Tessie Hutchinson

        I felt a pleasant ray of the sun warming my right cheek as I rose from my bed like a zombie rising from its grave. It took all the strength in me to pry my eyes open and lug my torso to the left side of my bed. The blood rushed up my arm as I smacked it down upon the alarm clock. At this point I couldn’t care less if I had a fractured thumb, as long as I had 10 more minutes of silence. Unfortunately about five minutes later my disruptive alarm clock began to harass me again. It wasn’t until I stepped out of my cloudy washroom that I realized what time it was. I quickly salvaged an outfit from my closet, with no regard to the way it looked. As soon as I arrived, everyone was already gathered around and I realized I would be in the spotlight. I rustled through the crowd trying to be discreet and go by unnoticed, however I found myself having to explain my tardiness to everyone. I noticed the rocks already assembled in the corner by the boys, and the muffled voices of my neighbors casually come to a halt. Everyone circled around Mr. Summers as he went over the well known rules of playing the lottery. No one dared to speak or question this ritual because no one wanted to fool around with tradition, and everyone carried on following Mr. Summers like sheep. My blood pressure gradually increased as the folks continued to reveal their blank papers. My heart sank as I realized that the black dot was marked on my husband’s paper. I had no control over my legs but I gave it all I had and argued my case. I was in denial and the only thing keeping me standing was the only shred of hope I had left to survive. I complained but even my soul mate restrained me from fighting. Chills ran up my spine and the dead eyed emotionless villagers watched with no empathy. My misfortune was to their amusement and I was on the verge of becoming a scapegoat for this ritual of theirs. This was brutal and unjust; no one deserves such an unnecessary bludgeoning. These villagers’ blind acceptance of the lottery has allowed ritual murder to become part of this town’s nature. As these heartless imbeciles demonstrated on me, they feel powerless to change—or even try to change—anything, although there is no one forcing them to keep things the same. There is no defence in these situations and I feel ashamed I hadn’t done anything to stop this ritual while I had the chance. I pity whoever goes through the traumatizing times of the Lottery.