The door slams loudly as Bill Hutchinson enters his home. Without second thought, he heads for the kitchen, unearthing a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of whiskey. In record time he’s at the dining room table, the table that the Hutchinson family gathered around on a nightly basis for supper, and pouring himself a glass. As per tradition, he threw a stone but tried to miss on purpose. He only hopes that he missed. He couldn’t bear to look and see if it made contact at all. He did not want the final image of his wife to be that of a battered figure sacrificed for a harvest.
His children enter the home, spotting their father already in the midst of drowning away the sorrow that they share. Little Dave tries to speak, but is preemptively hushed by Bill Jr., who simply placed his hand over the child’s mouth. As youngsters often are, Dave was full of questions and yet, they need not be asked. It is a question the family patriarch has been asked before. Why? It is a simple question and yet, it carries such weight. Bill always told his children that the Lottery was necessary for their village to know a great harvest. All villages followed the same rules and embraced the lottery. Those that didn’t are sure to perish. Still, there are those who realize that this lottery and the reasons for it are nothing more than superstition that has plagued the people too long and cost them too much. What god were they appeasing? Was this some fertility god that required the blood of a wife, a mother, to quench the thirst of the earth? What cruel god asks such things? Mother Earth indeed.
Rarely has Bill questioned the tradition as much as has now. It was easier to deal with when other families were chosen, but now that his fell victim to this lottery, he began to question everything that he believed. Her cries still ring fresh in his ears.
It isn’t fair, it isn’t right.
Over and over, nonstop, do those words begin to torment him within mere seconds after his wife was chosen. His consumption of the strong drink did nothing to drawn them out. Pour and drink, pour and drink, he did this without pause. Bill Jr. dared not approach him as he sees his father’s trembling hands and the ferocity in which he did this. The man would surely drink himself to death if he didn’t stop and yet, to try would surely evoke his wrath. Nancy stood near her brothers, watching her father with fear in her heart. She feared for her family’s future, the chances of her being a victim to this process, and her father losing his sense of self.
“To the lottery,” Bill says, finally speaking and breaking the pattern. “Let it forever make fools of us all and losers out of winners. The lucky ones are those who get to go home and know their wives will be there. Those are the ones who will wake up tomorrow, to the smell of a nice breakfast and the smile of a woman who adores them. Then there are the unlucky, whose wives will be reduced to nothing but a target of cruel, cruel fate and a fool such as myself having believed in this tale because it he wasn’t one of them until this night.”
The tone of his voice noticeably changed as he spoke, the rage in his heart rising. As he raised his glass, it was unclear if he was going to drink again or throw his glass in anger. His arm comes to a pause thanks to the grip of young Nancy. A surprised Bill looks at his daughter, who takes the glass out of his hand in a very weak show of resistance. Before he could speak, her arms are around him, embracing her father in a hug. Mr. Hutchinson is shocked, no ideal how to respond or react. His sons join the duo, gathering around their father as they too embraced him. They wept silently, a sob or two piercing the silence, but it was Mr. Hutchinson acting as the dam that broke, his anguish no longer being held back as he mourned Tessie along with his children. Tomorrow the people will have moved on, appreciating a great harvest while the Hutchinsons will forever remember what the lottery has cost them. God help the souls for next year’s lottery.