Cupid's Fate

Cupid’s Fate
Sometimes there is a story that just has to be told. A story so enthralling, captivating, and chilling that it will not lay dormant in the mind of its creator. The story takes its breath just like a newborn and doesn’t stop breathing until it’s lived out its intended purpose, then and only then, dear reader, when it has you on your knees begging for a release does it fulfill your every wish and desire in a story, but that’s only if it’s a story that has to be told. Don’t be fooled by what I’m about to show your eyes or by the way I’m going to affect your senses, be wary, dear reader, because if you’re not……well we’ll just have to wait and see.

It seems to be in this age that if you have fangs you are gothic or punk and if you have an attitude you must be feminist. Well, I have both and yet I’m neither. Yet, I digress, the reason I’m talking to you at all is because Valentine’s Day is just around the corner and I feel sorry for you, mortal. All the candy and flowers and sappy, stupid romance makes me wretch, but as long as you don’t include me, I’ll let it slide. I know you want to know about me; as a matter of fact I have you so intrigued that you would do anything just to get a small snippet of information about me. Well, fine, mortal, but remember you asked for it.

I am Cupid, yes, you heard correctly, Cupid. I was named to honor the Goddess Venus’ son, but so loved by the Goddess that she bestowed upon me the title of demi-goddess and with that title comes immortality and an odd lengthening of the canine teeth. What was that? But you’re a girl?!? Seriously, stop and think before you speak. Have any of you ever known a man that actually knows what to get a girl for Valentine’s Day? Do you ever see a man drawing sappy little hearts on anything unless he thinks he’s going to get laid? And to top it all off, I have yet to see a man that can aim, trust me, I’ve woken up with plenty of them to know that they can’t hit the water in the toilet and that particular part is attached. It almost scares me to think of the bloodshed and mayhem that would occur every February 14th if a man was in charge. Please, spare me your stupidity. Anyway, yes I am Cupid and I am most definitely not a male, but I was in love once; long ago and far away, but everyone makes mistakes, even demi-goddesses, and I made a big one.

This particular mistake happened about 400 years ago, somewhere in the middle of modern day Europe, but he was gorgeous. You know what I’m talking about, he was almost six foot two inches tall, olive skinned long silky chestnut hair, and eyes so blue it was like gazing into Narcissus’ mirror. His name was Eric, and out of his mouth spewed a poison so sweet, so addicting, so deadly. He was painting in a meadow, a landscape of some sort or other and I was fascinated by his mastery of the brush. I approached him carefully, afraid to scare off this gorgeous piece of mortal.

“I like your work. You captured that bird so perfectly.” I complemented him.

“Thank you for your kind words, but this isn’t really something I’m interested in.”

“Why is that? I just assumed you enjoyed painting.”

“I do, but I want to paint something so beautiful that years from now it will still be admired and inspire love in all those who see it.”

“Well, do you have any ideas about what you could paint that will be that beautiful?”

“How about you? You have a classic charm and soft sweetness about you that will be admired for years to come.”

“Are you serious?”

And that’s how it began. For the next couple of years I posed while he painted. We would talk about the future and how many children we were going to raise. We went to every explored part of the world and created love on canvas. We wrote those sappy little love notes to each other with the hearts on them and he brought me flowers every day. It was like paradise. Everywhere we went we inspired love to bloom for those that were fortunate enough to glance in our direction. That’s when I should have known that it couldn’t last forever. It was a warm night in Tuscany and we were discussing plans for our upcoming wedding. We had the flowers and the food all worked out and were diligently working on the guest list when he decided to ruin it all by opening his mouth.

“Cupid, you know I love you don't you, darling?” He asked almost hesitantly.

“Of course I know that, dear.” I laughed thinking his innocence was cute.

“And you know I would never hurt you intentionally, yes?” He used an assuring tone.

This line of questioning made my skin crawl as if something was sneaking up to whisper a bad secret in my ear.

“Well that’s what you’ve always told me, love.” I replied hesitantly.
Then, almost ironically, the sky clouded up and it began to pour as if dumped out of a full pitcher.

“Yeah, well, I, uh, um….there’s someone else.” He squeaked.

I swear you could see the fire of Hades in my eyes when his admission sank in.

“THERE’S WHAT?!? How could you?!? After making all these plans and I even told my MOTHER for Zeus’ sake! Oh, you just wait, you low down son of a…..” I ranted.
“GET OUT!!!!!! Take your paint, your tunics, and your lies and leave and you had better not come back unless you want a nice set of arrows in your arse!”

