A Valentine Can Get Messy

A Valentine Can Get Messy

by Sartorius

The ancient cryptid humans call Cupid readied its bow. Love targets were on the decrease. Considerably. Partly due to overpopulation concerns; partly due to Cupid’s new found passion for hunting game. Homo sapiens. The creature’s newfangled focus consumed much of its time now; specially constructed extermination arrows expanded possibilities. 

Trimming the herd for sport addresses the overflow of humanity as well, the cryptid mused. Does it not?

A slaying arrow through the heart, the preferred method of attack (old habits die hard), the thrill enhanced by cascading blood emanating from the victim’s pierced torso. For variety, Cupid would aim for the head occasionally, exhilarated by the brain matter and skull fragments a carefully aimed projectile produced. A gut shot was even less utilized, but gore mixed with entrails made for unforgettable reminiscences. It was all good.

Today, however, a standard ethereal love arrow would pierce the heart of Becca Saris, programmer analyst, as she sat on the park bench next to Nimrod Finnis, a fellow specialist. They’d been coworkers for a little over a year and Nimrod had tirelessly mentored a struggling Becca on his own time after hours. The two had become friends, mostly one-way.

The young upwardly mobile woman had taken full advantage of nerdy Nimrod’s crush on her. Didn’t have an ounce of guilt. Daily lunches in the park across the street from work were beginning to take a toll on the young professional, however. Particularly today; Valentine’s Day. Ambition, however, came with a price, and hers was boundless. Becca bit the bullet of repulsion, her feigned smiles raising daily havoc with overly exercised facial muscles. But if cheerleaders and politicians could bear the burden of endless phoniness, so could she. 

Just one more successful project and I’ll be promoted to corporate headquarters five states away, she thought.Hang in there, girl. Nimrod, the quintessential mama’s boy, would never abandon his hometown. Never. 

In her mind’s eye a distant light beckoned at the end of the tunnel; she would be free of him. Soon. And there’d be plenty of other Nimrods in the new locale to assist Becca in her ascension up the corporate food chain. Once she attained a management position (anticipated in the not-too-distant future) and these fools’ starry eyed assistance no longer valuable, she’d kick ‘em to the curb as well; let her new underlings do all the work while she took the credit . . . and a fat paycheck. 

A confident femme fatale she was, indeed. 

Fluttering in the air, the cryptid called Cupid strung an arrow and pulled the bow taut. The love thing’s intervention wasn’t random, but the result of an inadvertent invitation by Nimrod, another sad victim of unrequited desire. Desperate for Becca’s reciprocal feelings, he’d sought the counsel of a haggard fortune teller situated in a dark corner of the seedy part of town. After accepting a generous donation, the old man engaged in an ancient ritualistic summons passed down from countless generations guaranteed to conjure love. Although not intended for Cupid, the cryptid overheard the incantation nevertheless, taking pity on the distraught young man. Compassion, something the ancient creature hadn’t experienced in ages, inundated its core; Nimrod’s intense and endless ache was overwhelming. Even for Cupid.

The arrow found its mark, the archer’s aim true. Nimrod screamed as Becca’s upper torso was pinned to the back of the wooden bench, her eyes bulging with shock, blood spraying in all directions. Nimrod, saturated in warm crimson, tracked the angle of the projectile, his gaze combed skyward as the gargoyle-like creature rapidly flew away, its smallish wings beating like a hand-held fan on a blistering summer’s day. Just a glimpse of the fleeing monstrosity intensified the young man’s continued shrieks of anguish. Perpetual nightmares awaited.

“Damn,” muttered Cupid as it vanished into the blue. “Wrong arrow.”