Cupid Was Pissed Off

“Ah. February 14th.” I stretched. “It’s time.” I’d planned this all year. Carefully put together the correct apparel, all in black, with metal studs, and chains. Had the feathers on my wings died black too. The same black as the night sky. The same for my hair.

Everyone thought I was nuts, but I knew what I was doing.

I’d purchased a new bow. Not a cheery, red one, or one that showed off the grain and color of the wood it was made from. Instead, I went with a black, carbon fiber composite. With arrows that had fiber composite shafts, and gleaming, titanium coated, stainless steel tips, with barbs. The barbs were cast at angles from the arrow heads, so they would stick in better, and cause way more damage to remove.

“Just a few hours, and it will be dark enough to start.” I’d start in Australia, where the sun set first on Valentine’s Day. “Don’t worry, ladies. I have heard your cries.” I smiled at myself in the mirror. It was long past time someone did what I was about to do. Long past time someone corrected the behavior of certain human men.

I looked back at my friends list on the human social network, “Facebook”. I knew their names so well. Every name. Every story. Stories of betrayal. After ten years, fifteen years, twenty years of marriage. Where he didn’t even ask to leave, and never mentioned anything was missing or wrong. Where he went out, and found a new model. Like he was buying a car, and trading the old model in.

Stories of abuse. Where he screamed at her. Told her how useless she was. Always set her up for failure in everything. Told everyone how she was good for nothing. What amazed me was how few times he physically assaulted her. Assault made the abuse obvious. It wasn’t like the emotional, and psychological abuse, which was hidden from the eye. You couldn’t see a broken, bleeding spirit. You couldn’t see the tears a soul cried.

I carefully loaded my black leather quiver with my deadly arrows. “It’s going to be a fun night indeed.”

Oh, the number of times I’d read that one story. From so many different women, of so many different ages. “He owns a gun, you know. And sometimes, I wonder. Would he use it? Is it worth finding out?” So, they let him do whatever he wanted. And they did whatever he wanted. It was always non-consensual. Always forced. Always done to stay alive. To be safe.

It had taken a few years for me to wake up, to understand what was happening. To see the never ending fear, and abuse, so many human women lived with daily. But, once I understood, I found I had no choice.

“But! Cupids are supposed to spread love! We shoot people with love arrows, that don’t really hurt them. And make them fall in love. And have glorious times, and glorious memories.”

Yeah. Right. Memories that too often ended in broken lives, and shattered souls, who could never really be whole again. Who would always wear the scars others put on them. Who would always have those fears, and the never ending dreams, the never ending nightmares, of what had happened. And of it maybe, one day, happening again.

“Spread love, my ass…”

I waited for the sun to set. That was when I’d commence spreading a little of my own love. There were going to be a lot of smug, arrogant, abusive men who visited hospital emergency rooms on that Valentine’s Day.

I’d guarantee that. Hell. I’d shoot them all year after year. Until they either died out, or they learned.

“Whatever it takes, right? Whatever it takes.”