Cupid Missed v.2

Love is the most destructive force in the universe.

All great struggles in the world come down to an excess or deficiency of love. Wars have been fought in the name of God’s love, which was especially ironic since God would have loved you anyway if you just asked. Every great story is a love story; love between a father and son, or between star-crossed lovers. And look where it gets them. One love story I’m sure you’ve heard, two teenagers in the middle of a family dispute fall in love, and just like that, six people die. Would have been much simpler today, where they could have just eloped to Vegas. Or what about Camelot? A love triangle broke up the Round Table, a tragic reminder never to covet your boss’s wife.

Of course, love is also the most creative force in the universe. That’s the whole trick of it, and most people, even the divine community, forget this. It is such a powerful force that only one person in all of Creation has been granted authority over its use. This, of course, is Cupid. Cupid isn’t his real name, but when the Romans first heard of his stories (getting all sorts of facts wrong), the moniker stuck among the angels, and since the human mind can’t make sense of his angelic name, for sake of brevity we’ll just stick with the nickname. Cupid alone had authority over dispensing the spark of true love, and today he would bestow that great and terrible gift again.

It was a dreary Tuesday morning, and since it was in the heart of London, it was raining. That didn't deter Cupid from his task, however, as he assembled his silver rifle once again. Any task repeated often enough becomes second nature. The mind forms habits to automate simple mechanical processes, to the point that you don't even need to think about what you're doing. So with practiced ease, Cupid screwed the barrel onto the rifle, unfolded the stock, and checked his sights. This freed up his mind for more press matters, reviewing every facet of his target, going over every minute detail.
Bestowing the gift of true love on a soul was not a thoughtless matter. It was a decision that required extensive research, preparation, and planning. His targets all shared certain parameters, some innate capacity for greatness. Some people just couldn't face the kind of truth Cupid was revealing to them; for in the end, to face love was to face truth, and these truths were not always pleasant. Over the centuries, Cupid had found those few who were willing and worthy of his gift. They might go on to write great stories that will move hearts and change minds, or they could become obsessed with an image or idea, working without rest until they found some medium that could capture that image they loved. The greatest poets, painters and sculptures throughout history were often victims of Cupid's influence, as were some of the bravest soldiers and most important political figures from all corners of the world. No matter what path they found, anyone struck by Cupid would shape the future for generations to come.
The individual that Cupid had chosen today was a simple businessman. A banker named Charles who had worked five days a week, plus Saturdays, for the last six years. A man who had no special training or noticeable skills that he knew of, who went out every Friday to the pub and came home to his golden retriever named Buster. Tomorrow, Charles would wake up and think that perhaps he just might go to the opera this weekend. By this time next year, he would be reinvigorating the genre entirely and bringing it to a modern audience. The media would call him Mozart's Grandson and his work would change the course of music for another generation, and the beauty in his songs would in turn inspire dozens more in their own endeavors. Or, of course, he could end up homeless after putting down all of his money to buy a venue to show his first, and last, failed performance. Cupid could not promise success or prosperity, only opportunity.
Cupid knelt beside the corner of the rooftop, adjusting his double pair of wings. The lower set were held tight to his back, while he held the larger upper wings over his head, giving him some shelter from the rain. His halo hummed a light golden color with long, flat pips that circled all but the front quarter of the ring and was skewed to one side, angled downward like the brim of a hat. He brought his rifle up, pressing the stock against his shoulder, and looking down the sights. He had ditched the bow and arrows decades ago, citing their unreliable accuracy over long distances and taking up a more modern implement for his work. He adjusted his aim by the smallest increment, fierce eyes focused on his minuscule target. There was no scope on the rifle; Cupid’s eyes were sharper than any laser sight. As he focused on his target his eyes changed shape, until they were perfectly round and yellow, reminiscent of an eagle eye. Below, Charles was about to board the morning commuter train. Fixing his aim upon his target, he slowly pulled back on the trigger, paused for a moment, then fired.
There was no bang, no loud report. Cupid’s rifle was silent, and in fact the only sound was that of the dart whizzing past, not that any human was paying close enough attention to hear it. The dart flew through the air weaving through a crowded intersection, diving and spiraling around obstacles as if piloted by some miniature aviator. It narrowly passed by three lawyers, two accountants, and a crowd of nine students before making a beeline for Charles the banker. The dart increased in speed, and just as it reached Charles, it sailed right past him and hit a female journalist in the shoulder. The young woman absentmindedly scratched at an itch just below her shoulder, knocking the tiny dart off her jacket, which dissolved into dust before it reached the ground.
Cupid scratched his chin for a moment, then scratched his head with a pensive expression. Finally after some consideration he grunted, “That’s weird. I’ve never hit the wrong person like that before.”
Suddenly, a voice spoke up from behind Cupid, "Everyone misses once every couple thousand years, I'm sure."
Without hesitation Cupid spun around, wings flaring out and knocking the speaker off their feet as a sudden wave of air sent them sprawling backwards. A flash of silver metal and the barrel of the rifle was mere inches from the nose of the angel spread out on the rooftop. Cupid's face had taken on a different visage, and now the face of a massive lion glared down at the angel as he stretched out all four of his massive wings. The image appeared for only a moment before sinking back into his skin as he recognized the angel, "You're Mordecai, that guardian that let his charge jump. Everyone in the Kingdom is talking about you," Cupid folded his wings back, setting the rifle aside and extending a hand to help him back to his feet, "What are you doing? You're not even supposed to be here."
Mordecai accepted his outstretched hand and lifted himself gracefully to his feet, then proceeded to brush himself off as he looked past Cupid towards the crowd below, "Still a good shot. And I'm sure she'll love being in love."
"And what would you know about it?" Cupid snapped, "It's no blessing I gave her. I just sentenced an innocent woman to the worst of fates."
"The worst of fates? Excuse me, sir, but I don't see the problem, people fall in love every day."

