St George the Dragon Slayer In Retirement Syndrome
A Morality Tale
St George the Dragon Slayer was relaxing at home. He’d earned it — he killed the dragon and saved the people. He was a hero now, immortalized forever in the villagers’ songs and fire-place tales of his brave deeds and valour. His village had seen nothing but prosperity without fear — and it was all thanks to him. What a legacy!
St George turns on the fancy new “wireless” — a gift bestowed upon him by some grateful villager some years back — and takes his position in his favourite armchair. His feet up on his fancy new ottoman, carefully, not to spill his ale all over his armoured suit. He only just collected it from the town dry-cleaner, after-all.
Staring out the window into a cobalt sky, he reclines his chair just a little more and sips from his cup. His gaze follows a lazy cloud forming in his peripheral. Totally at ease is he.
But something grips him.
A chill creeps over and climbs into his armour. He finds himself suddenly awash in a wave of cold sweat — Something was terribly wrong!
Launching himself from his easy-chair, St George throws himself at the window — could it really be? Are his eyes bewitching him?
There are lots of dragons outside! Lots of tiny, little dragons!
St George gasped — the villagers need his heroism once more!
Before stumbling frantically out the door, St George tears away his lance from the wall where it had been mounted years earlier. How he had longed to feel its power again, and he gripped it tightly in his hands before marching towards duty — he had lots of little dragons to slay!
St George returns home that night, exhausted but successful — all of the much, much smaller dragons were dead. All of them. And once again, it was all thanks to him. He resumed his place in his easy-chair, another luxurious gift bestowed upon him by the thankful villagers.
St George the Dragon Slayer was attending a dinner party put on by his friends in honour of his SECOND inspiring feat — the slaying of all the littler dragons. There were toasts and songs, speeches and art all dedicated to his bravery. St George was pleased and humbled by his friends.
But then he felt it again — the uneasy feeling he had felt only a few days before…dragons!
There are MORE dragons to slay!
Ya what? Asked Beowulf But you killed them all, Georgie — they’re all dead mate…
Something only a DRAGON would say! Of COURSE! How could he have been so blind?!
St George grabbed a kebab skewer and drove it through the eye of the dragon and he was killed. Everybody was screaming and trying to flee — but it made no difference. St George the Dragon Slayer caught every one. He didn’t stop his butchery until he was sure that all the dragons at the dinner party were dead. He decapitated them and place their heads upon the walls of the house outside as a warning: Here be dragons.
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