Aiming for the Win

'Oh, how I loathe this dude right now," I said this to myself as Mason, the guy who I was referring to, processing to make his first move on the dartboard for the finals.

It's awfully crowded here at the Layback Otter Bar in Texas. People are either here for the discounted beer or the state dart tournament. As for me, I'm here for me.

Been a drinker for quite some time now. I forget how long it has been but it's been since I was discharged from the war. I like to drink my sorrow away so I don't feel anything.

Now, you're probably asking why a discharged war veteran like myself would be drinking at this establishment while watching a guy like Mason playing darts. That is because I am the other finalist going against this dude.

I've been a sharpshooter all my life thus why I was good when it came to playing darts. Or anything I can aim with. Back in the Army, I was a reliable sniper. I graduated from high school of course, and shortly after went into the military for ten years. Even in my highschool days, I was good at the javelin toss. Nowadays I have been hearing that no high school now does such a thing. A pity, I use to toss that like it was a football. Don't ask me if I played football, I'm not interested. I'm more interested in the Olympics when it comes to sports.

Anyways, why must I loathe a guy like Mason? Well, because he's arrogant rich asshole who thinks he's a big shot and can beat a scrub like me (his words, not him) in a game of darts tournament.

Gonna say as much as I loathe the dude, he was pretty good. Especially since he's a 2 time champion. Guess with all the hunting trip with his good old dad has been paying off good, at least for him. Mason focused on his first turn as everyone went quiet while some music was playing overhead in the speakers. "Little Lies" by Fleetwood Mac. A classic if you ask me. He let's go and it flew into a bullseye. Everyone cheered after Mason took his first.

'Lucky shot', I said this mentally.

"Good luck out there man. You got this," said my war buddy Darlyn as encouragement. Darlyn has been a good friend of mine since the very beginning of our military life. He was from a small town of Utah and his branch was taking a break. He's been my friend even after I got discharged.

"Thanks buddy. Much oblotched."

I get up from my stool and stood behind the red and yellow light. Next thing I do was aim for exactly where Mason was just a moment. However as I was aiming, my blurry vision was getting the best of me. Damn alcohol is causing me to do this.

"Anytime, Mr. Scrub," Mason says impolitely while smiling there. His two women who were in his arms laughed at his joke. A redhead and blonde, such a shame they have poor taste in men. They must have been paid from Mason's packet.

I ignored him however and focused once more. Once I took a deep breath from where I stood, I released my dart from my hand. A bullseye too and the exact spot Mason was.

Everyone cheered after my first try, except for Mason and his entourage. You should have seen the looks on their faces. It was a sight to behold. I turn to him and made an impression of Wolverine aka Logan would say to Scoot Summer (Cyclops): "You're next, pretty boy."

I then take my seat as Darlyn joyfully says: "Good shot there, Phillip! I knew you could do it!"

"Thanks brother. You're my good luck charm," I said as I drunk my 5th beer in a row that night.

"I think you should take a break and drink some water bud," said my friend.

"I'm good, Darlyn. Just a couple of more and I would be satisfied."

"You won't be if you get alcohol poisoning..."

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

"If you say so."

Eventually it all came down to the wire as Mason and I were both tied at the third round. Now it was time for a dart death match. DDM is what I kept calling it. Mason did his try but unfortunately for him, got a solid 20. A lot of "ooohs" from the crowd.

Mason looks to me yet was still being a corky little bastard as he went: "I bet you can't beat that, given from your drunken state."

"We shall see," I softly mentioned.

I went up to the line and aim for the same bullseye I have been targeting each throw. However as soon as I was about to throw my dart, I get tripped by Mason himself.

"Oops."

I fell on the flat of my face as my dart went forward and landed miraculously on a 20. Exactly the same spot where Mason was. Everyone was stunned. Especially me as well as irritated with this jerk off.

"Ref, what the heck. Can I do a redo!?" I asked the ref who was quiet along the sidelines.

"No can do. Rules are rules. Once you throw a dart, you land a dart."

"That's absolutely no fair! Mason tripped me."

"I didn't see anything," lied the ref. Mason must have paid him off as well.

"Typical," I whispered.

"Oh you poor little man," said Mason as he lend me his hand.

I don't accept his hand and I got up myself. Next thing I did was get up to his face and say: "You! You caused me my game."

"It's like you said: 'we shall see'."

"Selfish prick."

"What was that!?"

"You heard me!"

The ref came in between us and goes: "Now, now, gentlemen, let's finally finish this round once and for all."

I turned to my table with Darlyn and my seventh beer waiting for me. Mason went up and got exactly the same throw he got last time. A 20. Karma is such irony. Must be a bitch to him.

However he still gloats there as I made my stand. This is it. The moment of truth. I get up to the line once more and aim to the bullseye. After a ten seconds of full anticipation, I frick my wrist and released the dart from my hand. Time seemed to have slowed down there in the Layback Otter as the dart directly went to...

BULLSEYE!

Everyone there, expect for rich boy and his crew, cheered! I was given the trophy, then lifted up by a few people as everybody else in that bar shouted my name with glee: "Phillip, Phillip, Phillip!"

Darlyn comes by and responds with a "You did it bro! Congratulations! I believed in you!" He lend out a fist bump for me.

To that, I responded with: "It's all thanks to you, man." I next gave him a solid fist bump. However, I heard otherwise: "Ow, dude punched me in the freaking nose."

I was put down as everyone else attended to the guy with the nose bleed whom was Mason himself. That felt good, if only that was my intention.

"You're freaking crazy, Scrub! You no life! Enjoy that title while you still drink your sorrows away. I'll get that trophy back from your dead hands."

I was then left where I stood as I held my trophy by my lone self. Darlyn is

only a fragment of my imagination. After all, he got killed on duty when I got discharged.