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Golden arrows

February 14th, 2018 Leave a comment Go to comments

You stare at the door with anticipation as the car idles impatiently. The palpitations have slowed as you’ve focused on your breathing, but your pulse rate still feels astronomical. You begin drumming your fingers on the wheel, when suddenly the door bursts open and Harold comes running out carrying a large bag and what appears to be a naked toddler. “Drive! Drive!” he yells before he’s even halfway into the car. You obey and floor the accelerator, leaving a cloud of exhaust and security alarm bells in your wake.

“What the fuck is this!?” you shout at him. “We never agreed on a fucking hostage!”

“I had no choice! This bastard wouldn’t stop climbing on me once I nabbed his quiver of arrows, and I couldn’t get him off. Besides, you swore he wouldn’t be home!”

“You kidnapped fucking Cupid? You shithead, this is a catastrophe!” You pull on the wheel hard and narrowly avoid colliding with a truck as you blast through a red light. This is unbelievable. What was supposed to be a simple robbery has morphed into an abduction of a Roman god. Only Harold could get you into such a mess.

Cupid’s wings flap at Harold’s face as he struggles to retrieve his quiver in the bag on the floor between Harold’s knees. Harold holds his own but the winged deity is stronger than his frame would suggest. You need to dump the hostage, and quick. The car skids around a corner as the first glimpse of police flashers enter your vision in the rearview mirror.

“We have to ditch that fucker! Now!” you bellow, palpitations returning with full force. “Push him out the window.” Fumbling for the passenger side window control on the door, you spot a second police car entering the mirror’s view.

“This was all your fucking idea!” Harold laments. “You said getting girls with these arrows would be easier than trying to figure out how to write a decent Tinder profile!”

“And it will!” A pothole jolts the car violently, loosing your grip on the wheel and Harold’s on the hostage. “We just need to get rid of th-”

Harold’s scream pierces the air. Cupid is on the floor now and has retrieved his bow and a few arrows from the bag. An arrow juts from Harold’s chest. He flails at it hopelessly as a circle of blood widens on his shirt. That’s strange, you think, running another light, the arrows are supposed to be more metaphorical. Like, they’re not actually arrows but more like thin columns of amorous feelings that enter your spirit, then envelop you wi-

An arrow strikes your chest next. The pain is overwhelming. Your foot finally slips from the gas pedal as the car careens into a parked van on the side of the street. The air bags deploy as you come to an abrupt stop. Harold moans while you blink in confusion and agony at the open wound between your ribs. Cupid winks, opens the door and flies away as the sounds of police become dull thuds. You’re certain you’re dying.

Your vision begins to fade as the footsteps and shouting outside draws nearer. You lift your head and turn to Harold, making eye contact for what will surely be the last time. Without warning you realize you love Harold more than anyone in the world, and his eyes tell you he’s feeling the same. You move closer toward him, eagerly puckering your lips, and kiss him deeply. It’s like no feeling you’ve ever experienced. Both of you are enraptured and unable to even register the officers’ commands and threats to shoot. Bliss is yours and you vow never to let it go.

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