Mr. Summers in "The Lottery"
The black box was silently sitting on the post office shelf, patiently waiting for its time to shine. It didn't move, it didn't change, it didn't do anything. And yet, it took Mr. Summers a long time to muster up the courage to reach towards it, and take it off the shelf. Carefully removing it, he shifted it to one side, so he could open the door, and make his way to the town square. The small pieces of paper shook around, making a soft shuffling sound. The lottery gave him shivers every year, even though he'd done it for the longest time. People had already begun to set up in the town square, and, taking a deep breath, Mr. Summers walked through them, and into the front of the crowd.
"Little late today, folks." he said, carefully setting the box down on the stool that Mr. Graves had set for him. He tried to hide the sweat on his face, and turned away to wipe his brow. Not so much out of being tired, but more so because of the idea behind the box. Not wanting to seem weak to the rest of the people, he turned back, getting ready to mix the papers. "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" His head was swimming, he felt like he was going to be sick. He thrust his hand into the box, as some others held it still. The feeling of the papers going over his hand was painful, each one its own little blade, giving him little cuts as he kept mixing them harder and harder. "At least we stopped using wood." he thought to himself, and laughed. It had been a while since they used wood chips, and Mr. Summers was glad they stopped. He liked it when things changed, and he'd been trying to get people to invest in a new box for a long time. But ever time he would try and do it, the box would sit there, ominously watching him, and he would inevitably give up.
According to custom, the next thing for him to do was to recite the oath. It was essential, as it was helping to make sure that he didn't cheat, or unfairly change the slips of paper. In order for the oath to be proper and complete, he had to place his hand on the top of the box, and recite the speech. It as very simple, he had done it enough times that he had the speech memorized, and could've spoken it in his sleep. The real challenge was to put his hand on the box, it's pitch blackness like a black hole, sucking things in. He slowly lay his hand on the box, its coldness causing him to shudder. He started to say the recitation, trying to go as fast as he could without making it obvious what he was trying to do. As soon as he had finished, he threw his hand off the box, and buried it into his coat pocket, trying to keep it as far away as possible from the box.
Suddenly, Mrs. Hutchinson ran to the front of the crowd, obviously late. Quickly trying to think of anything except the box, he said "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." He never really really liked her that much, she was always in the way, and never really remembered anything important, but always remembered about places and times where he really didn't want to see her. She really ticked him off, but thinking too much about it made him want to act upon it, and that was never a good thing. Almost in his own separate bubble, he began reading off the list of people who'd be drawing. Some people were missing, but he didn't really catch who they were, and just assumed people would replace them. He had completely spaced out, when he suddenly realized he'd gotten to the end of his list. He sighed nervously, and then cleared his throat. "All ready?" he asked, and then started with the names. People would somberly walk up to the box, and draw their slip of paper, sometimes making comments, sometimes praying. Finally, he himself reached in, and, feeling the hollowness of the box, took the last slip of paper. He looked up, and saw everyone nervously looking around at each other, and their card. Occasionally, people would say something, but for the most part, they would stay silent.
"All right fellows." he said, his voice echoing in the silence of the entire town. After a single second of hesitation, people began flipping open their slips, and revealed what was on them. There were sighs of relief, and cries of joy, but mostly there were the sounds of concern for whoever actually picked the blackened slip. Mr. Summers himself opened his slip right away, and was pleased and relieved to see that it was indeed not him who had been chosen. Looking out among the crowd, he stated to notice people moving aside, so that they had formed a circle around the person who had drawn the slip. A cry rang out, and suddenly Mrs. Hutchinson ran up to him, shouting at him. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!" He stood there for a moment, as she kept on yelling at him. He didn't hear anything else she said, but he managed to give a little smirk. Maybe he got lucky in this lottery after all.
"Little late today, folks." he said, carefully setting the box down on the stool that Mr. Graves had set for him. He tried to hide the sweat on his face, and turned away to wipe his brow. Not so much out of being tired, but more so because of the idea behind the box. Not wanting to seem weak to the rest of the people, he turned back, getting ready to mix the papers. "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" His head was swimming, he felt like he was going to be sick. He thrust his hand into the box, as some others held it still. The feeling of the papers going over his hand was painful, each one its own little blade, giving him little cuts as he kept mixing them harder and harder. "At least we stopped using wood." he thought to himself, and laughed. It had been a while since they used wood chips, and Mr. Summers was glad they stopped. He liked it when things changed, and he'd been trying to get people to invest in a new box for a long time. But ever time he would try and do it, the box would sit there, ominously watching him, and he would inevitably give up.
According to custom, the next thing for him to do was to recite the oath. It was essential, as it was helping to make sure that he didn't cheat, or unfairly change the slips of paper. In order for the oath to be proper and complete, he had to place his hand on the top of the box, and recite the speech. It as very simple, he had done it enough times that he had the speech memorized, and could've spoken it in his sleep. The real challenge was to put his hand on the box, it's pitch blackness like a black hole, sucking things in. He slowly lay his hand on the box, its coldness causing him to shudder. He started to say the recitation, trying to go as fast as he could without making it obvious what he was trying to do. As soon as he had finished, he threw his hand off the box, and buried it into his coat pocket, trying to keep it as far away as possible from the box.
Suddenly, Mrs. Hutchinson ran to the front of the crowd, obviously late. Quickly trying to think of anything except the box, he said "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." He never really really liked her that much, she was always in the way, and never really remembered anything important, but always remembered about places and times where he really didn't want to see her. She really ticked him off, but thinking too much about it made him want to act upon it, and that was never a good thing. Almost in his own separate bubble, he began reading off the list of people who'd be drawing. Some people were missing, but he didn't really catch who they were, and just assumed people would replace them. He had completely spaced out, when he suddenly realized he'd gotten to the end of his list. He sighed nervously, and then cleared his throat. "All ready?" he asked, and then started with the names. People would somberly walk up to the box, and draw their slip of paper, sometimes making comments, sometimes praying. Finally, he himself reached in, and, feeling the hollowness of the box, took the last slip of paper. He looked up, and saw everyone nervously looking around at each other, and their card. Occasionally, people would say something, but for the most part, they would stay silent.
"All right fellows." he said, his voice echoing in the silence of the entire town. After a single second of hesitation, people began flipping open their slips, and revealed what was on them. There were sighs of relief, and cries of joy, but mostly there were the sounds of concern for whoever actually picked the blackened slip. Mr. Summers himself opened his slip right away, and was pleased and relieved to see that it was indeed not him who had been chosen. Looking out among the crowd, he stated to notice people moving aside, so that they had formed a circle around the person who had drawn the slip. A cry rang out, and suddenly Mrs. Hutchinson ran up to him, shouting at him. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!" He stood there for a moment, as she kept on yelling at him. He didn't hear anything else she said, but he managed to give a little smirk. Maybe he got lucky in this lottery after all.
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