Chester and the 24-hour Lottery

Chester gazed at his mother passed out on the sofa and wondered when she had said, “Fuck this life, fuck Chester and fucking give me alcohol so I don’t have to recognize I’m a failure as a human being.”

Shaking his head with a sigh, covered her stinking body with a blanket before leaving the trailer for work. The others making their way to the station seemed to be extra perky today, walking in pairs or threes, talking in hushed tones. The damn lottery had everyone thinking they would be the next winner and plotting what they would do.

Chester caught sight of the weird woman from the night before ahead of him in the security line. Her black hair still greasy but combed back in a neat ponytail, her uniform was Franz Fried Chicken, a workplace that was worse off than his own. He’d gotten his mother food from there bi-weekly for years and had never noticed her. Had she run into debt and forced to move into this neighborhood? Truly, this was the lowest of the low.

As if she could sense him, she turned and flashed those emerald eyes at him over her shoulder. Startled, he ducked, hurrying to the approaching rail-car. Her name was Vanyla. How did he know? When he stepped into the car, being propelled forward by others, she pressed her front to his and stated it with a smirk.

Uncomfortable with her face inches from his while a tall man towered over his back he muttered, “Chester.”

“Chester,” she rolled his name off of her tongue as if she didn’t believe him, “Can I call you Chet?”

He felt perspiration pooling in his pits, “No. No one calls me Chet. Why should you? I don’t know you. What kind of name is Vanyla anyhow?”

“Call me Van,” her smile was bright, and it caused him to sweat even more. What’s wrong with this woman? Couldn’t she tell he wanted nothing to do with her? Oh, but her hair didn’t smell awful. In fact, maybe the grease was oil because she smelt like a coconut. He liked coconuts.

“I won’t call you that because this is the last time we will talk,” he growled, a little surprised at his bad manners. Vanyla had done anything wrong, but she made him self-conscious with her pretty eyes and smile. Why was she staring at him as if he were making jokes?

“You’re in a sour mood,” she tilted her head and again he smelt coconut, “I get that. Petez, huh?” her small hand flicked across his work shirt, “I got diarrhea once when I ate there. I don’t eat there anymore. Is Pete really a nice fellow?”

Chester’s locks ruffled slightly as the guy behind him literally breathed down his neck, “What? I’m just a server and he never comes in. Why are you still speaking?”

“You don’t talk to people often, do you?” she narrowed those green eyes and Chester gaze lowered to her plump pink lips. How old was she? Chester towered over her tiny frame and he was only five-foot-seven.

“I think you’re playing some kind of game,” he honestly told her, “Women don’t talk to me… Van.”

Again, her face lit up with a grin, “I’m not messing with your head. All I’ve said is I would like to call you Chet. What’s wrong with becoming friends?”

“Friends?” he scoffed, shuffling his feet, luckily not stepping on anyone’s toes, “People like us don’t make friends. We work and die.”

Van inhaled deeply and her breasts under her ugly pink and white smock smacked him in the chest. It mortified Chester to feel himself growing hard as Van continued to breathe hard, looking him square in the eyes. He swallowed, willing his erection to go away. Did she notice? Her body was so close. Face upturned for the ideal advantage of kissing. What’s happening?

“We’re meant for so much more, Chet,” her tone sure, “I will not work at Franz forever. No. I will leave and-”

“All states are the same,” he shut her down, “I can tell you’re a dreamer and I don’t do that. Save your breath little girl.”

Her cheeks flushed, gaping as if he’d slapped her, “You’re more than angry, Chet. You’re a fucking ASSHOLE.”

Chester didn’t have a chance to agree with her as the car stopped, spewing him outside. He looked around the station without seeing Van so he made his way to Petez Pizza Palace. Blah, friends? A prick and a feisty idealist. Clearly, she’s delusional. The type to seek change where none available. Poor thing.

“If I win,” Amy’s holding court in the middle of the kitchen when he came through the back door, “I’ll demolish Neighborhood March. I mean, those people could do with a trash clean up, am I right?”

They laughed, then noticed Chester. He glared at Amy before putting on an apron. Why is he the only one from his neighborhood working in this shitty place? He was a coward and avoided making eye contact with his co-workers during the shift.

“Chester,” Amy called to him before closing, “Did you sign up for the lottery this year?”

He shrugged and wiped down a table he’d already cleaned, hoping she’d leave him alone. The others stopped what they were doing to listen in as Amy sauntered over. Sweat formed on his upper lip when he stood up straight to meet Amy’s sly gaze. Why were some women blessed with good-looks yet so rotten inside?

“You did, didn’t you?” her mouth twisted in a smile, “Do you know what I’m going to suggest to my council when one of us wins tonight? I will tell him or her to get rid of freaks like you.”

“Whoa Amy,” Carl nervously chuckled, “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? Leave poor Chester alone.”

“It’s the truth,” Sally, ever the one to pipe in on anything that didn’t concern her agreed.

Amy screwed up her face in disbelief, “Are you telling me his council wouldn’t do the same to us? They’re all jealous we live in better conditions and don’t have to look at piles of our waste matter every time they stepped outside their stupid trailers. Disgusting trash people.”

