Fitch had grown tired of that damned cherub of love, Cupid, using him for target practice. So he decided that the next opportunity he had, he’d put a stop to the weaponized-child’s rein of hurt on his heart.
“Tell you what Cupid,” Fitch offered, “let’s have an archery contest. If you win, I’ll fall in love with the first woman I see. If I win, you leave me alone.”
“Sure,” Cupid said with a smile, knowing he’d win.
On the day of the big contest, the two lined up side-by-side, bows in hand. Cupid shot first and Fitch shot Cupid.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
Leave a comment