Heavenly (Mis)Match
Writing Battle: Heart 2025 entry.
2025
Read at the Writing Battle Site
Genre: Rom-Com
Character: Matchmaker
Object: Eraser
966 Words.
The cherub rubbed his plump, rosy cheeks in nervousness. “It’s not a big deal! Just divorce ‘em!” The cramped elevator forced his wings to awkwardly flap in Saint Valentine’s face.
The elevator lurched to a stop and opened its doors to the HR (“Human Relations”) Department. The saint made a beeline into the grand Hub of Love, angrily stomping through anyone who dared get in his way.
“You can’t divorce soul mates! It’s an unbreakable holy bond!”
“I’m sorry! English isn’t my first language!”
“Bryan Fitzpatrick and 真の愛男 are not even the same language!”
Cupid (formerly Eros from the deprecated Grecian subdivision) certainly had the requisite skills on paper, but he was not the most reliable when it came to following procedure. Usually his screw ups amounted to small, albeit annoying, discrepancies; Kirk Goodman first meeting his second girlfriend a week early, Julia Parsons picking Gordon Mung as her first crush instead of Oscar Taylor, things that could be worked around.
“We have thirty Earth minutes to find and erase the connection.”
Pairing mortal enemies as soul mates? That kind of mistake was the worst kind; Bureaucratic, with decades of paperwork.
Thunder rumbled through the clouds, threatening a downpour. The wind shook the trees and the canopy above the reception aggressively flapped about.
None of that mattered for the two most important people at the wedding ceremony.
“Bryan,” the bride began, “I won’t lie, it’s been a struggle. In so many ways, you’re my opposite. You’re loud, stubborn, selfish…”
“And a womanizer,” muttered the groom’s father.
“But I love you. I look at you and see all that I could be, and when you look at me you see that too. I thought all I would ever be was this quiet, lonely girl sitting by the fence, looking through and thinking the flowers on the other side were out of my reach and always would be.”
“Oh! My little flower!” The bride’s mother cried, uncontrollably wailing and sobbing as she usually did at weddings.
“You saw what I could be where others didn’t. You inspired me to stand up for myself, loosen up, and fight for what I want. I love you for all of those reasons and more.”
The holy duo found themselves in a tall, infinite room filled to the brim with scrolls, books, tapestries, and a small but growing section of floppy disks. It was a terribly organized mess that reflected the convoluted and arbitrary nature of their bureaucracy built on centuries of compromises, but…well…?
“Found it!” The boy angel flapped his wings triumphantly and slapped the scroll down. Saint Valentine scanned through the parchment for the proper entry.
“…This is for Byron Fitzpatrick, not Bryan!”
Cupid chuckled nervously, “English isn’t my first language?”
“Elaine,” the groom began, “I couldn’t understand you for a long time. You were so picky about everything; how to load the dishes, fold the laundry, how long the pasta should be cooked! It felt like the universe was yelling at me to leave!”
“Probably should have…” muttered the bride’s brother-in-law.
“But over time, I started to get you. I saw what you were really doing; keeping promises, giving a bit of yourself to others for no other reason than to give.”
“I’ll give you an ass whooping if you break her heart…” mumbled the groom’s sister-in-law.
“You care so much about others. You cared about me. You made me understand how to care. How to truly care about more than myself. I love you for all of those reasons, and more.”
“You filed it under the proper surname, correct?”
“Proper surname?”
Valentine suppressed the urge to scream, “The woman traditionally takes the surname of the man!”
“How was I supposed to know that! We didn’t have any of that in Greece!”
“By the power vested in me…”
“Okay, found it for real this time!”
“Give it to me!”
“I now pronounce you…”
The saint hunched over, violently scrubbing an eraser over the bond between the two Arch-Frenemies.
“C’mon, put your back into it!”
“Shut up! It’s harder than it looks!”
“…Man…”
“Don’t spit on the paper!”
“I thought it’d help dissolve the ink, maybe!”
“…and Wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
The gray clouds held in their water. The thunder petered out and let itself rest. The wind calmed. Everything seemed to stop. The bride and groom shared their first kiss as a couple.
Despite everyone’s consternation over the very existence of this relationship, they applauded with genuine happiness for them. Nobody expected them to last, but maybe, just maybe, it would be alright.
“Oh, clouds above! The recalculation of the family lineage alone will take a century and a half! 30 generations of planning ruined!” Saint Valentine collapsed in on himself in defeat.
The bond linking Bryan Fitzpatrick and Elaine Purdue emanated a soft, golden aura, symbolizing their unity to one another never to be broken. White crumbs of eraser powdered the document and the desk it rested on.
Cupid hesitantly broke the silence, “I’m sure it won’t be so bad! What’s a couple dozen new beings-”
“Hundreds of thousands.”
“…What’s hundreds of thousands of new beings needing to be calculated into existence in the grand scheme of things? I’m sure it won’t even be that many! Name half of them John or Mohammad, that’s already most of the work done!”
Valentine said nothing.
“So…yeah…I guess I’ll leave you to it then?” Cupid slowly floated his way towards the exit until the doors flew shut.
The Saint slowly stood with a holy grace befitting a servant of God. “How about we teach you how to read and write in all languages? It shouldn’t take you more than an eon and a half. I’m sure there’s some overlap between Klingon and Greek, you’ll be fluent in no time.”