21st Century Cupid: A Character Study in 500 Words (Or Fewer)

During time spent on lock down in the 2020 coronavirus outbreak, I produced a series of character studies, short shorts, poems, and vignettes in 500 or fewer words. Enjoy!

He steps into the light on the far side of the street and my breath stops. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes against the gentle mist. The light loves him. It clings to the smooth planes of his cheeks, highlighting the bow of his full lower lip. The mist coats him in glistening droplets that glow crystalline in the white street light, shining in his dark hair and on his pale skin.

Almost every visible inch of skin has been tattooed or pierced. Flames swarm up from under the collar of his long vinyl coat, licking around his ears and across the shaved sides of his head, disappearing into the black curls tumbling down and across his wide forehead. His arching brows are adorned with silver rings. So is his nose, pierced twice in each nostril, a heavy gauge hanging from his septum. Silver studs line both ears and I’d bet money on daith piercings. I can see whole poems on his fingers but he’s too far away for me to read the words running up his black-nailed fingers, around his wrists and disappearing under the cuffs of the jacket. Tear drops have been tattooed down one cheek. Cliché but effective; you gotta love the classics. He looks like cupid dragged through several levels of a hell dimension.

This late, there is no one else around but he has made himself to be watched. He’s designed for an audience, from the top of his rock star hair to the tips of his square toed boots. I wonder if he’s hiding his true self under all that mask, or if this is really him, all punk rock godling.

The light changes and he steps into the street, toward me. The light brightens on his face as he walks into the sphere of the lamp on my side of the street and for a heart stopping moment he seems to look straight at me. His eyes are green like sunlight on the Aegean. The thick, black lashes suggest to me that his dark hair is his own, not needing alteration to fit the aesthetic.

He’s beautiful, his features almost androgynous. The high cheekbones and firm jaw are masculine but the perfect doll mouth and slanted eyes are more typically feminine. He has wide shoulders but a narrow waist, his black jeans riding low on his hips, a flash of white skin between his tattered tank and studded leather belt. All the adornment heightens my initial impression: a Botticelli angel made flesh, fallen into a human body of lust and earthly delight.

He reaches my side of the street and steps into the shadow of the building. The rain coats him in glimmers. His eyes flash white and now he sees me. His chin dips, sending his eyes into shadow.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello,” he replies.