With only two weeks left of Writing Prompt Wednesday, Rohan of the Ruin, I hate to take a break, but this week I am, and for a very good reason!
I received four chapters back from my editor for my first full-length romance novel. They still need some rewriting before officially being edited. Along with getting those chapters back comes a deadline, so I’ve got to take a quick break from Writing Prompt Wednesday this week. I hope you understand!
That all being said, let me make it up to you with a recent submission I sent in for a writing contest. It didn’t win . . . but I think it ended up pretty cool!
So, without further ado, please accept this short story as my humble apology for missing Writing Prompt Wednesday this week.
The Writing Prompt was: Missed Connections
“For this year’s writing contest, we chose a theme that is centered within the romance genre. Typical “missed connections” stories involve themes of brief encounters, unlikely friends, meet-cutes, and potential love. Your story does not have to involve a romantic connection, so feel free to get creative and interpret this theme however it may inspire you!” – 48 Hour Books
Cupid’s Arrow and the Human Condition
By: S. E. Fisher
Copyright 2025: This Book Beauty & S.E. Fisher
Bayla’s yellow polka-dotted rainboots splashed in the puddle just outside the flower shop she operated on Cupid Street. She’d chosen the location because of the big picture windows, the cute spring green and cream-colored awning, and the beautiful red cobblestone that ran down the sidewalk out front. The name of the street was a bonus that often made her chuckle. If the people in Pickleberry knew she was one of the famed Cupid angels, they’d have a complete come-apart. Unlike some of her fellow cupids, Bayla enjoyed living among the mortals whose hearts she worked so closely with.
She slipped the skeleton key from her pocket and into the lock on the beautiful old door that led into her little store. It wasn’t much, but the black and white checkered floor had appealed to her when she’d been in the market to purchase. She brushed her fingertips over the flowering stems as she walked in and smiled when the buds perked up, their colors brightening, and petals spreading to full bloom. Spring was in the air and the sense of renewal called to her.
She closed her clear bubble umbrella and hung it on a coat rack behind the check-out counter along with her rainbow-striped raincoat. Her denim overalls had been saved from the splashing rain by her boots and she was thankful she wouldn’t have to walk around on wet hems. The rain had let up during her walk to the shop and was due to stay away for the remainder of the day. The Sun was expected to show its face later and the town would come alive with residents enjoying the beautiful weather.
Bayla tucked stands of ginger hair that had escaped her ponytail, behind her ears and flipped on the light, illuminating the brilliant colors and shades of the flowers around her. She turned the tin ‘open’ sign around and moved her a-frame chalkboard out onto the sidewalk under the awning. She glanced around, watching the mortals move about their daily activities.
Across the one-way road, the park already teemed with life as more people ventured from their homes to romp in the new spring grass. A worn wooden bench sat facing the park, the planks of wood darkened by the rain. Bayla’s eyes caught on the figure seated there and she reached into her well of power, sending a whisp of it out and stretching it toward the person.
The moment her power wrapped around the woman she could see down into her heart, to the things that pained her, the things that she loved and desired. Magdalee Jones was all alone. Tears welled in Bayla’s eyes and she wiped them away with the tip of her finger. Magdalee had been widowed years before, with no children or kin to speak of, and as time marched on, she found herself lonely and wanting.
Bayla smiled softly at Magdalee’s back where she sat across the way. Loneliness was her specialty and the 89-year-old Magdalee was her new project. She started by sending a young couple, their new baby resting peacefully in the stroller they pushed between them. They stopped to rest beside Magdalee and chatted for a while. Bayla watched the mother reach down into the stroller and pull out the cutest bundle of blue blankets she’d ever seen from afar. The woman handed the bundle to Magdalee, a cloud of wonder and love spread around them like invisible smoke. Bayla saw it though, and her smile grew. The couple eventually moved on, continuing their walk around the park.
She stood in the door of the flower shop, a collection of stemmy wildflowers folded carefully inside of kraft paper that she tied with twine in a neat bow. Bayla admired her work and settled the finished product in one of the galvanized metal flower vases she had placed around the shop with her ready-to-buy bouquets.
She focused her attention across the street again, Magdalee still sat on the same bench, hunched with age and a world-weariness she could only begin to guess at. Cupids didn’t grow old or tired, but watching the lives of the mortals around her flare so brightly and burn so quickly often made her wonder if true sadness was something she was capable of as an angel.
Bayla sent the next person along to keep Magdalee company, a young boy, around five with skinned knees and muddied clothes. He gripped a baseball tightly in one hand while he wiped his eyes. She’d sensed him in the park, separated from his brother and scared. Sending him an encouraging pulse toward Magdalee would serve two purposes, providing company to a lonely woman and protection to a little boy until his family could find him.
