Monologue On The Lottery By Shirley Jackson

Every evening this old lady used to come to the lottery joint holding a white paper-bag. She bought only one ticket of seven p.m., the last draw of the day; always the same number. I learned from the other girl that she had been coming every day for years. One day I had a peep on her bag and it was full of papers – white paper with black printed numbers – collection of years. As the months passed by we became close to each other. She smelled of camphor, addressed me as daughter, and promised to give half of the jackpot amount; whenever she wins it. : One day I’ll win it. The other girl, the one who worked here before you, I had promised her too, but she quit just like that. I don’t know where she is now. But don’t you worry my daughter. One day I’ll beat the lottery guys and take all the money they have taken from us all. Her wrinkled face would smile at other regulars and address them in her fragile voice. : I’ll give a grand party to everyone here. Now, you people don’t give that mocking smile.

I assumed she was again acting up to avoid school. But when I touched her, her body was hotter than the tiny kitchen. I called the owner and he became quite mad that I was again taking leave by making excuse of my daughter. The fact is I had never taken a single day off for myself. But I won’t blame him; after all there were only me and the other girl to run the lottery. The old lady is screaming and dancing, holding the ticket. All the regulars, including the shy guy and the other girl, are clapping and whistling. A loud ring brought me back to the foot of my daughter’s bed. I didn’t know when I had dozed off. The call was from the old lady. She had also fallen sick that morning and would not be able to come to the joint. So she asked me to get the ticket for her. When I replied that I was also home, she became quite disappointed and hung