The Dart

We had a good quality dart board in the rock house, one I had brought with me from home. It was placed on the wall, and like most dart boards there was a ring of holes around it where people (not KW) missed. There was no dartboard in the corner, as 90 deg. angles don't make for a good place to hang things flat. This did not stop us from throwing darts at the corner. Usually these were thrown from distance, backwards, through the legs, blind, or from a sitting position - anything to make it challenging. Readers becoming familiar with this blog, or those familiar with camp, will not question why I was sitting in the recliner underneath the target corner. I just was. It was there and it was easier not to move than move. Darts were being thrown and I was being warned. I shrugged it off because masculinity required it and we were all so scared to show fear in front of each other thinking that made us strong. If i had taken one to the forehead - with accompanying blood - sympathy may have been forthcoming, but my luck was much funnier. In what must have been slow motion, a dart hit the wall, hung precariously for a few seconds, then fell out and adhering to the laws of gravity it careened point down towards me. Into the top of my head it went, not hard enough to cause serious injury, but hard enough to stick and stay standing up. The pain was not too bad and so I kept my wits about me, waited for the comedic pause, and then casually asked, "There's a dart sticking out of my head, isn't there?" I slowly felt across my head for it, plucked it up, eyed it for a moment, threw it against the opposite wall and sat back down.