Marcel stood in line at the local gas station/liquor store, sweating bullets. He didn't like people in the best of times, and this damn sure wasn't one of them. The place was packed and the line was long. It had taken him all day to get up the courage to get this far, and he was ready to bolt for the door at any moment. As he was about to leave, a new line opened and the big lady with the beautiful eyes looked at him and said, "Next". He knew every eye in the store was on him, staring holes through his back, even though no one looked like they were looking at him. Tricks! Yes, they were all very tricky.
This was the last number. He pulled up the sleeve on his third shirt, underneath his two coats and saw the last number, 23, that was not crossed off on his arm in different colors of ink. He had crossed out the other six numbers on his arm. For the last six days he had come into this very store and was waited on by this very clerk, the big girl with the beautiful eyes. He liked her. Not in a Hoochie-Koochie kind of way, that was gross. Like a friend. He had a friend once and she had the same beautiful eyes, although she wasn't big. He didn't care what people looked like on the outside, you are what your heart says you are, and that's all you will ever really be anyway.
He side-stepped to the front of the counter and Sheri, according to her name tag, looked at him and said, "OK Marcel, what number today? Go ahead and break-out the change sweetheart, no fussing today, I'm in a good mood". For the previous last five days, he had given her a handful of change that she would have to stop and count. Mostly pennies, nickles and dimes, all to make a dollar. The first few days he had gotten the "look" that said "I'm busy asshole", but today he surprised her. He handed her a crumpled up dollar bill. It was his "suicide dollar", to be used only in case of an emergency. He had been saving it for hard times, but today was the last day to get the last number. In about six more hours, they were going to draw the winning numbers.
Seven days before, he had a dream about numbers. Not just any numbers, but Lotto numbers. He woke up before dark, as usual, and not having a pencil or pen to write the numbers down, began running helter skelter around everyone who walked by, asking for a pen. Just when he thought he would forget the numbers, a young girl who often gave him change everyday, loaned him her pen. It was red ink and he quickly pulled up his sleeves and on his arm wrote 19, 37, 4, 27, 49, and skipping a space, wrote 23, for the Power-Ball. He thought. Or was it 25, 27, 29, 22, or 26? He couldn't remember, so he wrote them all down.
Everyday he bought a lotto ticket, and everyday he crossed out a number. Today, the last number was 23 and he had 6 tickets for tonight's drawing for one of the biggest jackpots ever. Not the biggest, but $360 million could buy a lot of warm socks. It was the Power-Ball and stores across the nation had lines of people waiting to purchase tickets. People were buying hundreds of tickets for a 1 in 379,000,000 chance to win this very elusive jackpot. Marcel knew he had the winning ticket. He had these dreams often and they always came true, but this was the first time he had ever bought tickets. Marcel didn't believe in gambling.
Marcel lived in a trash dump and slept during the day because sleeping at night was very dangerous. Twice he had been hospitalized, and once almost killed by some young thugs who got their kicks off by beating up homeless people. He identified them to the police, but nothing was ever done. One of the boys was the mayor's nephew and of course, it was quickly swept under the rug. Now he kept his eyes open, and hid when people came around at night. He found he liked sleeping during the day, there were less people to deal with. Sometimes, besides saying 'thank you' to someone he begged from, he didn't have to speak to anyone all day. You never knew when "one of them" would pop up and kill everyone. They were a very tricky race of people, but they couldn't fool him.
When he won the Lotto tonight, he was going to give the ticket to a little girl that needed a kidney. Her family had no money to pay for the operation or even a place to live. They were called "illegals", although Marcel didn't see where they had done anything illegal. Her father was leaning on his trash container, waiting and hoping people would pick him up to do some kind of work. This was how he found out about the little girl. He was almost asleep when he smelled smoke from cigarettes and heard two men talking, one a man with an accent trying to talk through tears. His daughter was going to die if she didn't get an operation soon.
He then read a day old newspaper that featured the little girl, and it also said she was going to die without an operation. While he thought gambling was a sin, this really wasn't a gamble. He dreamed of the future all the time. Super bowl winners, presidential elections, even horse races and he had never even petted a horse. He dreamed of Lotto tickets all the time, but never bought one. He didn't need anything, and really, that would be cheating. But to save the girl was faith and maybe God would forgive him this one time.
He had to figure out how to get them to her, or her parents, without getting involved. He couldn't let anyone, especially the Tricksters, know where he lived. The Tricksters had been looking for him for a very long time and there had been some very close calls. He could see a Trickster before they could see him. They had a yellow glow around them. They were from another world and were here to take over this world. For years he tried to tell people, but.., no one believed him.
The next day, after all his numbers came up, he saw the father standing outside of his container, hoping someone would pick him up to work. He came up and tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the winning ticket. He said only "I think you dropped this" and ran off. He stayed away from his usual container for days. He heard many people talking about the miracle. The little girl would get her operation when they found a kidney, but until then, she would stay alive on some kind of machine. But there were also many people trying to take the money away from her father, because he was not born here. They said he was an illegal alien. Marcel knew he wasn't an alien. The aliens had a yellow glow around them
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Alii
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Eljekar
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Comments
Lezlie
Great story!
rated with love
r
R♥
R
Well done my friend..
HUGGGGGGGGGGGG
L, I'm glad it meant something to you!
RP, high praise indeed. I've read O'Henry forever.
Poppi, I wish I could. I have three years worth. But the market is just not there, I think!
nutjob, thank you my friend~
Sheila, thanks.
Fusun, if only good people had glows, your's would burn bright.
D, if the lotto money would go to the people who need it, I would play it.
Sky, from you, a great compliment. Thanks buddy~
Linda, if you really break it down, it's true, we are the aliens anyway
Z, thank you. I hope I don't go brain dead anytime soon, hah!
GD, he's mine too. The man is a genius!
Lefty, at times, we have our moments.
Susie, I can see yours from here!:-)
Jon, I would love too. Anyone listening, hah!
Christine, it comes and goes. Tomorrow, maybe back to politics.
Sarah, thank you. To me, that's what a story is all about. The characters bring it to life. Thanks~
you pull at the deepest heartstrings whilst
accessing the rage
of any "sane" man or woman
at the goddamn system, where
people of deeply empathic, nay, telepathic (!)
ability are consigned to trash dumps!
who is gonna get this money, dammit?
you bastard, you wove us a miracle,
yet ...an alien cannot win the lotto..or can he?
And you included a bonus at the end with one of the best songs in the universe...Rated with admiration.
R
Love the tag too. ~ Bravo
jesus, what a visceral image.
but it suits your storytelling
skills, which are on some
kinda crazy exponential
rise lately.
Universal
truths
wrapped in real raw life.