Beginner's Luck

by Poi Lass

This is how it began, yeah?

Friday night at The Queen's Arms. I'm out with the mates. Having a laugh.

I toss the dart at the board, from where I'm sitting, all the way across the other side of the room. I'm drunk, I'm messing about. And yeah, I know it's stupid to throw sharp objects around, but when you've had a few pints, who really gives a shit, right?

And then I feel something -- I dunno -- *click* -- inside me, just as the dart leaves my hand. It hits the bullseye. And the crowd goes wild...

That was the first time. But then, it's always the first time for me. Nature of the beast, see? It's like -- Nah, I'm getting ahead of myself. Lemme explain.

See, I thought it was a one off at first. Especially since I spent the rest of the night trying to repeat the trick and failing miserably. Over and over again I did it, or tried to, until everyone got sick of my new obsession and buggered off.

"Beginner's luck, Ted, you wanker," they said. "Just write it off to beginner's luck and shut the fuck up about it, all right?"

Yeah, right. Except that I'm not really a beginner. Been throwing darts at pub boards, off and on, for years. Missing mostly, it must be said, but still. It wasn't exactly the first time I'd ever done it. It was just the first time I'd done it since my mutant power kicked in.

Oh yeah, I knew it was a power all right. Or, at least, it didn't take me long to put it together. Could hardly miss it really, considering...

But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

So anyway, I spent the whole night there, trying to hit the bullseye from every angle in the room. People soon learned to duck, 'cos every shot went wild. And my aim got worse as the night went on, and I got drunker and more frustrated. But I kept at it, 'cos, see, once I'd done it that first time, I was just dying to do it again. I wanted to feel that absolute knowledge, that power, that -- *click* -- inside of me, knowing that it's going to go completely perfectly. You've felt like that, right? C'mon, it must have happened once in your life -- the feeling that you're on top of the world, that nothing can go wrong, that God is looking down on you, smiling, and saying, "Hey, I really love ya man, have a good time on me."

Anyway, it's getting on toward last orders. And I'm getting tired of it. And everyone is getting tired of me, going on and on about "the power, man, the rush..." and so I throw just one last dart, for the road.

And it hits the bullseye.

And everyone goes, "Hey mate, that's great, look, ya did it again. Well done Ted, ya talented bastard. Can we go home now?" And I say, "Yeah, sure," and just get my coat and leave. Cos I didn't feel anything at all as the dart left my hand. Not a damn thing. It was just -- luck, that last time, that's all it was. Or the law of averages: throw a dart enough times, in the general direction of a dart board, and sooner or later, it hits something. It had nothing to do with my power. I didn't feel the click.

I spent the next few days pretending to forget about it, which wasn't all that easy considering everyone I talked to kept making jokes about my being the new World Darts Champion, and hysterical crap like that. But it was always on my mind.

Until one day, not long after, I'm sitting at home, trying to write my c.v. -- and I ball up a piece of paper, and I chuck it at the bin.

*Click*.

And there it was again. That unbelievable, indescribable rush, the divine smile of God that seemed to last forever in the two seconds between the ball of paper leaving my hand, and it hitting the bin.

I tried it again, of course. And felt nothing, even when it went in, which wasn't exactly a big surprise by now. I was beginning to the hang of it by then. But then I started trying other things. If I threw something other than paper at the bin? It worked.

*Click*.

The first time.

So I spent all day long trying to find stuff I hadn't thrown yet, feeling it over and over again. Finally I got hungry, decided to cook myself something. Something new, something I'd never tried before. I forget the recipe now, chicken something, all I remember that it was the absolute best thing I ever ate. I'm there, in the kitchen -- which isn't really my scene, usually -- and I'm getting everything absolutely right. Everything is ready at the exact same time, everything is -- perfect. And the rush lasts so long I practically wet my pants. I mean it was orgasmic, I'm not kidding.