Chester felt a flame ignite in his chest. Amy overstepped her usual bullying and now understood what Van had been trying to explain. He shouldn’t be defined by where he lives simply because his mother indebted them hoping for a worthier lifestyle. He’s a fucking man with feelings and deserved respect.

“You’re absolutely right Amy,” Chester let out a huff of laughter, “Guess what? If I win, I’m coming to your house and will blowtorch your face. Maybe then you’ll recognize what a freak looks like when you stare in the mirror.”

She paled, and stuttered out, “How dare you!”

“How dare I?” Chester took a step forward and Amy glanced around nervously but didn’t move, “Every fucking day you say things you have no idea about. You’re a closed-minded, unintelligent, loud mouth bitch that spouts derogatory venom when we all know you’re working here for the same reason we all do. The government has you by your pussy hairs the same as Chime In Sally over there.”

“Whoa,” Carl repeated, “Alright Chester, time to go.”

Chester threw the rag he’d been using on the floor and grinned at those observing with their mouth now open. Yeah, that’s right bitches, Chester inwardly gloated, I’m not going to put up with your shit anymore.

“You’re such a freak,” Amy burst into giggles and so did her faithful cohorts, “Look at Chester, he’s shaking like a leaf! Jesus, I bet you almost pissed yourself! Go home and hide because you won’t live past Halloween. Not after speaking to me like that!”

Chester made his footfalls sure and steady as he left the building, laughter echoing in his ears. What would it take to get others to grasp he’s not someone to push around? He was a person dammit! After stomping away from Petez fucking Diarrhea Palace, journeyed the three blocks to the lottery stage.

Wayfarer City erected a large television years ago with bleachers for citizens to watch the winner do their thing. The mayor did little beyond that when it came to encouraging participation. When a winner’s declared an hour before midnight, they’re flown into the city from wherever they live in the state and made ready. They suspended curfew during the lottery but most people feared for their safety and stayed indoors. Chester never really paid attention, opting to use his one day off to sleep.

“Are you okay?”

Chester swung his body around defensively to see Van standing behind him. She’d taken off her work smock and he couldn’t help but ogle her breasts in a tight black tank top. Chester liked what he saw a lot until he looked up. Her mouth tilted in a frown, eyes concerned and he realized she actually wanted to know if he was okay.

“What would you do if you won?” he deflected.

“I didn’t sign up,” she came closer.

“Everyone signs up,” he motioned towards the stage, remembering the nasty lady from the day before, “Everyone.”

Van’s laughter rang light and not scurrilous like he’s used to. Her green eyes shone with wittiness and understanding when he snuck a peek. Chester suddenly ached to hear her laugh again. To experience her obvious delight in things he long ago stopped paying attention to. Life was a damn shit show, but he could devour the look she was now giving; one of empathy and equality forever.

“I won’t let them pretend to buy my freedom through servitude playing at a gamble that will never favor me,” she cocked her head towards the station, “Come on, you don’t want to be here when night falls. All the stupid believers will be crowding the streets.”

“This is my first year signing up,” Chester watched his feet as they walked, “I always signed my mother up, but I didn’t this year.”

“Forgery Chet?” Van giggled and Chester’s heart felt funny, “Don’t worry, I’m sure they already know. How did I get into Neighborhood March you ask?”

Chester smiled, “I had that thought.” Then he cringed, realizing he was smiling for the first time since he could remember and it was about Van’s failures.

“My entire family refuses to play the lottery,” she revealed in a hushed tone, “They gave me a notice one day at work and escorted to March. You ever heard of this happening before?”

Chester frowned deeply, shaking his head, “Never. Why would you need to take the oath? The law states you don’t have to but contribute to society.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re told,” Van placed her small hand on his arm, stopping their momentum, “We’re paid less than other Neighborhoods and stuck doing the work no one wants Chet. It’s a joke and everybody is in on it. We let them treat us this way.”

Chester nervously looked around, “Exactly. What can we do? Take your hand off of me.”

Van snapped back, “Boy, you sure do run hot and cold.”

Chester wanted to say she was right about everything and sit down and have deep conversations but it was all futile and besides what could he do? He’s fixed working at Petez Pizza Palace until ordered to serve elsewhere, same as the rest of the country. Everyone worked towards a more sustainable future, but it took time. It took a class system where he was shit on daily by women like Amy.

“They have a viewing in the courtyard,” Chester cleared his throat, “As you know it always stinks like shit but I may go there tonight… just to tell my mother who the winner is.”

Van’s eyes lit up on his obvious hint to see her later, “I think I will check out the yard, although the air reeks at night.”

He smiled again, “It always smells, but you’ll get used to it, Van.”

Together they turned and joined the hustle of those not staying in the city on the rail-car. Chester had a date. He thought. Maybe. He never dated before and decided it didn’t matter as long as he saw Van’s pretty face again.

Van separated from him in the commotion, but he continued to smile even when he became sandwiched between two smelly men who talked to each other over his head and every so often spit on his face.

Maybe life’s a shit show where occasionally someone comes along with a wet wipe to clear a tiny area for him to spy a path to a green-eyed girl named Vanyla.