Chester and the 24-hour Lottery
Chapter 3; Chester wins the lottery

Chester’s pulse raced as he glanced at his watch then at his bedroom door. He heard his mother entertaining in the small living area and knew her company would only become wilder as the night progressed.

Vanyla... her name wrapped around Chester’s brain and refused to slip its hold on the emotions she evoked. He smelled coconut in the air and could see her smiling green eyes and nearly taste those pink lips. Would she let Chester kiss her if he stopped being an asshole? What if Van didn’t show up, and he’s stuck looking like a fool?

Stop being a pussy, he chided himself with a shake of his head, Van will be there and I need to get out of this fucking trailer before mother gets so drunk she has no idea which dick she’s groping for. He opened the door and stepped into the narrow hallway just as a man came into it, laughing and exclaiming he had to piss before showing Marla something she’d never seen before.

Disgusted, Chester avoided eye contact as he stalked towards the front door. Marla chanted his name until forced to confront her.

“Look at you!” Her dull brown eyes swept over his best pressed blue shirt and jeans he found were a little short above his scuffed boots, “Why the hell are you dressed like that? Where are you sneaking off to?”

Chester jutted out his chin, “Don’t worry about it.”

Marla stood on drunken legs, her friends sitting to attention when she pointed a fat finger in his direction, “I told you I have a feeling about winning the lottery this year and you’re leaving?”

Chester licked his lips and tapped his fingers on the doorknob, “I’m going to the courtyard for the broadcast. Don’t you want me there in case you win?”

Marla rolled her eyes, sat back down and brushed a hand over her red nose, “Yeah, alright. Don’t get any ideas about running off if I win. I’ll need your scrawny ass to haul shit.”

“He’s so skinny,” said the man, still buckling his belt, “You don’t need him around honey when you have me. Chester looks like he can’t even boost a pair of shoes.”

The two other women in the room, longtime drinking buddies of his mother, burst into a fit of giggles. Chester hated them. They were spinster sisters who never had money, begging him for stuff all the time because they spent theirs on the alcohol his district was drowning in. Couldn’t obtain a good cut of beef, but a carton of firewater? You betcha.

“Where’s your family tonight?” he bit out, realizing he recognized him from collecting garbage in the restaurant quarter. His name’s Kyle and he had a young son with a shy lady who sold vegetables from the neighborhood gardens. The vegetables were shit because no one really cared to grow them the right way but it was better than nothing.

Kyle smirked sitting beside Marla, “How should I know? Pick us up a carton of whiskey when you return.”

Chester didn’t bother responding, seeing his out. He exited the trailer and slammed the door. He knew they placed individuals in neighborhoods based on their DNA profile, but he couldn’t be so horrendous that the government identified him as he did others like Kyle and the Wasted Sisters.

Chester looked around as he made for the shitty communal area near the commissary. Either most remained in the city or had holed up for the night because he didn’t see many people. There was quite a ruckus coming from the courtyard though.

Standing, holding two cartons of drink, Van was easy to spot when he entered the yard. Weeds had taken over, and the aged benches and tables had long ago succumbed to the harsh sun but Chester took one look at Van, still wearing her tank top, but with a light blue short-sleeve cover, and thought the setting only made her more beautiful than he wanted to admit. Why was she always smiling?

“Hey, Chet!” Van smile grew when he stopped in front of her, “I bought you a beer. Can’t watch the idiot who wins without one!”

Van tried to pass the carton, but kept his hands at his sides, “I don’t drink. Why waste your money on me?”

Her green eyes dropped to the cartons, “I was just trying to be nice. Well, now I can get a proper buzz. Come on, it’s almost eleven.”

Chester fell in step behind her as she led the way to the brick wall which served as a screen for the projection for the broadcast. It surprised him to discover a circle of men surrounding Fred March. He hadn’t realized March attended the viewings but why wouldn’t he? This was the only place to observe besides the city for the head council of their neighborhood.

They stood off to the side as their neighbors milled around getting drunk, occasionally throwing curses in March’s direction. To say he was a horrible leader was an understatement.

“I detest these containers,” Van muttered, opening her beer, “My mom has glass bottles she kept from the old days and when we have dinners, she’ll fill them with whatever we drink.”

He crossed his arms, avoiding her stare saying, “Glass is bad for the environment. I suppose biodegradable containers are better but I hate them. What I miss is meat. At work, I’ve no idea if the meat is real because it all comes in those damn things.”

Van giggled and Chester noticed several men eye her. She was new, and no one laughed anymore without intent. The men’s tired eyes widened with interest so he turned to block their view of her tiny frame. He gazed at her with a frown.

