Of Half-Naked Flying Dwarves

After ten minutes of continually torturing my forehead, my head started hurting too much to bang it on the table anymore.

So, I raised my head slowly, rubbing the large red circle in the middle of my forehead. And then…I looked at my watch. Crap! I had ten minutes to get to work. Bloody brilliant!

Harry flew from my mind as I scrambled around collecting my things together and throwing them on the kitchen table. I threw my hair back haphazardly, gathering up all my notebooks, magazines, papers, etc. to my chest. I lifted my leg up, using it to balance my papers on while I snagged my travel coffee mug and balanced it precariously atop the teetering pile. I glanced at the clock on the wall. My spoon was pointing to "About to be Late." I cringed and looked around frantically for my wand, I was going to be fired on the third week of the job. My wand was lying on the counter next to the toaster. I scrambled over to it, bent down, and picked it up with my teeth. Then I ran to the fireplace, and stopped, staring at the Floo powder.

How in Hades was I going to throw that powder into the fireplace? There was no way to use my hands as one wrong move would send the pile toppling. So, I stood there, desperately looking from the flower pot with the Floo powder in it, to the fireplace, to the clock, where my spoon had moved to "You're Gonna Get Fired if You Don't Get a Move On," and back, racking my brain for ideas.

In pure desperation, I stared at the Floo powder, willing it to fly into the fireplace on its own. Of course, it wasn't working. So, I stared harder, and began to advance towards the flower pot menacingly, hoping that it might get scared and throw itself into the fire. Surprisingly, it worked. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't because it was scared. It was because I tripped on a loose board, and in my effort to remain on my feet while keeping the tottering pile balanced, knocked the flower pot over. Some of the powder flew through the air and landed in the fire, causing green flames to leap up. The rest ended up either in my hair or up my nose.

I managed to stay on my feet, jump in the fire, spit out my wand, and yell, WITCH WEEKLY OFFICES, before I began sneezing. Surprisingly, I got spit out at the correct fireplace. Unsurprisingly, I landed flat on my face, my papers flying around me, and my coffee spilling down my front. Luckily, my wand had managed to stay with me and was not currently shooting out of someone's fireplace in Bora Bora.

Anywho, I grabbed my wand waved it at all my papers and things, and pointed it towards a cubicle across the room. They shot towards the cubicle. I sprinted after them and dove into the little space.

Why, you might be wondering, was I in such a hurry to get to my cubicle when I had already arrived at work? Well, I'll tell you…see, my boss, an evil, ugly old hag who always, always, wore a navy blue pantsuit with HUGE brass buttons running down it, Mrs. Bartleby, had this rule that getting to work on time meant getting to your cubicle on time and being in the process of doing something productive the moment the clock struck nine o'clock. She went so far as to place little miniature versions of herself on our desks that screeched, "You're late, you're late!" at the top of their squeaky little voices until the real Mrs. Bartleby came running to reprimand you. Or fire me, of course, as I was new on the job and she hated me.

Why did she hate me, you ask? Because the twins had tried to get her to let them advertise in the magazine and she wouldn't let them. Needless to say, they didn't take too kindly to this treatment, and sent her a few "gifts" in the mail, one of which being a portable swamp that went off the instant she opened the package, trapping her in a repulsive smelling quagmire in the middle of her office. The swamp was charmed to keep her in there until she agreed to let them advertise in the magazine. And since she is now out of the swamp and I am working for her, she obviously agreed to the Dynamic Duo's terms, albeit unwillingly. It's a miracle I even got hired. I think the twins were in on that as well. I think they threatened to do something drastic like permanently change all of her navy blue pantsuits bright pink if she was prejudiced against me.

But on with the story, I dove into my cubicle, grabbed the top packet of papers that had arrived before me, got out a quill, and began to edit the article, right as the little miniature Mrs. Bartleby was taking a giant breath to start screeching. She stopped mid screech, making a strangled sound and promptly began coughing. I smirked at her, and turned back to my editing, still breathing rather heavily and feeling rather uncomfortable as there were excessive amounts of Floo powder in my hair and a wet streak of coffee down my blouse.

