No. 311

Cupid stood in the airport security line, waiting his turn along with everybody else. He placed his bag on the conveyor, and walked through the metal detector.

“Excuse me, sir, could you stand aside?” a security agent asked.

Cupid did as the man instructed. Another agent, the woman who was screening the bags, gave her co-worker some sort of hand signal.

Cupid’s bags were quickly pulled from the flow and put aside onto a metal table.

The woman spoke first. “What’s this?” she said, pulling a heart-tipped arrow from the bag.

“A heart-tipped arrow,” said Cupid.

“Sir, are you aware that arrows are strictly prohibited on flights?” said the man.

“Come on. It’s just a stick with hearts at the end, really,” said Cupid. “It’s relatively harmless.”

“The government doesn’t think so,” said the woman.

“They do not,” agreed the man.

Cupid sighed. “Every year,” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that, sir?” asked the man.

Cupid didn’t reply. He checked his watch. “I’m pretty busy,” he told the agents. “Am I going to miss my flight?”

“Sir—“ started the man, but he didn’t have a chance to finish.  

Cupid leapt over the table, removing two more arrows from his bag at the same time. With both in-hand, he threw one at the woman, and stabbed the man with the other.

Cupid stood back and admired his handiwork. The rest of people in line drew back, away from the confusing scene. “Don’t worry,” Cupid assured them. “None of you are going to remember this.”

Retrieving the arrows from the impaled pair, Cupid stowed them back in his suitcase and made for his boarding gate.

“Every year,” he said to himself again, shaking his head.

The two agents revived quickly. Blinking hard, they stared at each other.

“What just happened?” said the woman.

“I’m not sure,” said the man. “But, hey, do you want to grab a coffee later, or something?”