What Could Have Been
Scanning the area
He extends an alluring hand
Motion detected
She halts in her tracks
Focusing
A smile tugs at his lips
Target selected
She warily returns the gesture
Loading arrow, identical to his
He bends to whisper in her ear
String cocked
She shyly looks down at the ground
Eye to scope
He tucks a dark lock behind her ear
Finger hovers over trigger
She allows her body to lean in to him
And squeeze
Another suddenly appears
Arrowhead pierces the air
She passes before the couple
New target detected
He lifts his head, distracted
Destination reached
She stops, aware of his gaze
Mission accomplished?
He tears away from the other
Bow relived of duties
Her bronzed hand beckons him
Moment of puzzlement
They depart, arm in arm
Disbelief
The other is left, alone
This cannot be
She sadly shrugs her shoulders
Mission failed
She allows herself one last, longing glance
That's weird
She hangs her head
I've never hit the wrong person
She scuffles in the other direction
Like that before
The encounter is but a fleeting memory
of what could have been
Being Cupid, it takes...practice. You have to learn what works, what doesn't, and how to foresee
the success of Earth's most centrifugal and influential force of nature. Love.
I think people have a misconception about what I do. There is more to my job then picking out
two people, shooting them in the butts, and allowing myself a moment of satisfaction as two strangers
can do nothing more then stare helplessly into each other's eyes.
It doesn't work that way. Sometimes, mistakes are made. The arrows they...they're tricky.
Things have gotten better what with modern technology and all but, especially in the cities, people get
in the way. Arrows meant for someone else brush the skin of a passerby and BOOM, everything from
puppy love to deep infatuation could be the result.
That's why you humans seem to "love" which such...frequency. It takes a real direct hit to
stimulate the kind of "happily ever after" love everyone seems so dead set on finding, and though I have
subjected the Earth to its fair share of unhappy mishaps, I have never made such a terrible blunder
before.
Well, until that one day in New York.
It was Valentine's Day and I just got my new bow. The latest model.
Needless to say I was a little trigger happy.
Seated upon my lofty position in the in the sky, legs dangling over the side of the gently swaying
building, I fired off shots.
One, two. The florist and the lawyer.
Three, four. The accountant and the doctor.
Five, six. The CEO and the homeless man.
Homeless man? Homeless man.
I've never hit the wrong person like that before.
My heart started racing, fluttering, faltering. I could barely see straight. This was serious. This
was a solid hit. The kind of love people didn't really come back from.
I could hear nothing, focus on nothing except for the clattering of spare change in his tin can,
and the clicking of her black pumps on the damp pavement.
She saw him first, pressed against one of the colossal skyscrapers, his legs bent close to his chest
as though he was trying to disappear from view. With his eyes lowered towards the ground he sat
holding his can in one hand and stroking a German Shepherd cloaked in matted fur with the other.
She was waiting on the corner for the light to turn, her waving auburn mane tumbling in luscious
curls down her back. Her eyes, caked in three coats of black mascara, continually found themselves
passing over the shivering figure and his dog.
She watched carefully as the bony canine raised its seemingly too large head to lick the man's
cheek. From beneath the brim of his tattered baseball cap a brief flash of white teeth could be seen, and
instinctively the woman found her own red lips upturned as well.
She caught herself and returned her features to their proper place of cool, chiseled indifference.
The light turned and the shuffling force of the crowd began to move her spindly legs into the
street. She tried to stop in her tracks, whipping her head back over her shoulder towards the man.
A thought of hers floated up to me in the sky.
Why won't he look up?
The woman extracted from her coral clutch a sleek black, iPhone and checked the time. With
resolve she shoved the device back into her bag and turned to swim against the ebbing flow of the
crowd. With great effort her spiky heels clamored back onto the grainy shore of the sidewalk and she
made brisk strides towards the homeless man and his loyal companion.
From her purse she extracted a few dollar bills, folded them, and placed them gingerly within
the can. The man's shoulders rose and fell as he uttered a gruff but soft "Thank You."
"You're quite welcome." the woman replied, tucking the clutch purse under her arm.
A moment of silence passed between them.
"So," she continued, starring down at the top of the man's head whose face was still buried in
his knees, "what is your dog's name?"
The constant rhythmic motion of his grimy hand on the dog's fur ceased. "Akida"
"He's beautiful." she remarked, squatting down to pat the dog.
Silence. The man seemed to shrink even further into the wall, pulling away from the tumbling
hair and the aroma of perfume.
"Say, what's your name?"
Taken aback the man raised his head and stared incredulously into her crystalline eyes. She
returned his gaze with a warmth she had never before been capable of and, I knew at that moment, that
my mistake may not have been quite so detrimental after all.
"Luke." He managed at long last.
"Luke," the woman cooed, lifting herself up off of the city floor and out stretching a hand
towards the man, "I'm Melanie. would you join me for lunch?"
I think you can guess what happened next. It was slow to develop but eventually it was there,
the kindred flames of love.
Ya know, I tried to do that again, to one other couple. I took a shot in the dark. A random guess.
I ignored all of the signs and just fired the arrow, testing a theory which contradicted what it was I had
always been taught. Could the arrows really do all the work? Was love nothing more than a gamble? A
randomized act?
No. I learned it is much more than that for that couple did not only crash and burn but it was like
a uranium bomb exploded, leaving nothing behind except for shattered mirrors and missed calls.
Melanie and Luke will always be a wonder to me. The way fate seemed to force my hand at just
the right moment.
Or maybe it was they who are truly responsible for the seemingly unlikely success of their
relationship.
Some people are just willing and ready to love.
"That's weird," thought Cupid. "I've never hit the wrong person like that before. I mean, I've aimed
incorrectly quite a few times, but never this badly. To be fair, those two were standing pretty close
together, so it was easy for me to hit him twice! Right?" He was unaware that his thoughts had turned
into hushed mutterings to himself. He held up his crossbow as he leaned forward to examine the
damage. He glanced upon a young couple dwindling throughout the dimly lit street. Their previous
embrace had ended abruptly, almost curiously so. They stood now staring at one another, the man
wearing mustard corduroys, a dark brown sweater, and a look of deep confusion. The lady dressed in an
elegant white lace dress stared back at him, her features swimming with concern. Cupid watched the
man mumble something as he studied the girl with an expression suggesting the two had never met. She
tenderly placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her face alarmed as she spoke something to him. He
shrugged it off, turning his head to face an abandoned window shop. The darkness inside the shop
combining with the street lights allowed his silhouette to be mirrored upon the filth covered window. He
glanced up. A look of awe swept upon his face as he slowly moved closer to his reflection, not averting
his eyes from the window. He looked as if he had just seen a newborn child for the first time. The girl's
facial expression grew worried as she watched him. When he reached the window he stopped, still
taking in every inch of his reflection. He looked at his own face, his own eyes were staring back at him.
He was in love.
"Dark Heart"
One left...
Not pink
Not red
Not white
But black
I'm forced to shoot it
Every year
Every... Single... Year...
Each year it gets harder to send
To one poor soul
Who hates my day
They're supposed to love love
Love the idea of it
Love the feel of it
They shouldn't have a depressing arrow
Shot at their heart
But I have to send it
I bring the arrow back
Bow taught
Squint my eyes
And...
Oh no...
I blinked
Where did it go?
Why isn't that man sad?
My eyes scan the crowd frantically
Only to see a child
About the age of six
With tears in her eyes
I never miss
I shouldn't have blinked
I should have kept my hold on the man
Now this dear child
With loving parents
Will forever hate
Valentines Day