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The Lottery by Shirley Jackson
The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny. It was a warm summer day. The flowers were blooming, and the grass was green. People in the village started to gather in the square between the post office and the bank around ten o'clock. In some towns, there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to start on June 2nd. But in this village, with only about three hundred people, the lottery took less than two hours. It could start at ten in the morning and finish in time for people to go home for lunch.
First, the children gathered. School had just ended for the summer, and most of them felt uneasy about having free time. They stood quietly for a while before starting to play loudly. They still talked about school, teachers, books, and being scolded. Bobby Martin had already filled his pockets with stones, and the other boys soon did the same. They picked smooth, round stones. Bobby, Harry Jones, and Dickie Delacroix made a big pile of stones in one corner of the square and watched it to keep other boys from taking their stones. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking back at the boys playing or holding the hands of their older brothers or sisters.
Soon, the men began to gather. They looked at their children, talked about planting, rain, tractors, and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner. Their jokes were quiet, and they smiled instead of laughing. The women came shortly after their husbands. They wore old house dresses and sweaters. They greeted each other and shared small pieces of gossip before joining their husbands. The women, standing by their husbands, started to call their children. The children came reluctantly, being called four or five times. Bobby Martin slipped under his mother's hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke sharply, and Bobby quickly returned to stand between his father and his oldest brother.
Mr. Summers conducted the lottery, just like he did the square dances, the teen club, and the Halloween program. He had time and energy for community activities. He was a round-faced, happy man who ran the coal business. People felt sorry for him because he had no children and his wife was mean. When he arrived in the square with the black wooden box, the villagers started to talk, and he waved and called, "A little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three-legged stool. They placed the stool in the center of the square, and Mr. Summers set the black box on it. The villagers stayed back, leaving space between themselves and the stool. When Mr. Summers asked, "Do some of you want to help me?" there was a pause before two men, Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers mixed the papers inside.
The original items for the lottery had been lost long ago. The black box on the stool had been used even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers often talked to the villagers about making a new box, but no one wanted to change the tradition of the black box. There was a story that the current box was made from pieces of the old box that had been used since the village was first settled. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers would talk again about a new box, but nothing was ever done.
The black box became more worn each year. It was no longer completely black. It was split along one side, showing the original wood color, and some parts were faded or stained.
