Flash! Fiction 3 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

35

Splitting the Lottery

As soon as the numbers flashed on the screen, I screamed and dashed out of my cube to the elevators. 13-40-63-2-18-39, 13-40-63-2-18-39, 13-40-63-2-18-39, those were my numbers, alright. But I had to get home, fast ... and find my ticket.

Ever since Leslie moved in, I've had to find a different hiding spot each week. We get along, I suppose, mostly because we never see each other. But there's something about Leslie I don't trust. Recent-ly, my browser history has been erased twice that I know of, and I never do that. Somebody's also been going through my mail. I have to keep an eye on Leslie. All my meds are now locked up in my desk at work.

I grabbed the first cab, bright yellow with 1340 painted on the side.

What a coincidence! 1340, 1340, 1340 stuck in my head, and it took me a minute to remember to give the driver my address —

1839 Lawrence West. All of a sudden, the middle numbers were coming up blank.

1340, something, something, something, 1839 — the swarm of possible numbers swirled in my head. A deep breath and I leaned over the front seat to see how much further, then Cliff — and he looked like a Cliff — barked into the rear-view mirror, "Hey, putcher seat on or I'm gonna pull over. Wanna make trouble or somethin?

Cop sees that-n-I'm— "

That was enough distraction to get to my place, where I pulled a fifty from my wallet and dropped it cavalierly on the front seat —

magnanimity, I was going to love it — jumped out of the care, and raced to the front door. I'd left my key in my purse at the office ...

stupid! But old lady Smithson was always home and she'd buzz me in. She lived for the buzzer and often heard it.