He hurriedly and silently collected the personal items I wasn’t tossing off the veranda. Sorry excuse for a Greek. Mentally I tried to figure out why he would possibly want someone else. Was there something wrong with me that I hadn’t noticed? The thought of that possibility made me run for the nearest mirror. I looked at my five foot seven frame that was full figured but not hefty in any way, shape, or form. Deciding that that was definitely not the problem, I checked on my other features. From the thigh length dark auburn hair to the forest green eyes then to pardon the expression, Cupid’s bow mouth and everything couldn’t have been better. Yep, he was crazy. No man in his right mind would have left me based on my physical traits, for the love of Hades, women turned green with envy just at the hint of my name. At first I was so pissed off that I envisioned ways to kill him. In one sweet daydream, I fed him to a pride of lions that had their teeth filed flat and heard his screams of pain as the dull teeth gnawed the flesh off his bones then made a crown out of what was left. In another I had him skewered on a pike with a sign in front that said “Stupid Male”. I had even attempted to draw his face on paper then shot arrows at it. Then I felt depressed because I had come up with torturous ways to off him and cried for days. And finally I came to point where I was pissed off at him all over again and the anger oozed out in the form of hatred of all things male. That was four hundred five years, six months, and three days ago and I am still stewing in it. To make things worse, I discovered that “Eric” wasn’t even his real name, it was in fact Eros, otherwise known as Cupid, son of Venus, my namesake. Now, not only did I hate his guts, I hated my own name. Lying pile of camel dung, may he rot for the rest of his sorry immortality. Of course, the arse got what he deserved, turns out the tramp he left me for wasn’t ever supposed to see his face because of Venus cursing her and when she decided to disobey the terms of that curse he took off and she committed suicide. To this day, the sorry schmuck is still alone because when word got out that his mother made the woman kill herself the other women ran from him like he was toting the plague in his pocket. I can’t help but laugh, Hades hath no fury like a woman scorned and it’s chomping on his arse like a pit bull with a steak.
Unfortunately, with my festered anger toward male companionship, I too was alone. So I decided to get a pet. Something big and furry that would put the fear of Zeus in anything big, dumb, and male. I went walking through town just to see if I could find something matching my needs. I meandered through the market and at the very end of the stalls I found the cutest man-eating ball of fluff to be had. She was about a foot tall, black, sleek, and soft, with luminous yellow eyes and a mouthful of sharp, flesh mauling teeth. The vendor claimed she was a black jaguar saved from the wilds of Africa when her mother was killed by a hunter. I paid the man, deemed the cat Pandora, and together we went home.
Over the next few years, I worked with Pandora, taught her how to smell a man and trained that response to mean food. I cuddled her at night when I was lonely and she eased the pain. Everything was working out great and I didn’t think I could be happier. That was until we went venturing through town one day to go shopping at the market. I picked up some groceries and a couple of chickens for Pandora. I continued down to a stall that had fresh fruit, my eye spying pomegranates, my absolute fave. I glanced down to make sure Pandora was still by my side and when I discovered that she wasn’t, I panicked! This was my baby, the only child I would ever have and now she was gone! I looked up and down the alley and still not spying her I headed around the corner when I was touched from behind. I whirled around and there in front of me stood HIM and my supposed to be man-eating furbag.

“Is she yours, Cupid?” he asked.

“Yes, dirtbag, that is my baby and you just standing near her might make her ill.”

With that said, the traitorous wretch began rubbing herself on his leg and making cute little kitten noises when she should have been taking chunks out of his cursed hide.

“I’d say she likes me from the looks of things.”

Smug bastard.

“That’s only because your stench has made her delirious. Come, Pandora.” I turned to leave. I made a couple of long strides away only to discover that the wretch was still sitting at his feet.

“PANDORA!!!! LET’S GO, NOW!” I was getting frustrated and the arse had the nerve to laugh. I went over to my “companion” and in my over toasted mind, thought I could lift her up like I did when she was a kitten. I must have forgotten that she had gained over 130 pounds since then and the effort made me look like an idiot.

“You want some help there, babe?” The buffoon was laughing.

“Over your dead rotting corpse, and I’m not your babe.” I huffed.
He got kind of quiet, but that smart-arsed smirk was still there.

“Did you forget that I’m not mortal, Cupid?”

“No I didn’t forget, but I’m working on that problem.”

“I’m sorry, Cupid, I was a fool to leave you.”

“Some things never change, and you’re still both.”

“Both what?”

“Sorry and a fool, and a few other things I won’t waste my breath stating.”

Then without even wondering if I was going to decapitate him, he leaned in and kissed my cheek, so I slapped him. Now if I’d done that to a mortal his head would have rolled down the block, but no he just stood there and grinned.

“So, can I come home with you?”

I slapped him again, and wished I could have slapped myself for letting my heart betray me into letting my voice tell him, “Yes.”

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Today was Valentine’s Day, and after these last few months of reconciliation and his groveling, we got engaged, again. He also made me breakfast in bed, ran my bath, fetched my cappuccino, bought me flowers and drew those sappy little hearts on the card. Maybe, just maybe, he’s learned his lesson. All this romantic stuff still makes me wanna puke, but I like being pampered, and wanted, and oh to Hades with it, loved. I like being loved. There I said it. So while I'm starting to enjoy the possibility of happily every after you can just enjoy my day, mortals, enjoy my day.