Emily was a
lucky person. All the ladies at work told her so when she, surprised by her
wins, would share coffee coupons or things from the Avon catalogue. However if
she expected to win, she wouldn’t get anything, she could not take her luck for
granted.
One blustery
evening Emily found two live lottery tickets outside her door. After a
solitary, gloomy supper, while letting out the cat, she noticed the
official looking wet tickets blown against her door step.
Occasionally
she’d seen expired tickets blowing in the wind, when disappointed gamblers set the
chits free hoping the liberated wishes would come back and bestow better luck
next time. Emily didn’t play the lottery, she preferred her risks to be less
obvious, but she could tell these were lucky tickets.
She knew what
she’d do if she won sixty million dollars. She would buy all the cottages on a nearby
cul-de-sac, build beautiful, sustainable studio homes, a community kitchen and
fill the enclave with friends. She would travel and live for a while on every
continent, leading a different life in each place. Dress in bright fabrics and
laugh all day with someone she loved. She would sail, bike or maybe ride horses
everywhere.
The yellow
tickets were slightly damp, and both had a smudged signature that looked as if
the author couldn’t write very well. On the back the claims investigating
process was described. She had heard about someone who had lost their receipt but
still got fifty million dollars without it.
Nobody would know
they were a little further under the doormat. Emily called the cat and went to
bed.
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