Random Short (Original Work) - The Lottery
Anais shrugged her shoulders and tugged restlessly at the left sleeve of her neon green blazer. Ten minutes. That's how long she had been sitting in the conference room listening to stilted, inane chatter. None of the people inside this room actually liked or cared for each other and mostly never tried to hide it. They didn't interact outside the walls of this conference room beyond what was strictly necessary for their jobs. So Anais was at a loss as to why every time they met for these meetings, they tried their hands at polite small talk. Silence would feel less oppressive.
Notably, none of them ever tried to engage her. She was both unsurprised and grateful. She didn't like any of them either.
Finally, the heavy wooden doors swung open and a hush settled over the room. Backs snapped ramrod straight and hands fixed blouses and jackets that didn't need to be fixed.
Anais remained slouched in her swivel chair, picking at her chipped nail polish, swinging slightly from side to side.
The doors swung shut again as a crisp dark blue suit and rich caramel skin filled the vacant chair at the head of the table. Things remained quiet as the President got settled. There was the shuffling of papers and the gentle clearing of a throat. Anais flicked her gaze up, immediately meeting cold, beautiful cerulean blue eyes. The gaze was sharp, full of warning that Anais had half a mind to ignore.
There were few things in life that Anais was genuinely, truly afraid of. However, her mother was number one on the list of things she was afraid of. So with haste and without resistance, she heeded the warning, straightening in her chair and taking on the air of Someone of Importance. She was rewarded with a stiff smile. Shifting her gaze away, the President officially commenced the meeting.
"Good morning. Sorry to have kept you all waiting." Her silky tone was distinctly unapologetic. There were murmurs around the table, politely brushing off the insincere apology. Anais didn't roll her eyes but it was a near thing. "I also apologize for pulling you all from your beds at such an early hour so unexpectedly," again, insincerely, "but I received the latest capacity reports last night and we have a bit of a situation on our hands."
Anais shifted uncomfortably, mouth pulled into a frown so severe the muscles ached. She hated these meetings.
"Border security has been a little... lax as of late. As a result, we are currently a hair away from our ceiling. The border situation has been dealt with, but we still have the problem of those who have already made it in."
A chill ran down her spine and discomfort lodged itself under her ribs. Anais had asked repeatedly to be excluded from these meetings. But it was important for her development, her mother said. Because one day, the Community would be left in her hands and she need to be stronger, tougher, colder. She needed a heart made of stone, not soft muscle and blood. All that compassion wasn't going to get things done.
These meetings were "lessons". But Anais saw her inclusion for what it really was. Punishment.
She wasn't the daughter her mother wanted and she took every opportunity to let her know.
"Another lottery? So soon?" A gruff voice pulled Anais back from her thoughts, the room coming into sharp focus again. The President nodded gravely. Murmurs and whispers sprung up around the table again.
"Lotteries are expensive. The prep alone is well over half a million," another voice piped up, female this time. The Minister of Finance.
"Yes, I know. And due to the size of the number we are currently looking at, this will be our largest lottery to date. Our reserves have already started to suffer from the capacity increase. So this will require planning a bit more carefully than we have in the past."
"What kind of number are we looking at here Ma'am," someone else asked. The Lottery Master this time.
The President shuffled a few of her papers around before plucking one out and scanning it.
“Roughly ten thousand.”
The discomfort in her chest expanded, pressing down on her lungs. The meeting continued around Anais, but she tuned it all out. She was clocked out, done, absolutely finished. She couldn’t just sit there and listen to them plan their intricate game of death. Those were people. Real living, breathing human beings.
Lotteries were usually held every five years. Capacity control was what they called it. Registration numbers were pulled at random from the lower and middle class Community residents. Once drawn, you had three days to say your goodbyes and make your preparations before reporting to the Arena.
For execution.
Anais didn't understand why it had to be done this way, why they couldn't just send them back out instead of killing them. She looked down at her hands, frown deepening. As much as she hated everything about their government and what it stood for, she was still part of it. And her hands were still stained just as red.
**This was yet another 1 AM idea that I had about two or so years ago. I lost the original one, however, so I actually wrote this version recently.
If you have constructive advice, drop a comment. Or you can just let me know if you enjoyed it.**