“No, little gosling," Cupid spat, words wrapped in sarcasm, "People fall in lust every day. They become infatuated on a regular basis. They even, on occasion, manage to pair themselves with someone they genuinely care for. And they think they make this person happy, and believe that will make them happy, and they will settle for this facsimile of happiness. But what I do, what I give is genuine divine inspiration. True love, the kind that only comes around a handful of times in a millennia. The kind of love that inspires great works, things that will last for generations.” Cupid rubbed his chin again; it was soft and smooth, betraying his rough demeanor with an unfortunately handsome face. When humans thought of cherubs they imagined flying angel babies, an image that any actual cherub would scoff at. However cherubs were naturally youthful and attractive, even for angels, so even though he talked like a grizzled war veteran, Cupid would never look the part. Not that anyone felt the need to point this out, if they wanted to keep their halo.

“So what will happen to her?” He didn’t know every one of Cupid’s few interventions, but he did know that one of his more recent adventures resulted in some grief-stricken widower building the Taj Mahal. It was apparently a big deal.

“She will fall in love. Maybe she’ll fall in love with sculpting and become the next Michelangelo, or find a fascination with painting and-”

“And become the next Pollock?”
“Don’t be stupid. I was going to say Van Gogh.” Turning his back to the guardian, Cupid picked up his rifle and began unscrewing the barrel.
"That doesn't sound so bad. Van Gogh was a brilliant painter."
"Who died young and diseased with paintings that weren't worth the cost of the canvas until long after he was buried." He folded up the stock of the rifle, and began placing its pieces back into the bag, “Or she might fall in love with her work, forsaking any comfort in order to become one of the best journalists in the world. She could uncover corruption and conspiracies around the world, or could end up destitute and alone. Or maybe she would be so unfortunate as to simply fall in love with another person. To give her life completely to someone else, for hope of something so fragile. It is no blessing to be in love." The heat of his anger had cooled, but in its place were smoldering embers that would not die out.
Mordecai shook his head, still unable to fully understand the problem, “You were going to hit someone one way or another. Why is it so bad if it’s her and not whoever you were supposed to get?”

“Because not everyone can handle true love. Some can, and they do great and terrible things. Others can’t. If you are not prepared for it, that kind of love will destroy you." Finished packing up his rifle, Cupid slung the pack over his shoulder as Mordecai considered everything he said.
“Then why did you shoot at all? Why not spare them the pain if it’s so bad?”

