19. Luck Be A Lady (Nano Excerpt 2)

As far as he could tell, Darren Rogers was the unluckiest son-of-a-bitch on the face of the earth. He recognized that through most of his life he had a job, he had food to eat, and he was relatively healthy, and there were, afterall children starving, there was cancer, and there was AIDS and wars and any number of other horrible calamities befalling people all over the world. He had a leg up on those people, but ONLY those people, and ONLY just.

The day he was born a meteor crashed through the roof of the hospital, right into his mother’s room, crushing her and killing her instantly. His father slipped on the threshold while carrying him into the house the first time, and fell down the short flight of stairs and was also instantly killed. Darren survived without a scrape.

He would never know his parents, obviously, and was raised by his Grandmother, Iris. Thankfully, Iris never befell such a terrible fate, but Darren’s woes didn’t stop there.

When he was five years old and playing in his sandbox with two of his friends he was struck by lightning when a freak storm rolled in. He was fine, but his friends suffered permanent handicaps. They would never be allowed to play with him again. This would set the pattern for most of his relationships through out his life. And, incidentally, he would suffer lightning related incidents no less than 22 more times. Yes, he counted.

After graduating college he would move to New York, and be there just in time to witness and be surrounded by the tragic attack on The World Trade Center of September 11, 2001. He found himself covered in dust, and paralyzed by the fear and chaos around him. He woanted to help with rescue efforts, but he was terrified he would do more harm than good with his mere presence. He loved New York, but he would never be able to look at the city the same way again, and moved to London shortly after.

While working for an advertising agency in a posh, downtown office suite there was a mild earthquake. The integrity of the building seemed fine, and despite everyone being a touch rattled, they laughed it off and resumed work. Darren knew there would be more, but was still shocked when the security guard came to his desk 20 minutes later to inform him that a small section of the parking garage roof had caved in crushing his car. Nobody else’s car was harmed.

Then in 2005, he was on an Underground train platform when a series of bombs went off across the city, killing 52 people. This was the last straw. He began to really think that he might be the cause.

This time, he thought he would just roam. He sold all his belongings and backpacked across asia, never staying in one place too long, for fear of wreaking havoc. On November 26^th, 2008 he found himself sitting across the water from the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower Hotel, sketching the architecture, when yet another terrorist attack erupted.

He thought he might have better luck on the water, and bought himself a ticket on a cruise ship. Which sank. He, of course, survived, but dozens others were not as lucky. Lucky. He hated that word. As an ironic in-joke with himself he gave himself tattoos of all the greatest good-luck symbols from cultures all over the world. Four leaf clover. Horseshoe. That Japanese white cat.

Whether it was logical or not, he couldn’t help but feel like it was him. He was a walking cloud of bad luck. He couldn’t stand the destruction he caused, and attempted suicide. He was unsuccessful. He tried hanging, but the rope broke. He tried the oven, but the gas would not flow. Guns would jam, cars would miss him, and wreck spectacularly into store fronts. He survived a fall from a ten story building when a freak gust of wind threw him onto the canvas canopy of a coffee shop patio. After seventeen attempts, he resigned himself to his fate, and gave up trying.

There was nothing else for it. He couldn’t chose to live among people, and he couldn’t die. He eventually decided he had but one option open to him, and moved out onto the open plains of New Mexico, by himself, in a tent. He trapped and grew what little food he needed, and he entertained himself with games he’d make up using sticks and rocks. Eventually he befriended a stray dog, whom he loved very much, but tried not to get too used to, because one never knew when the next tragedy might strike. For a time, he was even happy out there in the wild.

But with a personal history like that, it was no surprise to him when a whirling purple vortex appeared outside his tent flap, and out popped a crazed, sword-wielding Viking, three dazed, and angry velociraptors, and what looked like an office worker in a tie and ID badge. He took it all in, and just nodded. Okay, so that happened.