The Lottery Ticket

How tragic, how very desperate it appears. Each second that passes

is another moment of disappointment. Sure, on the surface it may seem

small, even miniscule. But it is rejection in its finest sense.

It starts with an investment, a small wager; laying a piece of your self

and your hard work on the line. After that, after you have it in your

hand, you possess a certain high, a few brief seconds of Shangrila.

For in these few moments spent chiselling away at whatever shit coats

that card, you could be rich. In one turn of the wrist, that piece

of paper becomes your god. It holds the supreme power to provide for

you, to reward you, or to destroy you. Each lash of the coin across the

card's surface is a diving stab from a desperate Hector, fighting

his certain fate in the face of the brutal Achilles. Ripe with blind

confidence and adrenaline, you push forward, silencing the doubtful

voices in your mind. Hope wains, and disappointment fills the visage.

With a final, worthless dash of the hand, your bible is rubbed raw.

Little remains of that person you were only moments ago. Hector

receives his death wound and bleeds out under the Greek blade, taking

your dreams of wealth and happiness with him. Your adventure ends

where it began, but now you are empty handed. Just like that, you're

broken and brimming with disillusionment. Eyes glazed and mind wandering

you do not know where it went wrong. You invited the guests and set

the table but now you're eating dinner alone. The world of course

does not stop turning for you. You get rid of the evidence as fast

as possible, glancing about in some strange sense of embarrassment as

the card slips from your fingers. Now there is only regret...

regret and maybe a pretzel from the food court.