Potion by Ryan Van Ells

The stew looks delicious. My stomach rumbles. I look at the babysitter.

“Not yet,” she says. “It needs mandrake root.”

I hand her one. “Now?”

“Not yet. It needs sage.”

I hand her the bottle. “What about now?”

“Not yet. It needs lizard guts.”

I reach for the lizard, his stomach already slit open. I struggle to reach it with my feet tied, but I reach it and hand it to her. “Now?”

“Not yet.”

“What else do we need?”

“The eyes of a young boy.”

I look around the kitchen. I don’t see a young boy. “Where are those?”