Photo by Wesley Hilario on Unsplash
Today’s word was PIN, as in personal identification number. Obviously, great material for sci-fi and dystopian stories. Although, the premise can extend well beyond. In a general sense, it is concerned with uniqueness. What is it that sets something apart? It also raises questions of identity. Is there anything that truly defines us, and what would that be? Is there an aspect that if removed means we cease to be? We can also look at the abbreviation in its parts. The most interesting of which is identification. It could be argued that all literature is concerned with is identity. It is a method of exploring identification, the things that make us, that we see ourselves. Literature explores characters, and places and things, often in an attempt to identify what it is that makes them unique.
My story today did not reach for anything quite so profound. Not consciously at least. However, I hope it is a fun read. It is not yet complete, as is always the case, but I think it would make for a good short story:
It was twelve. She was never sure whether that counts as morning or afternoon. Do you have to wait for a minute to pass till noon is gone for good? Her phone screen glared back at her. Last night she’d committed to putting it on the other side of the room, but it had slowly dragged itself closer until it was snuggled in the duvet with her. She scrolled through her messages, it was quiet. The time watching her from the corner of the screen. It was half an hour before the bus. This would be the last time she’d be late. It was a tough call, she’d changed her bedsheets yesterday so they were softer than usual. Serving unhappy customers bad food was less appealing. Instead, she wanted to bury herself in the lavender.
The grease of her hair was the only thing pulling her out. She could feel the strands clinging together. Even her scalp was beginning to itch. The feeling spread around her body after running her hands through it. She was a part of the room, another pile of laundry on the floor. A message buzzed. It interrupted the funny animal compilation she was watching. She ignored it. There was a dog in human clothes, with the sass to match. She agreed with the comments, it was the star of the video, a perfect diva. Another buzz. This time she opened it. Alex was asking about tonight. Were they still meeting for coffee beforehand? At the moment she felt like saying no. Going into town today was too much work, but then she had work. If she was already there... twelve forty-eight. She had missed the bus. Even more reason not to go, there was no way her pleading would get her out of this one. It was almost official, she was unemployed. Alex could cheer her up though, and he probably wouldn’t mind paying.
She finally lumbered to the bathroom. Another twenty minutes later and she responded with, can you pay? Blunt, but he would do anything for her. He texted back almost immediately. What happened? Nothing, yet. Her phone began buzzing again, a call this time. It was work.
“Where are you?”
“At home, I just got out of the shower.”
“You haven’t even left yet. I warned you and today when we’ve got the place hired out. You knew how important today is.” She had totally forgotten. It was the most business they’d had in two months. She thought the place would go bust before Sally could fire her. This birthday event was the last thing keeping it afloat.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Sally...please…” the line hung up.
It was actually official. Maybe if she walked in they’d just let her stay. It wasn’t worth it. She got free food most days, but that was more like a punishment. She was better off. Alex hadn’t responded to her last message. There was one before. From the lottery:
Check your ticket, you’ve got a winning number.
Winning? She didn’t believe it. Her finger hammering away at the link. The draw was 6, 23, 13, 48, 17, 32. She compared the numbers with her own, the first was eight, no match. Okay, so not the jackpot. The second was thirteen, a hit. Twenty three, another. Forty-eight, thirty-two, seventeen. That was five numbers. She laughed, her chest swelling. How much money was that? She knew the jackpot, but what did you get for five? It had to be a lot. Half a million, maybe. It didn’t say anywhere. She clicked through some links, trying to find the prizes. After several pages of not what she wanted, she arrived at the prize breakdown. It said someone had won the jackpot, lucky bastard. It was a rollover jackpot of £3, 242, 765. Next down was for five matching balls, four winners, that seemed like a lot. £120,034. More than a hundred grand. It was a huge number, more than she’d earn in a whole year. Especially now that she is unemployed. For some reason her mouth was sour. She couldn’t stop thinking about the jackpot winner. A hundred grand wouldn’t even get her a house, not in today’s economy. She could go travelling though, blow it all in a year across the globe. Jamaica had always appealed, Japan too, anywhere really. She’d never left the UK before.
She wanted to text someone. Not Alex. She’d tell him after he’d paid for her drinks. After all, she didn’t have the money yet. Her mom, no better Cassie. She will be so excited.
She didn’t believe her:
“you’ve been scammed.”
So much for excitement. It did seem a bit too good to be true. Was it real? It was her ticket, she had set the website to send her text notifications. No, this was legit. Not ten minutes after getting fired she had won the lottery. She decided to check the numbers again. The page slow to load she noticed that the screen was smeared, a bit of dirt covering the edge. She wiped it away. There was the draw again. She went over the numbers, the first read six. Wasn’t that an eight before? Her eyes flicked between the draw and her picks, double-checking, triple-checking, quadruple checking. It was a six, she had all six numbers. The jackpot. She was the lucky bastard.
This wasn’t real. Reality had to be broken. This stuff didn’t happen. Three million. What do you do with three million pounds? Rule the world? Probably not, but she could buy a house, and go travelling, or even retire. All of it. No more jobs, no more arrogant customers, pushy bosses. She could do anything.
She got dressed and ready for the evening. It was a lot to take in. Seeing Alex would help. Just a normal night out. Nothing life-changing. One more day of being poor. That’s what she needed.
Here are my notes:
