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Cupid's Big Break

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This is meant to be my own idea of humorous fiction. All beings involved are at least 18 years of age. No villagers were hurt in the making of this story. I apologize right now to anyone who finds blasphemous my attempts at humanizing the deity. I hope you enjoy this tale. All comments are welcome, and votes are appreciated. Thanks for reading me.

*****

Cupid's Big Break

He sat on the curb, swigging from the bottle in the brown bag, and wondering how the fuck all this had happened.

Four days ago, he'd been happily on his way, his wings bright and white, his arrows red and ripe with love. His diaper was just the way he liked it, freshly pressed, nicely starched, every fold perfect and precise, and everything had been rosy in his world.

Then, he got the message. That dreaded message from the big guy. He was needed. It was urgent and only he, Cupid, could do the job. He hurried up to the top office, trying to brush down the cowlick on the front of his hair with a saliva soaked hand. Standing before the huge double golden doors, he stopped and took a deep breath. Before he could knock, the doors slowly opened, revealing a long office with a ceiling painted by Michelangelo himself, now that he wasn't busy.

At the end of the room, seated behind a massive desk of gold and silver, was the big man himself. Cupid approached slowly. He'd never been contacted personally for a job before, normally just winging it from town to town, doing his own thing. This was a big moment in his career, a make or break situation.

It seemed to take all eternity to cross the room. Cupid figured that was the point of having an office that big, but he finally reached the front of the desk, standing up on tiptoes to look over the top. He studied the big man, not sure what he'd expected. Of course he'd seen pictures, who hadn't, but they didn't do him justice, not at all.

A firm square jaw was the first thing Cupid noticed. Then full but manly lips under a well-trimmed mustache. God's nose was hooked at the end, and maybe a little bigger than necessary, but it was all because of the aesthetics of the idea of perfection that he had made it so. His eyes were blue, and were twinkling, but Cupid knew that when God was pissed, his eyes stormed with steely gray lights that flashed lightning at whatever poor soul had crossed him. His hair was dark brown, short and well cut. After all, being the head man in heaven meant you had connections to the best stylists, such as Delilah. He had an angular face and was well tanned. Tall and broad across the shoulders, with a charismatic presence, God made quite the package.

"Cupid! My good friend!" God pushed back from the desk and came around it, grasping Cupid's small hand in his big beefy one and shaking it so hard Cupid's feathers shook and his arrows rattled in their quiver.

"Lord," he managed to squeak as he tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

"Have a seat, have a seat." He waved the small cherub into one of the huge, deep leather chairs and took the other one instead of going around the desk. "How've you been?"

It's serious, Cupid thought. The big man never put on the front of such camaraderie. He was too busy. Even just sitting where he was, Cupid could hear the rattling of about a dozen printers behind the big desk and see ream after ream of cloud paper with heavy font disappearing into slots in the floor.

God saw him watching and laughed. "Those are nothing, just prayers that aren't realistic. The little girl in the twenty-fifth floor apartment who prays for a pony, or the man who wants to win the lottery. I wish they'd at least learn to buy a ticket before they start praying. It'd make my job easier. There are some pretty sad ones there too that I just can't answer the way they wish. Instead, they are sent to the Do Gooder's hall. We ship the prayers off to the do gooders of the world and let them handle it."

Cupid nodded as if he understood. It felt weird to him, being treated as an equal by the head man himself. He found himself looking around the office, until he noticed the silence.

"Oh," he squeaked again, "I'm sorry, Sir."

God waved his hand, shooing away the apology. "No, it's perfectly all right. It's not every day you get invited into the... 'inner sanctum.' " He made quotation marks with his fingers a la Austin Powers as Doctor Evil. "Coffee?"

Before Cupid could speak, God waved his hand and a small puff of smoke appeared. It disappeared just as quickly, leaving a stunning girl, platinum hair curled around her face, standing there with a tray of coffee. Even Cupid, in his cherubic state, couldn't help but notice the sensual heat that came off this girl in waves, from the tips of her pointed-toe pumps, up the long tanned legs that disappeared under a white dress that seemed very familiar, over curved hips and rounded breasts to a face that would make God himself drool, as a matter of fact, just as he was at that moment

"Mr. God," she lisped sexily. "Coffee, tea or me?" She giggled, her shoulders shaking, her breasts jiggling under the halter top.

"Just the coffee for now, Marilyn. But keep your schedule open for later." God waited as she set her tray down and then stepped back, winking at Cupid before tugging softly on one earlobe. A burst of air came from the floor and caught the blonde's skirt, pushing it up and exposing long golden thighs and just the hint of dark brown curls between them before being slapped down by the tantalizing tart.

With her legs spread and the dress blowing up around her arms, her hair blowing into her eyes, she made quite the picture, one Cupid was sure he'd seen before but he just couldn't place.

She laughed, winking at God and breaking into a chorus of "Happy Birthday, Mr. God," in a wispy little voice that reeked of sex. God waved her out of sight once more. "I know it's wrong," he said to Cupid, "but I just can't seem to stop myself. She's just so cute." He reached out and poured the coffee, adding three sugars and two creams for the cherub and handing it to him without asking. He fixed his own and sat back, sipping the rich brew with a small smile upon his face.

"Mmm, brewed fresh from the mountains of Peru by Juan Valdez's grandfather, I always knew I did good getting him before old Nick could." He sipped again before he sighed and sat the cup down. "We have a problem, Cupid and you are the only one that I can count on to fix this mess."

Cupid wondered if God's problem was with geography, since Juan was from Colombia, and not Peru.

God reached over the coffee tray and picked up a long list. Handing it to Cupid, he sat back in his chair and waited, drinking his coffee and making little "mmm" noises every once in a while.

Cupid tried to look at the list, but the noises were, well, to be frank, annoying. He tried clearing his throat and rattling the paper a few times, but God seemed in his own world. So he cleared his throat louder. And nothing.

Sip, "mmm."

Cupid closed his eyes tightly, sighed loudly, and tried once more to concentrate on the paper. He scanned the first few names before God shifted in his chair, crossing his legs with a loud swish of fabric. He blew noisily into the cup to cool the hot brew and then sipped, slurping loudly. A loud sighing "mmm" came from between his lips.

"Good God!" Cupid exclaimed before he could stop himself. Then he instantly turned white. "Oh, Lord. Oh, I am heartily sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." His hands shook again and he dropped the list to the floor with a rustle of paper.

God hastened to assure the small winged angel. "Oh no, it was me. I just can't seem to sit still. I just wished I'd have thought of having Ritalin invented when I could have used it." He shook his head. Then he turned to Cupid. "Okay, my problem, and it's a big one. It revolves around the inhabitants of Valentine Island."

"Valentine Island? I don't believe I've ever heard of that particular place, Lord."

"No, Cupid. You wouldn't. Valentine Island is older than you by many millennia. It's the place where Love evolved and now lives."

Cupid sat and stared at the big man, confusion making his normal wrinkle free skin look like that of a ninety year old man.

God sighed, he hated to have to explain himself, and after a few of the last catastrophes that came about from him getting too involved with his subjects, he'd quit meddling. Look at Noah. Lazing around for forty days on that ark full of animals and his sons' wives. Oh yeah, Noah had been sorry about that one. Big deal, so he got parked on the side of a mountain. He made it down okay. But it had taken weeks to get the stale smell of sex out of the ark.

And look at Sodom and Gomorrah. That's what he got for betting on dung beetle races. Number six should have been a shoe-in. How was he to know that the beetle had a thing for number four, and had to make a pass right in the middle of the race? Even the damn beetles in that city were gay.

Was it his fault if he got mad when he lost? They should have known by then that he had a temper. He did feel sorry about the pillar of salt thing though, even though Lot had a few good nights with his daughters because of it.

Cupid was quietly drumming his fingers on the chair arm, waiting with increasing impatience as the big man seemed lost in thought. It surprised Cupid because you'd think with a place to run the size of heaven and earth, you would be more with it. But then again, who was he to judge. He was just a little wheel in the clockwork of this organization.

"So, Cupid," God's voice seemed to boom from everywhere, startling the little angel enough so that he lost three of his wing feathers.

"God!" he exclaimed as he jumped and tried to catch the feathers.

"Yes?" the head man asked in a silky smooth voice. "I think you were wondering how I ran my organization?"

"Oh, no sir, I mean yes sir. I don't know what I mean, Lord." He took a deep breath, stashed the feathers away in his quiver for the feather pillow he was making at home, and tried to calm down. "What do you need me to do, Lord?"

"I want you to go out to the island, find out what is going on with the villagers who watch over The Love and fix whatever is wrong. It could be dirty, Cupid. It might even involve dealing with sex. But I know you can do this."

"But Lord, I don't know the first thing about sex."

"You're kidding me. You never got it on with any of the little honeys that you stick with your arrows?" He stared at Cupid for a second and then slapped himself in the forehead. "You didn't, did you? Ah., hell." Just then an elevator appeared, a door opening and a small man stepped out, holding the doors and looking around the room. Muzak poured from the open doors and Cupid started humming along with the tune, realizing before he could stop himself that it was John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High." Oh, man, he thought, I'm never going to get that out of my head.

"Next stop, Hell," the elevator operator said, looking at Cupid with a smile on his face.

God waved his hand with a sigh and the elevator disappeared. "Sorry," he said to Cupid. "I just can't get used to the voice command functions. I really miss the red button. It was so much more intimidating, the trap door that opened under them and the long slide into," he looked around and then silently mouthed, "Hell."

"No problem, God. I just wish I knew how to help with this Valentine Island business. What happens if we don't get it straightened out?"

"Oh, not much. Love flowers on that island, and the pollen floats on the winds and over the seas to the rest of the world. If Love dies, on the island, soon the rest of the world's love will die too. Sex will become strictly for pleasure, children will be allowed to do as they wish, animals will be hurt and killed. Caring and joy will die, followed soon by faith, hope, and respect. Wars that are small will consume the world and then, well, there will be nothing left."

Cupid sat, stunned into silence. He stared into God's eyes, seeing the sadness, the emptiness of mankind's future. Finally he sat forward. "There's nothing you can do, God? You are all powerful. You created everything. Can't you fix this with a wave of your hand?"

"It's not exactly as easy as convincing an entire generation of female teenagers that Mick Jagger was sexy. I still have a hard time believing I pulled that one off. Love is much more tough, much more intricate. It's more than sex, more than caring. It's not logical or rational. And it can be selfish. Love is more than a feeling, more than words, more than sex between two people." He sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

Cupid was startled. He'd never thought he'd see God looking defeated. He had to help. Especially since God was depending upon him so much. He sat straighter, his wings raising, his quiver rattling as he thrust out his tiny chest. "What can I do?"

God sat forward in his chair and put his hand on Cupid's. "This is going to be rough, Cupid. I don't want you to think it'll be easy. You need to go to the island and fix Love. And you need to do it before Valentine's Day." He reached over and plucked one of Cupid's arrows out of his quiver. He held it in front of the cherub. "Look at your arrow. As Love dies, your arrow will grow dimmer also. These arrows are dipped in Love, that's what gives them their power and makes them so red. If you fail, your arrows will grow black. If that happens, you need to come back up here, Cupid. You don't want to be caught in the he..." God looked around quickly and sighed, "heck that will be happening down there."

"Valentine's Day? But that's less than four days from now." Exasperated, Cupid nodded, taking his arrow back from God. He noticed a smudge on the tip, a fingerprint that had to have come from the big man. He reached out without thinking, grabbed the nearest cloth, and started polishing the grease off the tip.

"Excuse me!" The voice boomed from everywhere and almost made Cupid deaf. He glanced up and saw he was polishing his arrow with the hem of God's robe. With a gasp of shock, and a large dose of fear, he let go of the robe and jolted back.

God picked up the soiled hem and stared at it in disgust. He dropped it and glared at Cupid, then got up and stormed to the other side of the desk. He picked up some papers and handed a number of them to Cupid. "These are your traveling documents and your ticket. Getting to the island isn't easy. I booked you public transport down to the Triangle. From there..."

Cupid jumped up and interrupted, an almost mortal sin in the presence of the Almighty, who always liked to have the last word. "The Bermuda Triangle? I can't go there. You know what's in that Godforsaken place?"

"Yeah, Cupe buddy, I do, that's why I forsook it." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You didn't let me finish though. I got you a guide through the Triangle. She's good. She'll get you through okay."

"Who?" the tiny cherub asked distrustfully.

"Hope."

"No." Cupid started shaking his small head, his wings fluttering in outrage. "There's no way in Hell that I'll be trusting Hope with my life."

At the sound of John Denver's quavery voice, God flicked his hand at the elevator without looking at it and decided he needed to put his foot down at the next CEO meeting about getting his red button back. Just getting rid of the elevator took up half his day. "Now let's not exaggerate, Cupid. She's not that bad and she's a fantastic guide."

"I heard what happened to the Atlanteans, God. I know Hope was supposed to guide them out of there."

"She was having a bad day," God said, resting his hands on his desk.

"She got them all killed and destroyed their civilization forever," Cupid exclaimed.

"Yeah, and it was a bad day. She's done a lot better lately. You'll be fine," God said, trying to sound soothing, not an easy job with a voice that boomed worse than some thumpers street racing on the strip in Las Vegas.

Cupid stared at the head man in disbelief. Not only was he being asked to do a job that was outside his purview, but it was in a strange land that he couldn't fly to himself, and he had to go through the Bermuda Triangle, guided by a girl who looked 18 but was actually almost as old as Cupid himself and the biggest klutz in history.

"I need you to do this for me, Cupid. Do it for the team, for the angels up here and for the rest of mankind down below. I have faith in you, Cupe. I know you can get this job done." He folded the rest of the travel papers in two and stuck them inside Cupid's quiver. He patted the little angel on the head. "One leaving," he said, seemingly into the air.

As Cupid's chair opened under him, God turned and studied the star map stretched out on his desk where Cupid couldn't see it. "This one might work," he mumbled to himself and circled a bright blue and green planet with a sharpie pen. He cleared his throat as he stared down at the name under the planet. "And on the third day, God created the Edsel." His face screwed up and he shook his head. "No, that doesn't sound right at all, and is somehow vaguely familiar. I'll have to do better than that," erasing the name with a flick of his left eyebrow.

Still shrieking from when the chair opened under him, and before he could get his little wings in motion, Cupid slid down a long, sleek, silver chute. It twirled him over and around, upside down and sideways, then took him in almost a straight shot down that lasted several miles. Cupid closed his eyes, feeling the wind rushing past him, ruffling his wings and messing up his hair. His diaper gaped at one leg and the he felt the air flowing up and around his butt, the diaper billowing open like a parachute and slowing him down.

There was a juncture up ahead, the slide branching off into two directions with signs in big pink neon lights overhead. The side to the left said "Bermuda Triangle." The side to the right, the side the switch was set for, was for the Hawaiian Islands. Cupid breathed a huge sigh. No one was at the switch. He could forget about going through the Bermuda Triangle and he could spend the rest of mankind's reign on earth shooting, what did God call them? Oh yeah, honeys. He could shoot himself some honeys in grass skirts and find out what this sex thing was.

He was feeling smug and slightly superior. Even the big man himself makes mistakes. Suddenly, before he could think one more self-congratulatory thought, he was stopped as if he'd run into an invisible wall. His teeth rattled, his bones shook, and if he weren't immortal, he'd have probably broken his neck. He closed his eyes and mentally counted his wing feathers, noticing he now had two more missing.

"Hey, Cupid."

"Oh no," Cupid thought silently. He opened his eyes to mere slits and peeped at the girl standing in front of him.

"Oh, no," he moaned again, this time aloud. "No, no, no. I'm going to Hawaii, I'm going to bask on the beaches with some suntanned honeys. I am not, I repeat, am not going anywhere with you, Hope."

"Geesh, I make one mistake, and it wasn't really my own fault, I might add, and now no one lets me forget it." The girl, black hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in full rich curls, her big cerulean blue eyes flashing with anger, sat down on the slide in front of him.

"Hope, you wiped out an entire race. How can that not be your fault?"

"PMS?"

Cupid's snort of disbelief was stopped by a loud rumbling noise behind him. He glanced around and noted a huge Hawaiian woman, her mountainous body swathed in yard after yard of bright red flowery muumuu, barreling her way down the slide, her legs straight out in front of her, a huge scream echoing behind.

"Uh, Hope?"

"I didn't mean to do it, Cupid. They were just so superior, so smug. They said they didn't need me and that they could do it themselves."

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