“What is it?” She shook her head then shrugged, “You’re so odd but I like that. Everyone walks around as if they’re in a perpetual fog but not you Chet. You have a way about you I liked right off the bat.”

Chester straightened and felt the need to shut her down. He didn’t want to be different. Amy and her cohorts called him a freak for years and no matter how he acted, he never fit in. His frown turned into a scowl as she drank the whole beer in three gulps.

“How often do you drink?” He couldn’t abide to get involved with an alcoholic since he already had his hands full with his shitty mother. “How old are you?”

Van giggled again then crushed the thin carton into a ball with one hand, “I’m old enough to know if you keep up this defensive, disapproving act I’ll be forced to call you dad.”

Chester fought a smile as she opened the second beer, “Don’t friends ask questions?”

Van’s green eyes roamed over his body and he became self-conscious, shuffling foot to foot. Why did his heart beat faster every time she smiled or laughed? No other girl had affected him like this before. She was tiny and odd, wearing either too big or too tight clothing. Then there’s the way she contemplated their plight in the world as if wishing for equality aloud could produce a difference. She was the strangest woman he ever met and wanted to walk away or make her his at the same time.

“Yes,” she said, meeting his stare, “Friends ask questions, but I’ll tell you this Chet, no matter what, I’m here for you.”

Chester screwed up his face to demand what the hell she meant when the throng whooped as the wall lit up with the Wayfarer City logo. Van finished her beer, tossed the trash away, then shoved Chester into the crowd, closer to the front than he would have liked to be.

The Mayor, Susan Potter, came on screen talking about unity and a bunch of bullshit Chester didn’t pay attention to. Standing next to Van as the flock grew into silence, spied her inching nearer.

“This year’s lottery falls on Halloween,” Mayor Potter spoke in a tone that was gleeful, “We’ve been preparing our great city for a fun break our beloved youngsters can enjoy so implore this year’s winner to think of their safety as a favor to the betterment of our society.”

Chester let out a bark of laughter, causing others to glare and step away from him. Good, he hated crowds and folded his arms in defiance. Betterment of society? Teaching children they were nothing but what their DNA outlined, setting a path of who they were through menial labor or science experiments that would, in turn, make them shitty adults shot Chester’s blood pressure through the roof.

“Hey,” Van touched his stiffened biceps, “Are you okay?”

He shook her off, ignoring the surprise that flashed across her face, “Oh yes, Van, I’m perfectly fine listening to this fucking bullshit.”

With that Chester spun to leave, mortified he’d allowed his emotions to get the best of him. He should have stuck to his routine of sleeping the lottery away. Instead, he’d let his guard down for what? Van contributed nothing besides drinking and smiling with teeth.

“Governor Spell will now retrieve the winning scroll,” Potter turned with a flourish, the camera revealing the massive lottery bowl slowing to a stop as its half-hour rotation ended.

“Chester wait!” Van chased after him, “I’m sorry, I should have taken the hint by now you don’t like being touched. Just hang out a little more with me, please?”

Chester swiveled, and she fell into him. He reached out and seized her shoulders to steady her slight form. Her green eyes widened when he ran his hands down her forearms with the tips of his fingers, holding in a groan at the softness of her skin.

“It’s not you,” he admitted, “My mind is dark tonight. You were right, I don’t talk to people much because more often than not, I’m treated like shit. Especially by women.”

Van’s smile returned and her small hands lifted to touch his chest, “Oh Chet, It’s hard to form friendships in a society such as ours, but I’m not out to hurt you. It’s okay to have bad days, we all have them.”

He smirked, “How about bad years?”

“The winner of the yearly lottery in the State of Ozark, October 31, in the year 2024, is Chester Drivel of the Neighborhood March!” Mayor Spell read off then turned to the camera, “Congratulations Mr. Drivel and we look forward to watching.”

Chester couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even think as Van shook him, saying he had won.

He’d won the fucking lottery!

“You need to get to the checkpoint,” Van took his shaking hand and pulled them through the crowd, “Hurry!”

Chester heard his name being called as others realized who he was. Councilman March screamed the loudest but Van propelled them forward.

He was a winner and had no idea what to do. Had his life gone from a total shit show to happy hunting grounds in a day? Anger and euphoria battled within him as he concluded he needed an accessory to pull through the next 24 hours.

“Come with me,” he squeezed her hand tighter, “I want you to stay by my side Van. I can not do this alone.”

She beamed with a nod, “I already told you Chet, no matter what, I’ll be here for you.”

Chester and Van broke into a jog, heading towards the checkpoint where a helicopter waited to make Chester a 24-hour superstar.

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