While poking through my extremely indifferent rock collection, I was dismayed to discover that my specimen of iron pyrite appears to be experiencing some form of unwelcome erosional process all on its own. Its formerly attractive crystalline surface is now marred by fine cracks, and small splinters have already crumbled away. All the other rocks appear fine. What could have caused this? Was I storing it at the wrong humidity or temperature? Or… was I originally duped into purchasing a piece of bogus fool’s gold?!
Iron sulfide will oxidize in the presence of air and water. That said, I’ve had pieces of pyrite that were stable for only a year or two, and others that lasted decades:
A decent discussion here:
Cleaning Pyrite
Sulfuric acid?!? Great, my rock collection is a death trap.
That settles it. If I survive, I will never touch rocks again.
Thanks for the warning Squink. I hope it is not too late.
The other day I was looking at a magazine about rocks. Apparently there exist rocks whose colour will fade if you store them improperly. Rocks. Those lumpy things you pull out of the ground. Sometimes you can build things out of them. Sometimes you can skip them across the water. Sometimes you can eat them, but those are potatoes, and I’ve never really counted them as rocks. It is really weird to think of rocks as the sort of thing you need to take care of: they’ve been sitting in the ground for a million years, what is another 100 in a drawer going to do to them?
I once had a client who was into New Age and rocks. (Apparently, there is a stone that will let you telepathically communicate with aliens. I’m still not sure which of those assertions to challenge first.)
Anyway, one of the useful things I learned is that many rocks are not all that stable. A fair number of them dissolve quite readily in water and others can be discolored by sunlight. I saw a sample of fluorite that she’d kept on her dashboard until it lost almost all of its color. Almost all stones do best if you don’t touch them.
You got it too close to your fool’s mercury, and now it’s fool’s amalgamating.
Thinking about this a bit more, I guess my rock was on the long-lived side after all. I feel better now that I realize this may have been inevitable, and was not necessarily the result of improper care. It was one of the first rocks in my little collection, so it had a certain amount of sentimental value. Still, we had 26 good years together.
I actually managed to fool someone into thinking it was real gold; so in hindsight, it achieved a more fulfilled existence than most other chunks of pyrite, which I’m guessing rarely if ever manage to live up to their reputation as “fool’s gold.” All things considered, I forgive it for trying to kill me in its final extremity. You were special, Museum-Purchased Chunk of Iron Pyrite. I’ll remember the good times for both of us.
Thinking back, I remember reading helpful instructions about the proper preparation and display of one’s rock collection; but I do not recall being told that, in time, it would eventually turn on me, spewing acidic vapors like a miniature Vesuvius as it surged into oblivion. I’m pretty sure nobody ever mentioned the possibility that I was entering into a murder-suicide pact with my own rock collection. Now I’m worried about what else in there is slowly killing me as it disintegrates, silently outgassing deadly carcinogens that are subtracting decades from my life. I wonder what those fluorescent minerals are doing to my chromosomes. Then there’s that weird chunk of “shuttle metal,” which I was never even able to find out what it was…
On the other hand, I should probably count myself fortunate; kids working on that Geology merit badge these days probably have to assemble their collections while garbed up in full hazmat gear, and are only permitted to collect minerals like table salt and aquarium gravel, or perhaps realistic plastic replicas of rocks. Ours is a safety-obsessed, litigious world.
Anyway, at least now I have a handy excuse to use the word “decrepitated.”