moral" of this horrifying little gem was that those who strive for perfection end up with nothing at all. The plot involved two overachieving high school students trying to do well in Chemistry accidentally inventing something that blows up the world. As was my typical style at that time, the characters were based on students I knew and particularly despised for their perfectionist tendancies.
I was 14. Give me a break.
Anyway, for some reason I'm thinking about that story today.
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