On the Wings of Hope: Prose (Chosen)

Cupid

"Ave! Did you check yesterday thought-mail? I left there a couple of new messages, concerning our couple and temporary-spatial coordinates for their potential meeting."

"Aye-aye, comrade sergeant, I checked on that. But you know that I have little experience yet, afraid to miss my target. And what exactly happens to people when you do miss – they haven't yet told this to us in the Academy, we were only given a generic induction, concerning safety measures and use of bows."

"Well, that depends on how you miss it," his current curator answered to the cadet with a smile. "It's possible to miss the way that you will feel sorry for all their lives, and they will never remember you by either a kind word or a warm thought. For example, if you strike their heads instead of hearts, they will respect each other with a guarantee – but hardly will pass hand-in-hand through, as we say, fire, water, and trumpets of Jericho. If your arrows hit their stomach spot, they will certainly love without fail – yet not each other, but their own refrigerators, especially at night, especially after 6 P.M. And if you happen to strike, well, below their stomach – the flame of passion in their relations will be able to burn them alive, but a warm flame of love will never spark. And our mission is to give them love. So – keep training with phantoms and don't miss." With these words the man with white wings and golden feather on his head, that was called as a sergeant, approvingly clapped his workmate in new given to both of them a mission and stood close to him at a shooting loophole of the fortress, observing with a smile how curly-headed pink morning clouds keep floating below.

"Thanks for explanations, comrade sergeant. I will surely consider that in my training!"

"And also when you pull a bowstring, move your wings back as well so the tension will get stronger, and impulse of Cupid will exceed one hundred of spiritual units upon hitting. If it gets below that value – they can indifferently pass by each other and will hardly have anything between them in the future. And if it gets greater than one hundred – it will always work, verified by experience."

"Comrade Sergeant, and why should this happen near a bus-stop? You wrote that to me in thought-mail yesterday. I, certainly, formed today a path for him there, made arrangements with colleagues, estimated times, gave him a couple of necessary thoughts, even shown a dream about this upcoming meeting. Yet I still don't understand – why are they supposed to meet with each other there instead of a nearby park, it's located not far away and there are fewer people there, it would be more comfortable for them to communicate with each other afterward."

"And this, pal, was not my will, but the higher one. I am too small and inexperienced myself to solve tasks like management of destinies," sergeant burst out laughing. "Department of Destinies Control provided me with all required data when I was appointed to this task. And there, as you well know, serious pals are working, and everything turns out to be calculated and verified by them in advance.

It's you, pals, who should be taught almost everything, even how to properly hold one's bow so that tears don't splash from one's eyes. So, should I demonstrate you how to strike a heart of humans so that their souls sing in joy afterward?"

"Aye-aye, comrade sergeant, please demonstrate!"

"Well, pal, look thoroughly!" skilled Angel-curator answered to the cadet, taking his bow from a belt. "Do you see phantoms of two people, created by me on that cloud? And now I just – w-h-o-s-h!" and loudly singing in the air arrow accurately pierced hearts of two targets that were standing one after another.

"My God!" cadet exclaimed in surprise. "Two in a row! Cupid impulse equals to two thousands of spiritual units!"

"Study, pal! Only that way they can be laid together in a row!" laughed the sergeant.

* * *

Today – if such a concept is applicable for worlds where time goes non-linearly – it was very briskly in the Academy. One can imagine! First spiritual-battle experience is not a joke at all, especially if there is a responsibility for a couple of two future lovers, lying on your wings.

Angela cadets, who were yet to be engaged into their first battle, accurately soared above the ground, holding bows of golden color in their hands. These bows along with specifically shaped for them arrows were the well-known invention of the legendary engineer Cupid, who has graduated from Angelic Military Academy with honors a lot of eons ago, and their most valued ability was to strike humans to death – in the sense that after direct hit in their hearts all negative feelings, created by opponents of Angels, were gradually dying away, obeying to imperious call of born sincere love. Actually, many people usually called these masters of arrows and bows by name of the inventor – even though this was incorrect, for each of them possessed his unique name, granted from above and difficult to pronounce in common for humans language.

This Academy was well-known in the Seven Worlds. Reminding unapproachable fortress, soaring in the air over the clouds, which were dimming the sky, it was a home for many of the best military engineers and smithy of the highest class of warriors. And one of these classes were such Cupids.

"Hold on! Quietly! Stand up in the air above the ground by the length of wings!" Elderly colonel, who has come through many battles with demons and was deprived by them of a half of his wing, was giving orders to cadets, who have arrived at firing practice, walking by parade-ground made from shining stones. "Divide into pairs for training firing practice! Move on to loopholes!"

Colonel walked to and fro from one loophole to another, checking combat readiness of his future soldiers and correcting from time to time their fighting stance, the position of wings, the validity of chosen targets, the tension of arrows and a lot of other extremely important aspects in a life of each and every real Cupid.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked at last.

"Aye-aye, comrade colonel!" hundreds of Angels, standing near castle loopholes, answered him as a chorus.

"Fire at will!"