THE

LOTTERY

October 20, 2004

THE LOTTERY (no, this is not reminiscent of the short story by Shirley Jackson. No one dies because of sacrifice and random pickings. Quite the opposite, actually. Okay, read on and enjoy)!

He woke up, and felt within himself as had for the last two years that today would be THE day. Of course, due to the fact that he'd had this particular feeling every Sunday since that fateful day two years ago, he'd since learned to ignore it. Today was no different. He went through the usual morning motions (showering, shaving, dressing) half awake. A year ago, he would've eagerly dressed, eaten, and rushed to the deli-around-the-corner and bought what he naively assumed would change his life. Obviously, he no longer thought so. Buying it had not brought him what he desperately craved; unfortunately, he was so addicted to it that he bought it anyway, even though he didn't believe in it anymore.

While dressing he sniffed the air tentatively, wondering what exactly his sister had burned. Again. He really loved his sister and all, but sometimes, all the time actually, he wondered why she couldn't be a bit more gifted in the culinary department. He also wondered how he ever got a decent meal. Oh right, the deli-around-the-corner was his haven.

He ambled down the hallway and entered the kitchen of his two bedroom apartment, complete with a washing and drying machine, much to his amazement. At the price he'd paid for it, he was surprised that he'd even gotten a working toilet bowl, much less a dishwasher, among other things. The kitchen walls, painted a pale blue with kitchen-type wallpaper bordering the top, were a very good change from the garish lime green the previous residents had had the nerve to paint.

Strolling over to his sister, who was furiously stirring a pot on the stove and peering inside of it with extreme frustration etched on her face, he kissed her on the cheek. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to. "Um, Abby?" She turned to him, glaring and practically spitting fire. "Whoa!" He backed up and continued a tiny bit more timidly, "There's no need to go all PMS on me! I just wanted to know what you were trying to cook."

Abby glared at him even more, if that was even possible. "I'm not pre-menstrual, thank you very much. And I'm not trying to cook. Go get the juice out of the fridge and make yourself useful for a change." He went over to the fridge, always meticulously cleaned by Abby, and grabbed the cranberry-grape juice. "There's no need to feel insulted, sister darling. We both know you're no Betty Crocker." She tried to look disgruntled and failed. "Fine, fine, fine. I was trying to make some one minute rice, but it didn't turn out, er, the way I expected. Never mind, we'll just order Chinese takeout again. What do you want?" He responded, "The usual. I'm going to the deli-around-the-corner. Want anything?" Her silence answered him. "Well, I'll be right back."

The walk to the deli-around-the-corner wasn't very long, but he managed to make every second of it count. He thought about what he was going to buy and hoped IT would be The One. Frankly, he was sick and tired of all the false tries he'd had, but he was addicted and would continue to be addicted until he finally got The One.

The cashier at the counter knew him well. He always had "the usual" ready for him, so that his shopping experience would be a simple, easy one (not that there was much to shop for. It was a deli, after all).

"Hi Joe," he said. The cashier replied cheerfully, "Good morning. The usual?" He nodded. "Make it ten instead of five." The cashier merely nodded and got it/them for him. He'd ceased to be amazed that his most faithful customer often bought more than one copy of the same thing about a year ago, and decided that he was simply a bit off the deep end. Nevertheless, he'd sill offer him a few words of encouragement. "I hope you get it this time." His most faithful costumer nodded. "Yeah, so do I."

He left the deli-around-the-corner clutching his things in his hand. He didn't think about it, instead he moved onto a more pleasant train of thought his sister, Abby. Six years ago, he wouldn't have dreamed that he'd be living with his sister and actually enjoying it. At least, he didn't wake up every morning dreading to see his sister's face. Their living arrangements came to Abby when both she and he had just broken up with yet another boyfriend & girlfriend. At first, he'd been wary (who lives with their sister?! Especially at the ripe age of 24), but had agreed and found out that it wasn't so bad. After all, he enjoyed her company and was glad that he didn't have to pay the full amount of rent their apartment cost.

Upon arriving at his apartment, he threw his purchases down on the kitchen table and joined Abby in eating the Chinese takeout. That happened to be the best thing about New York City, well, that and the public transportation. You can get food on almost every street corner and the MTA really is "going your way." Abby's statement brought him out of his reverie. "I see you still buy those things." She shook her head knowingly. "You really think you're going to win that?"

"Yes, actually, I do."

"You know, you have a severe case of OCD."

"Huh?"

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Honestly, must I tell you everything? Listen, I'm going to the store down the street for a second. Watch the water on the stove."

He nodded, pushed away his empty cartons of Chinese takeout, and peered down on the papers that would either make him a millionaire or make him regret spending $10 on 10 copies of the same thing. He used to have some kind of ceremony before doing his thing, but he didn't bother with that anymore, seeing as that was a waste of time and hadn't worked for him, anyway. He still, however, whispered a prayer that he would get The One he'd been looking for for the past two years. He'd heard so many success stories, he only hoped that he would have one of his own someday.

Out of habit, not necessarily because he had to, he read the instructions on the back of one of the papers. "Okay," he muttered. "Scratch off 10 of the 15 numbers, 3 matches you win the amount you scratched off."

Slowly, but surely, he took out the vital pieces of paper and lined them up in front of him. Then, he scratched off the numbers it specifically told him to. The first one, no matches. Second, third fourth, fifth, nada. He tentatively, very tentatively scratched off NY Lotto #6 and found no matches, either. Even slower than before, he scratched off the first of 10 numbers on his seventh NY Lotto. $1,000,000. Good, that was something he could work with. Deliberately, he scratched off nine other numbers. Two $100,000s, One $1,000, Two $2,000s, Two $50,000s, and One $1,000,000. He just needed one more $100,000, $2,000, $50,000, and $1,000,000. Just one.

He didn't watch as he scratched off the last number. When he was positive that he'd cleared off all the aluminum, he looked.

$1,000,000, it said clearly. He was dumbstruck and suddenly became ridiculously pessimistic. It could be a trick of the light. Probably he'd scratched off the wrong number. Or maybe this was a bogus NY Lotto. He desperately hoped he was wrong about all of his accusations and checked for mistakes.

He was.

He'd won one million dollars. He didn't believe it. I mean, this kind of luck didn't happen to normal people. This kind of luck never happened to him, anyway. He knew what he'd do. Abby would be coming back soon and she could check to see if he'd really, truly won. She was fairly sensible, she would know.

He anxiously waited for her to come back. As soon as she heard her key twist in the lock, he dragged her over to the kitchen and pointed to the absolutely beautiful sheet of paper wordlessly. She sighed and examined it. He'd always had these hopeful kinds of fantasies. The minute she thought that though, she felt ashamed, for he had won. The proof was right there.

He looked at his sister, who burst into joyful tears and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't believe it," she whispered. She sounded in complete awe of his amazing skill (which was nonexistent, I might add. What had he done to win? Simply buying a few sheets of paper doesn't qualify you as being particularly skillful at anything). "Mark, you won!"

He thought about it and realized that yes, he had indeed won. Not only money, but so much more. Now, he wouldn't have to get up and take his usual trek to the deli-around-the-corner. He wouldn't need to order takeout all the time. Heck, he'd probably even convince his sister to move with him out of this Hell Hole (he still couldn't believe he still wanted to put up with her)!

After all, he'd finally won.

THE END

00 Okay, this is not part of the story, it's just a disclaimer. I don't own the NY Lotto, I haven't won anything (I'm one of the unlucky normal people, as Mark so eloquently puts it), and I don't have any money for you. Just had to say that in case I decide to publish this and some lawyer with time on his hands decides to sue me or something.