Cupid didn't answer right away. He looked out towards the horizon, where the clouds had begun to break up, revealing the early morning sun still low in the sky. The rain had stopped for a while, and as the sunlight pierced the mantle of gray clouds, the morning rays shined off Cupid, each feather on his wings glinting with a metallic sheen. Looking back over his shoulder, he spoke just loud enough for the guardian to catch what he said, "Because, young angel, if we don't have true love in this world, then what is the point of it all?"
It seemed to Mordecai that there was a lot of point in the world even without True Love, especially if it was as troublesome as he was led to believe. He shook his head with a shrug, but did not argue further.
After a brief silence, Cupid cleared his throat and shifted the bag slung over his shoulder and behind his wings, "So you never told me why you were here."
"I'm here because I need your help."
Cupid threw up both hands and all four wings together, "Woah woah woah, is this about your girl? I can't meddle with Speaker affairs, you know that. Kid, I can't help you. Besides, I can't bring the dead back to life so I don't know what use I'll be to your problem.
Mordecai stepped forward pleading, "Please, you must. I already have passage through Purgatory and I found a backdoor into Hell, but I'll need weapons and I have none. No one else in the Kingdom will deal with me. I am going to go to Hell and get back. You may be the only person who could understand what Rachel has been through."
"I can't interfere, Mordecai."
"Eros, please," Mordecai  lowered to one knee, placed his hand over his heart and lowered his head, "If not for me, do it for her."
There was a pause, then a flurry of feathers and a gust of wind, and the sun that had been behind the cherub fell onto Mordecai. When the guardian angel looked up, he was alone.
Cupid was gone.

[Author's Corner]

I wanted to rewrite this piece, expand on it a bit and explore their interaction. I also incorporated it within the larger Salvation narrative; this now has a specific point in the timeline. Mordecai (previously Alec, I'm playing with names) has been banished from the Kingdom and has began to prepare for his journey to Hell. He has come to Cupid for some tactical support. At this time Cupid turns him down, but there will be another scene between Cupid and another high ranking angel that will change his mind, and Cupid will aid Mordecai and join his quest.

Oddly, I don't think I like this version as much. Even though its longer than the first version, I almost think it was a good length before, a little tidbit of story, enough to get an idea across but not bogged down with too much dialogue or exposition. What do you think? Which version do you like better? Also, do you like Alec or Mordecai for protagonists name? I'd love to hear what you think in the comments section below. Either way, thank you for reading.

Also, if the formatting is off, blame Blogger. It looks fine in Edit mode, then loses all of the paragraph indentation when I publish it.

Cupid Missed

Prompt:

That’s weird, thought Cupid. I’ve never hit the wrong person like that before.

                Love is the most destructive force in the universe.

All great struggles in the world come down to an excess or deficiency of love. Wars have been fought in the name of God’s love, which was especially ironic since God would have loved you anyway if you just asked.      Every great story is a love story; love between a father and son, or between star-crossed lovers. And look where it gets them. One love story I’m sure you’ve heard, two teenagers in the middle of a family dispute fall in love, and six people die. Would have been much simpler today, where they could have just eloped to Vegas. Or what about Camelot? A love triangle broke up the Round Table, proving the superiority of polygons to curves, but also reminding us never to covet your boss’s wife.

Of course, love is also the most creative force in the universe. That’s the whole trick of it, and most people, even the divine community, forget this. It is such a powerful force that only one person in all of Creation has been granted authority over its use. This, of course, is Cupid. Cupid isn’t his real name, but when the Romans first heard of his stories (getting all sorts of facts wrong), the nickname stuck among the angels, and since the human mind can’t make sense of his angelic name, for sake of brevity we’ll just stick with the common vernacular.

So it was that Alec, the guardian angel, came across Cupid one day while in the world. Alec had just descended from the Well, alighting with practiced ease onto a rooftop in London. As a Guardian, he should be watching his charge, but Rachel White was in America, sleeping. He could afford some free time, and Alec jumped at any opportunity to fight for the Kingdom, and something told him that London was the place to be.

That was when he saw Cupid. Cupid was kneeling beside the lip of the roof, double pair of wings held tight to his back, and holding up a long silver rifle. He had ditched the bow and arrows decades ago, citing their unreliable accuracy over long distances and taking up a more modern implement for his work. He adjusted his aim by the smallest increment, fierce eyes focused on some tiny target that Alec couldn’t see. There was no scope on the rifle; Cupid’s eyes were sharper than any eagle’s, more accurate than any laser sight. He slowly pulled back on the trigger, paused for a moment, then fired.