I can't get enough of it after that, I can't stop trying new things, anything to feel the rush. I drag the mates off to try a bunch of stuff I've never done before, big and small. The click comes sometimes, sometimes not, and after a while I start to see patterns in the sort of thing it works for. But one pattern is clear from the beginning: it only ever happens the first time. Just the first time. After that, I have to rely on my normal talents, and they aren't exactly up there, know what I mean?

And then I realised, that one thing I hadn't tried it on, that might be preeetty interesting, was sex. I decided not to though, after a bit of thought. Didn't want to waste it. Not until there was someone special. Not that I've ever been all that romantic, but shit, if you know the next time you have sex it's going to be the absolute best sex of your entire life -- of *anyone's* life -- you don't want it to be with just any old slapper, you know?

I gotta say though, jerking off, that first time after the clicks started -- that was really something. Something and a half, oh yeah... But afterwards -- afterwards it was the comedown, a depression I was getting familiar with. And the bigger the rush, the bigger the comedown. I was starting to really hate that.

And then I meet Gwen.

*Click*.

Beautiful, perfect, amazing Gwen. I fall like a rock, and -- maybe it was my power, I don't know -- but somehow she falls for me too. And we're perfect together. We talk together. We laugh, endlessly. She gets on with all my mates, God help her. I even like her parents, and bizarrely enough, they like me too. God looks down and smiles on us. And then we make love -- and it *is* making love, something I never really did before with anyone, even before my powers.

And *click*.

*CLICK*.

I wish I could find the words to tell about it. It's perfect. It's ab-so-lute-ly *perfect*. Like being in the centre of the sun, and I know she feels it too.

But then -- then it's the second time, and it's -- ordinary. The earth still moves, I mean, if I wasn't constantly comparing it to the first time, it would seem pretty special to me. But I feel sick inside, as if I've cheated her somehow, and I try to find the words to apologise. She just laughs at me, holds me tight, says, "Shut up, you fool. It was wonderful. Christ Ted, it can't be *completely* perfect, every time."

'Don't I know it,' I think. 'Oh, Gwen love, don't I just know it.'

But she kisses me, she loves me still, anyway, and suddenly it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter at all. Just to be with her is rush enough, and I don't need anything else.

I tell her about the power eventually, and she doesn't give a damn. I tell her every terrible thing about myself, I bare my soul to her, waiting for it to be over, for her to get tired of me, or for her to turn into someone *I* can't love anymore -- but it doesn't happen. And eventually I start to realise, that it isn't going to. That it's going to be me and her, forever and ever, and it's always going to be this perfect. Always.

I was going to ask her to marry me.

And then she died.

And I grieve, and I rage, and I fall apart, and everyone is sympathetic, and everyone hurts, because everyone loved Gwen. She was beautiful, amazing, perfect. Everyone loved Gwen. But after a while they start to get over it, and after a while they start wanting me to get over it too. They set me up on dates with the most beautiful, amazing women they can find. They really come through for me. I mean they scour the earth. And I go on the dates, and we chat, and we laugh, and sometimes I sleep with these beautiful, amazing women--

And nothing. Nothing.

No click.

Not ever. No click.

And there never will be again, you understand? One chance, at any one thing, that's all I get. That's how it works.

But then, when it comes to true love, I guess that's as much as anyone ever gets.

Only it's just a little bit different for me. Because for me it was perfect. Literally. Perfect. God looked down on me and smiled -- and then he looked away again. For good. And I -- well I just can't live the rest of my life like that, you know? I can't live the rest of my life, knowing that I'm never going to feel that again. Knowing that from here on out, it's all downhill. That it will all be like this, the dull light of normal life, of normal loves, and no more days and nights at the centre of the sun.

I just can't do it.

So I bought a gun today, and I spent an hour polishing it, and cleaning it, and making sure that everything was in full working order.

'Cos you know, I've never tried to kill myself before.

And I want to be sure and get it exactly right.

First time.

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