(1 of 1. Originally posted on March 15, 2024 for the prompt “The Not So Lucky One.”)
A tone reverberated through the office. George stood up from his desk and surveyed the room. It didn’t sound like the alarm they told him about in orientation, but it had to mean something. Everyone else was getting up and moving toward the doors. The air hummed with excited chatter.
An older man in a tweed suit waved George over. “Come on, new guy. You don’t want to miss this.”
“What’s going on?” George fell in beside the man, walking into the back of a growing crowd.
“Retirement lottery. Once a year they distribute envelopes to every worker in the city. If yours has a golden ticket, you get a fully funded early retirement.”
“You should sit this one out, Don,” a woman with pink hair and a nose ring gave the old man a wry smile. “Only a couple years until you retire, anyway. Leave the lottery for the rest of us.”
The old man laughed. “Not a chance, girl. I need the cash. My savings all went to medical bills last year.”
The crowd surged forward as a man in a black pressed suit walked in and started handing out envelopes. Two big guys in black rumpled suits stood behind, keeping an eye on the crowd, quietly ushering everyone to the side as they got their envelope.
George hung back until last. Early retirement sounded nice, but this was the first he’d heard of it and he needed time to process the idea. In the end he took an envelope because everyone else was doing it, and they all seemed excited, so he felt like he should. He still wasn’t sure whether he wanted to win.
The sounds of excitement morphed into the sound of ripping paper and disappointed sighs, as one by one people opened empty envelopes and trickled back to work.
Don and the pink-haired woman hung around nearby, gently ribbing each other about enduring one more year stuck working together. George could feel their attention on him, but it was a friendly, encouraging kind of attention. He ripped open his envelope and took a step toward the trash can before his brain registered the flash of gold inside.
The banter stopped abruptly.
“Oh my god,” the woman put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god.”
“Lucky son of a—” Don cleared his throat. “I mean, congratulations, son. How long have you been working?”
“Two months,” George suddenly felt faint. “I just turned eighteen last year, and I won the work lottery already two months ago. I hadn’t even heard of the retirement lottery until today…”
Pressed suit descended on George with a plastic smile and extended hand. “Congratulations, sir. What’s your name? Don’t worry about a thing, we’ll take care of it all. We’ll send movers to your apartment to collect your belongings and have them sent ahead to your chosen retirement village. We have brochures in the car you can review on the way. Once you choose a new home, we’ll help you get settled. Now come along with us. Don’t worry about your desk, we’ll get that cleaned up too.”
George let himself be taken by the hand. He mumbled his name when asked but wasn’t sure whether anyone heard him, or how much difference it made. Out of the building, into a small car. He fumbled through some pamphlets showing various resort communities. Tropical, beach, suburban, forest meadow. He chose the forest because it looked remote and quiet, and that sounded nice right now. They led him to a locker room and private shower. Gave him new clothes when he came out, light and loose-fitting. Relaxing. Then a limo ride, with drinks provided. When his head drooped, a pillow and blankets appeared.
George woke to darkness, stench, and the sound of industrial machinery. He tried to sit up, but something held him in place. The smell reminded him of something. Childhood memories. Living near the meat-processing plant. We must be passing right next to it. Why can’t I move? How much did I drink?
“Hey Roger, check this out. We got a young one today!”
George flinched at the stranger’s voice, yelling right next to his head. He tried speak, but something was stuffed in his mouth. He twisted his head, trying to cough. The band around his eyes slipped. It took his eyes a minute to adjust.
“He’s a live one, too. Hold him still. We’ll get some good cuts off him.”
George blinked. An image came into focus. A mallet, swinging down toward his head.