There was no bang, no loud report. Cupid’s rifle was nearly silent, and in fact the only sound was that of the dart whizzing past, not that any human was paying close enough attention to hear it. The dart flew through the air, weaving through a crowded intersection as if piloted by some miniature aviator. It narrowly passed by three lawyers, two accountants, and a crowd of nine students before finally sticking into the shoulder of an ambitious young journalist. The young woman absent mindedly scratched at an itch just below her shoulder, knocking the tiny dart off her jacket, which dissolved into dust before it reached the ground.

A few moments of silence, as Cupid examined his work. Alec was standing a few feet behind him, peering over his shoulder with a look of pure awe.

Cupid scratched his chin for a moment. Then he scratched his head. Finally he grunted, “That’s weird,” Cupid muttered, barely audible to the Guardian standing behind him, “I’ve never hit the wrong person like that before.”

Alec, feeling rather awkward at witnessing this apparent slip-up, cleared his throat and then chimed in, “Well, I’m sure she’ll love being in love.”

Cupid spun around so fast it knocked Alec off his feet, as a sudden sweep of air sent him sprawling backwards. Cupid’s face had taken on a different visage, and now the face of a massive lion glared down at the Guardian. It wasn’t the only thing about him that was intimidating; Cupid stretched out all four of his massive wings, each feather glinting metallic in the morning sun, and as the lion face spoke, Cupid’s voice roared like thunder, “Love being in love?! Are you daft?”

The lion was gone then, but Cupid’s face still bristled with sudden anger, a long mane of hair stretching down the back of his neck. He growled deep in his throat, and the roof beneath Alec shuddered with the vibration, “I just cursed some innocent woman with the total agony of being in love.”

After determining that Cupid did not plan on eating him, Alec slowly rose to his feet, brushing himself off, “Excuse me, Cup – uh, sir, but I don’t see what the problem is. I mean, people fall in love every day.”

“No, little gosling. People fall in lust every day. They become infatuated on a regular basis. They even, on occasion, manage to pair themselves with someone they genuinely care for. And they will think they make this person happy, and that will make them happy, and they will settle for that. But what I do, what I give is genuine divine inspiration. True love, the kind that only comes around a handful of times in a millennia. The kind of love that inspires great works, things that will last for generations.” Cupid rubbed his chin again; it was soft and smooth, betraying his rough demeanor with an unfortunately handsome face. No doubt he felt the part of a jaded, worn out old man and would have liked to look the part, but cherubs were naturally youthful and attractive.

“So what will happen to her?” He didn’t know every one of Cupid’s few interventions, but he did know that one of his more recent adventures resulted in some grief-stricken widower building the Taj Mahal.

“She will fall in love. Maybe she’ll fall in love with art and become the next Da Vinci.” He mused, unscrewing the barrel from his rifle.

“Or the next Pollock?”
“Don’t be stupid,” shooting a glare at Alec, he detached the stock of the rifle as well, “Or she might fall in love with her work, forsaking any comfort in order to become the best journalist in the world. She would uncover corruption and conspiracies around the world. Or maybe she would be so unfortunate as to fall in love with something so simple as another person. To give her life completely to someone else, for hope of something so fragile. It is no blessing to be in love.”

“You were going to hit someone. Why is it so bad if it’s her and not the one you were supposed to get?”

“Because not everyone can handle true love. Some can, and they do great and terrible things. Others can’t. That kind of love… it can destroy you.”

Finished packing up his rifle, Cupid slung the pack over his shoulder as Alec pondered his words. The cherub shouldered past Alec, and the Guardian was nearly knocked off his feet again. Rubbing his now sore shoulder, he called after Cupid, “Then why did you shoot at all? Why not spare them the pain if it’s so bad?”

Without turning back, the cherub threw his answer back over his shoulder, “because if there is no true love in the world, what’s the point of it all?”

[Author's Corner]

It was the prompt that caught my attention. Felt like writing something, but lacked inspiration, so I trawled around until I found something inspiring. I looked at http://writingprompts.tumblr.com, which had a couple of great ideas, even if they began to repeat after a few pages. I'll end up rewriting this, because the pacing is off and I want to expand on the descriptions, and overall I rushed it. I wanted to get this written out in one sitting, and then I'll go back and fix and tweak and edit and revise and polish. I just needed to get something done this morning.