Bayla took a short break at the turquoise bistro set in front of one of the shop windows. She’d placed the little table and chairs there shortly after opening, wanting somewhere for people to sit while shopping if they needed a break, or in her case, if she wanted to watch the mortals enjoy life and ponder where her services might be useful. Magdalee patted the bench next to her and the little boy hopped up to sit. As they spoke, the little boy’s tears dried and he quickly became quite animated, moving his hands as he talked and swinging his feet.
By the time his brother found him, the older boy frantic and tearful himself, the young boy had become fast friends with Magdalee. He even gave her a quick hug before jumping off the bench and taking his brother’s hand. The older boy smiled with relief and thanked Magdalee profusely. From across the street, Bayla grinned, the sense of fondness spread around the elderly woman, pulsing with life.
She stood to go back inside the shop, there were more bouquets to prepare and a new shipment coming in shortly, but stopped before she could take a step. She glanced across the street again. A simmering darkness approached from further down the way and Bayla reached toward it with her power. The pain that festered within that darkness made Bayla sad and the desperate energy that wove through it worried her. On a whim, Bayla sent a pulse toward that darkness, sending it toward Magdalee’s path. She went back to work, monitoring the cloud of darkness that roamed around the park until finally settling down near the woman.
As she worked, Bayla kept tabs on the person who came along with a sense of foreboding and anguish. She glanced out the window at one point and caught sight of a young man, still early in his adult life, sitting next to Magdalee on the bench, his head bent as his shoulders shook.
Bayla grimaced, whatever had caused the man’s pain continued to wrack him as Magdalee’s withered hand settled on his back and began to rub in soothing circles. Something in Bayla’s chest seized at the gesture. The human condition allowed for this beautiful and heartbreaking moment between the young and the old. By the time the man stooped and squeezed Magdalee in a tight embrace, the dark cloud hadn’t dissipated, but there was a part that seemed maybe a little lighter than it had been when he arrived at the park.
She startled at the sound of footsteps on the ceramic tile of her show floor and Bayla realized she’d been tuned in to Magdalee so strongly, she hadn’t noticed a customer walk in. She smiled at the older man and a brilliant plan began to form in her mind. Bayla enjoyed chatting with the mortals who came into her store as there was always a reason, they were visiting a flower shop and usually, it involved big and emotional moments in their lives.
“What are we celebrating?” Bayla asked sweetly as she arranged stems of daffodils, lilies, and baby’s breath artfully atop a crinkly brown paper.
The older man busied himself around the shop, taking in the other small trinkets she had available, “Oh nothing too much. My late wife enjoyed having a fresh vase of flowers on the table, so I stop once a year on her birthday to buy a bouquet for the kitchen.”
Bayla tilted her head and let her power seek his heart, focusing on the memories of his late wife, the pain and grief that resided there. His Lola had been gone for twenty years and the wound of missing her was still healing, though what she saw in his spirit gave her hope. He was brimming with love to give and there was space there, the perfect space for new beginnings.
“Lola was a lucky woman,” Bayla smiled. She placed a gentle hand atop his own which was worn and craggy with age.
“How did you –” he started, but Bayla stopped him with a shake of her head.
“Desmond, there is a woman across the way. Take her these flowers and say hello.”
His puzzled expression smoothed out as her power worked its way into his soul. The cupid’s arrow, it had been called in the past, the way the power filled and warmed and spread until love was all that remained, everything else having been diluted in the path of the arrow. Bayla handed Desmond the bouquet, wrapped with care and her own version of love, the closest she could possibly experience as a cupid. The older man took the flowers and his cane and wandered out the door, across the cobblestone, and over the gray asphalt street.
Bayla stood at the window and watched, feeling giddy as Desmond moved closer to where Magdalee sat. She found herself bouncing on her toes, antsy for their first meeting. Desmond spoke briefly, holding out the flowers to Magdalee who grasped them graciously. He took up the place beside her and Bayla felt the moment they clicked. The cupid’s arrow having struck true. The arrow was invisible to mortals, but she saw the way the arrow tied the two of them together, how it strengthened the longer they sat talking.
Pleased with her day’s work, Bayla cleaned her shop, sweeping the floors and dusting. Dragging her chalkboard back inside the store, she turned the open sign around, then gathered her raincoat and umbrella, then flicked off the light. She closed the door behind her, the lock clicking into place as she turned toward the park one more time.
Across the way, Desmond and Magdalee still sat together on the wooden bench, warm from the day’s sun, the invisible thread twining around them in strong ropes of red and pink string. The bouquet of flowers sat clutched in Magdalee’s wrinkled hands and as she walked away, Bayla sensed Magdalee’s loneliness subsiding like the ebbing tide. Humans lived so vibrantly, their hearts capable of incredible love and joy, and for just a moment, Bayla let herself envy that ability. She turned toward home, popped open her umbrella, and headed down the sidewalk, a cupid in love with the mortal condition.
I hope this makes up for my missing Writing Prompt Wednesday this week! Let me know what you think in the comments and as always, Happy Reading!
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