Since I was new on the job, I got the unpleasant task of proofreading drafts of articles written by all the writers of Witch Weekly before the articles went on to the chief editors. I had to check for run-on sentences and whatnot. It was incredibly boring, and usually, I edited everything quickly and then passed the time talking to my friends in the cubicles around me or reading. But, as mini Bartleby was watching me intently instead of dozing off like she normally did once I began working, I thought it best to appear to be absorbed in my work. The little eyesore not only screeched when I was late, she also reported to big Bartleby telling her if I was working hard or not. The little pipsqueak. There had been many a time when I had fantasized about squashing her with the dictionary on the side of my desk until she was nothing more than an ugly, navy and white blob.

So, there I was, minding my own business, editing some article about the correct way to make the most effective Ear-Wax-Be-Gone potion (all I have to say is, ew…double ew.) when the file cabinet in the corner of my cubicle shook. I peered at it, wondering if maybe I had just imagined it. But then it shook again, and this time there was a muffled growl coming from it. My eyes widened, and I grabbed my wand. Maybe it was a boggart. Oh, that would have been just dandy. The perfect way to continue with my already horrible day, a troop of evil clowns barging through my cubicle. I am petrified of clowns. They absolutely terrify me, and I would rather not talk about them, thank you very much.

I continued to stare at the cabinet, wondering if I should go ahead and open it or just levitate it across the room so I wouldn't have to deal with it. The latter would probably get me into trouble, so I decided I would just open it and get it over with. So, I cautiously approached the cabinet, wand at the ready. It shook again, and I jumped, but I kept reaching for the handle. I hesitated slightly, and then I yanked it open, turned around and leaped under my desk, hands over my head, and wand pointing towards the cabinet. Alright, so I wasn't exactly displaying my Gryffindor courage at the moment, but come on! We were talking about clowns here! I was terrified, and you would have been too if you're twin brothers had turned your pillow into one when you were little and you had woken up with it latched to your head, pulling your hair, and laughing maniacally. So there, you can stop laughing at my phobia now.

But, I stray from the topic. I cowered under my desk for a full minute before I realized that apparently, nothing had happened. I slowly opened my eyes and peered out from under my arms. There, about two inches in front of my face, was the scowling face of a bearded man. I yelped and jumped up, banging my head against the bottom of my desk.

"Ow!" I yelled, rubbing the back of my head. Then I remembered the ugly man and looked around frantically, waving my wand around. But he was gone. I relaxed, figuring I had just imagined him and turned around to sit down. I yelped again. The man's face was once again two inches from mine.

He grimaced when I yelped, "Would you stop doing that? You're giving me a headache," he growled. I just gaped at him. He had moved back and I had realized that he wasn't a man at all. He was a dwarf…a flying dwarf. And he was wearing what looked like a pair of boxers with little red and pink hearts zooming around on them. To top it off, he held a golden bow in one hand and a heart-tipped arrow in the other. The rest of the arrows were strapped on his back in one of those…arrow-holder thingies. He looked like a demented version of…but it couldn't be, there was no bloody way it was…

"Yes, alright? I'm Cupid, the bloody son of bloody Aphrodite, yeah, that's me, the bringer of love. You got a problem with that?" he said menacingly, still scowling at me. I decided I should say something.

"Erm…no, no problem. But, erm…what're you…doing…here?" I had begun to think that it was about time to check myself in to the Psyche Ward of St. Mungo's.

He scowled some more, "Helping you realize your feelings towards you're one true love," he said this as if it were poison. He seemed thoroughly disgusted with the idea.

Yep, I was pretty sure it was time to call St. Mungo's. "Right, well…ummmm…why, exactly?" I asked. I was rather confused. And my head hurt. It had been banged around a lot that day.

"What are you, stupid?" he asked. I was slightly taken aback. I mean, I thought my question to be perfectly reasonable. It's not every day a half-naked dwarf pops out of you're filing cabinet saying he's Cupid, even if he's only a figment of you're imagination. "It's four days till bloody Valentine's Day," he said the name with revulsion, "and you won't admit you're feelings towards you're one true love. So now I'm here to guide you're way down the path of love," he then looked up and yelled, "I'm doing my bloody job! Are you happy now, mother?" He seemed to receive some sort of answer because he snorted, crossed his arms, and looked at me again, saying nothing more.

Yep, call out the men in white! I had officially lost my gobstones!