FICTION
The Lottery Ticket: A Short Story
Part one of two
Polly put the two Bingo scratch cards on the table. She always felt a little guilty — her dad’s words burrowing their way uninvited into her consciousness: “The lottery is just a tax on the stupid.”
The £6 she and Paul spent each week in the hope of winning the £300,000 jackpot should be going into their meagre savings account, but they justified it as their way of giving to charity.
Paul didn’t entirely approve, but Polly was a volunteer at the Saffron Lane Estate, a local community project offering work experience and training to adults with learning difficulties. She adored being out of doors, digging, planting and harvesting in the gardens. The management had recently invested in a polytunnel — money that had come from The National Lottery Fund, so Polly liked to think of the money she and Paul spent on scratch cards as a contribution to the plastic tunnel she sheltered in when the rain came.
“I’ve got the scratch cards,” Polly shouted up the stairs.
“On my way,” Paul called back.
Their 2-bedroomed terrace home on the outskirts of Leicester was only small, but they had worked hard to improve it. They often talked about what they would do if they won the jackpot. Or better still, the Premium…