Also, there are a few things about this. This story takes place within the greater Salvation universe. I'm playing with different characters, different rules, figuring out how everything works together. In the end I want Salvation to be a cohesive, divine world that I can explore and play around in, so some known characters will come and go as I see what "fits". Cupid is an angel. Specifically, a Cherub, a high ranking angel. There are only a handful in the world, and I imagine they primarily deal with emotions. Cupid is probably the most "elite" of them, having custody over such a force as Love. Cherubs, as described in the Book of Ezekiel, have four faces - a man, an eagle, a lion, and an ox. So some of these features manifest in smaller ways; eagle eyesight, for example. I was also considering the idea of masks, of a blank face with four masks that rotated to fit whatever the need or emotion. This is all still highly conceptual.

If you have any ideas, suggestions, feedback or comments, I would be happy to hear it! Thank you for reading.

The Last Sunrise v.2

Chairman Corso drank his tea, waited for the sun to rise, and contemplated the end of a world.

It was dawn on November 11th, 2103, a date that would have been otherwise unremarkable were it not to be the last day of Earth. The location was the United Nations headquarters in New Geneva; a large, cavernous room with floor to ceiling windows that faced east, overlooking the glowing, bustling city. Even at this early hour, before the sun had fully risen, the city was already awake and busy. The network of electric monorails darted and dashed between the towering sprawl of buildings. They had not yet made any announcement to the public. They went about their business in ignorance, not knowing what loomed above them.

The Chairman brought his cup up to his lips again, sipping the warm honeyed tea. It was perfect; the most divine cup of tea he could ever remember tasting. Maybe that was just sentiment. Wanting to feel that here, at the end of days, there could be small comforts. His eyes flickered back to the horizon, just starting to lighten with the first rays of the sun. There, just to the right of where the sun would rise, was another tiny speck of light. It might have been a star, though it had an odd, pulsing glow to it.

That tiny mote of light was why the Council room was filled with more than two hundred representatives. The leaders of all the nations in the world, united under a common banner. So many bodies packed together, standing shoulder to shoulder, yelling and shouting to one another as they argued over what should be done. Demands were made, suggestions were given, and nothing was decided. The cacophony of clamoring voices washed over Corso, until one in particular pushed its way through the chorus of voices and asked, very quietly, "Chairman? Sir, shall we give the order?" It was Austin, his personal assistant, who stood a few feet away, but was the only one on the same side of the room as Corso.

The order. The last order he would ever give, and the reason the Council had been summoned. He did not answer immediately, still lost in thought. Austin hesitated, unsure if he should repeat himself. He had decided his employer had not heard him, but before he could repeat himself, Corso finally spoke.

"There is nothing we can do?"

Corso did not turn away from the window, or the scene before him. Austin took a single step closer, glancing down at a series of readouts on the tablet he held in his hands, "Sir. The Neph's technology is far too advanced. We have run the calculations over and over, but the result is always the same. One hundred percent eradication of all life of Earth. We had no indication from first contact or the summit meetings that they possessed this kind of technology."

The Neph were an alien race that they had first encountered several years ago, and it immediately changed the scale that humanity was dealing with. Every nation on Earth went from playing a global game to a galactic one. They had rallied beneath the banner of the UN, forgetting many of their political disputes to face the challenges this new game board would present. Humanity was already behind in terms of population, technology, and presence in the galaxy. They did not have a good start.

A human scouting ship had stumbled upon a Neph mining outpost. Each group had caught the other off-guard. Without a way to communicate it quickly escalated into a terrible, bloody ordeal with both sides suffering heavy losses. The two races had nearly gone to war immediately, but cooler heads managed to prevail, and diplomatic meetings were set up between the two races. The UN had believed they were making progress. Apparently they had failed.

"And the colonies?"

Austin didn't bother pulling up the reports. He knew them by heart, having spent every waking moment reading them over again, "Communication was cut off about a month ago. We considered it might be technical problems, but they would have sent some kind of signal by now. All sources indicate they were most likely disabled or destroyed in preemptive strikes. Even if we could get a few shuttles into deep space, they would have nowhere to go. There is no outcome here in which we can survive."

