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Who Says an Electron Can’t Have It All?
Here I go!
I speed toward the anode, its positive charge appealing to my intrinsic negativity. I dream about diving into it, splashing into its electron-deficient sea. It needs me. I can swim around inside it, balancing its charge, redistributing heat to its coldest parts. I can be useful.
I brace myself for impact, but my path zooms me through a hole in the metal. Soon I’m streaming through and hurtling out into empty space. The anode tugs at my spin vector as I pass, but I’m going too fast to turn around and go back. Instead, I focus on what’s ahead.
A solid wall. Nothing interesting there: it’s an insulator, a boring place for someone like me. I imagine the electrons inside drearily bound to their parent atoms. How depressing. Squabbling with the same siblings day after day; tracing out the same lonely orbital. No thanks.
I search for ways to avoid slamming into the wall. As luck would have it, there’s a slit to my left. With just a slight variation to my course — well within the limits of the electron emitter’s accuracy — I can fly through that hole and onto whatever adventures await on the other side.
But wait! On my right, another slit. Who knows what lies behind that one? There could be another anode. I could dive into a metallic ocean and ride the current forever.