The Dangerous Little Cupid

I looked up from my computer Thursday night to see a little Cupid sitting on the edge of the screen, sharpening an arrow.  I gasped, surprised, and scooted my chair away from the desk. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned at me, and his smile was a little menacing. “I notice you didn’t ask who I was.” He put away the rock he was using to sharpen his arrow. “Guess you already figured that one out. Am I really that obvious?”

I looked him over. A cute cherub with wings and a bow and arrow. I nodded. “Yes. But you still didn’t answer my question.” I tried again. “What are you doing here?”

“I came in response to an emergency.” The Cupid pointed at my screen. “That.”

“What?” I looked at my screen. “What I was just writing?” I stared back at the Cupid, offended. “What’s wrong with what I just wrote?”

“It stinks.” The Cupid gestured at the screen. “No one will believe it.”

“What do you mean, no one will believe it? Of course they will. It’s about two people in love, being together and being happy.” I glared at him. “What is so unbelievable about that?”

“Oh that part is fine. What isn’t fine is what isn’t there. Let me tell you a secret, and I’m the expert.” He leaned in closer. “Love hurts.”

“Huh?” I frowned at him. “You’re sending some mixed messages here. Aren’t you supposed to be love’s greatest advocate?” I pointed at his bow and arrow. “You’re such a fan of it that you fly around shooting people with arrows so that they fall in love.”

“Of course I’m a huge advocate of love. But not your kind of love, the kind you just wrote about.”

“What kind of love did I just write about?” I threw my hands up. “Tell me already.”

“The fake kind.”

“What? What do you mean, the fake kind? I don’t have the patience for you right now.”

He smiled. “I’m trying to help you.” He motioned to me. “Look at my arrow. Look at it closely. ” I leaned in and inspected the tiny arrow. It was shaped like a red heart. I shrugged. “So?”

“Look closer.” I looked a bit closer and this time I saw what he was referring to. The arrow had thorns, tiny venomous thorns lining both edges. My eyes widened.

“That looks dangerous!”

He grinned. “Exactly. Love hurts. It’s wonderful and beautiful. But it also has thorns. It’s real and raw and can cut. Just like my arrow.” He flew up from the computer. “Don’t forget that, Winter.” I watched him as he flew away, thinking over his words. Was the romance in my book too perfect? I shrugged, thinking about relationships, and the very human people that form them. Maybe he had a point. I finally turned back to the computer screen, and began to type.


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