Weeks of reviewing reports and calculations told him everything else he needed to know. They did not have the time or resources to prevent the sequence of events that the race known as the Neph had set into motion. Earth had literally hours left.

The last course of action they had prepared was a contingency plan. In the event that the Neph launched an aggressive assault against the human forces, they had a weapon they could launch that would, in return, wipe out the Neph forces. The Neph had long since abandoned their home world, and were confined to massive starships capable of housing and supporting generations of their kind. It wouldn't take much to ensure they were utterly destroyed. They had hoped it would suffice as a deterrent, to discourage the Neph from attacking until a peaceful resolution could be found. Clearly, alien politics worked differently than those on Earth.

As leader of the human nations, Corso had been closely involved with the first meetings they had with the Neph. Once they had figured out a way to communicate, they put a stop to the conflicts that had arisen during their initial contact. They had tried to find a non-violent end to the conflicts each side faced. Unfortunately, both sides needed the same resources - land, water, a new home - and these resources were scarce throughout the galaxy. Neither side could agree to the same terms, each side unwilling to compromise the safety of their people for the aliens sitting across from them.

Yet during these encounters, Corso had become acquainted with a new of the Neph. They were a brutish, reptilian race, with thick scaled skin and wide, flat faces. Their facial structure limited their expressive capacity, so lacking the subtle body language that humans could communicate in their faces, the Neph had adopted a complex form of verbal communication. It included deep layers of tone and inflection through pitch and tempo when they spoke. The result, to Corso's ears, was that the Neph sang when they spoke. Despite their unattractive appearance - by Earth standards - Corso maintained that Neph speech was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Their culture was rich and vast, stretching back centuries with much better documentation and records than humans had ever mustered up.

That was why their attack had been such a shock. There was nothing in their meetings to indicate they were planning this kind of strike, and nothing during their contact indicated the Neph possessed a weapon capable of wiping out the population of an entire planet. It would seem that during their first contacts, the Neph had seen the destruction left behind by the human forces. Not just in battle but on Earth, the Neph had seen the humans destroying their home planet, ruining the Earth until it barely sustained life. The Neph had been forced to abandon their world, but it was due to solar flares, natural disasters that rendered the surface inhospitable. The humans were desperate to establish colonies and seek new planets because they had exhausted the resources of one of the universe's most perfect planets. The Neph must have seen this has a blasphemous waste. The Neph had decided they could not risk further conflict with Earth, that the humans were simply too dangerous to keep around.

No matter how atrocious their decision, how impossible to imagine that the Neph could decide so simply to wipe them out, how could Corso justify a retaliation of the same kind? Earth's fate was decided, with no hope of changing it. How could humanity's last act in this world be to snuff out another civilization, in effect proving the Neph's point? Thousands of years of evolution had led to this moment; would the last act of the greatest race Earth had ever known to be one of spite? To declare that if the humans didn't live, no one did?

The representatives were becoming even more disorderly, shouting and yelling. Someone was slamming their fist upon the table, trying to prove his point through sheer volume. Austin, asked again, "Sir? Shall we give the order?"

How dare he end their song?

Finally, Corso turned to face the crowd. A few of the delegates noticed their Chairman, and straightened up, nudging their closest companions to do the same. When the congregation continued to argue, Corso cleared this throat, once.

Silence was immediate.

"I will see no more blood shed. We are not going to launch."

The crowd immediately erupted, shouts and demands being flung back and forth in futility, unheeded by the Chairman, who had turned back to the window. Let them argue, let them cry for their vengeance against the Neph. Without his authorization codes, they could not launch.

Austin stepped up beside his employer, looking out through the window, as if hoping to find some comfort in the scene his employer was taking in. In fairness, the universe had given them a fine farewell. The sun was rising, and it was beautiful. Even the usual smear of smog that hung above the city was thin, allowing the true colors of the sunrise to paint the clouds, turning the sky into a living painting. His voice shaking slightly, the younger man asked, "Sir. Kevin.. what do we do now?"

"I, for one, am going to finish my tea and watch this radiant sunrise. Then I will make the public announcement. You have the rest of the day off, Austin. I would suggest you spend it wisely."