Plague spread fast, culling old and young. The King summoned his wizard.

But the plague summoned first.

“He died,” said Abigail, his apprentice.

“Then it’s hopeless,” the King said.

“But he found a cure!” she protested. “A potion. He told me the incantation, most of the ingredients.”

“And they are…?”

“Badger’s eye, baby’s hair, hawk’s egg, elm’s bark—“

“Those we can find. What else?”

“One herb,” said Abigail. “It won’t work without it.”

“What herb?”

“He only said ‘Time is of the essence’. Then he died.”

“That’s that, then,” said the King. “Pity. Sounded promising for a minute.”

Author’s Note: If, as a reader, you find puns distasteful, I’d suggest there’s a lot of my writing you probably shouldn’t read.

Categories: Fiction, Simon Petrie | 1 Comment »

The nymph and the satyr had hit a rough patch. They sought relationship counseling.

In a one-on-one session, the counselor asked Nereie to describe the problem.

“It’s his animal urges,” she explained.

“You feel he’s too highly sexed?” asked the counselor.

“Oh, not that,” said Nereie. “He’s a satyr, you know? It goes with the territory.”

“Is infidelity an issue?”

“No. But he’s half goat. It… causes problems.”

“You find body hair repulsive?”

“You’re missing my point,” Nereie complained.

“Then, please, what is your point?”

“Whenever I wash my diaphanous gowns, and hang them out to dry, he eats them.”

Author’s Note: A close friend of mine has always wanted me to write a story with a satyr, but I never found an angle I thought I could use. But if you think about something long enough, often the idea will occur.

Categories: Fiction, Simon Petrie | 1 Comment »