This story is by Mike Conradt and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
The fifth commandment says, “Thou shalt not kill.” There should be an addition to it. “Except for millions of dollars.” If I won the lottery, I would be rich. If my husband, Jack died, the money would be all mine. It’s a tempting thought. It enters my mind whenever I buy a lottery ticket. Thoughts like this should never enter my head. I do love my husband.
The idea comes to mind again today, like a broken record, as I head to the grocery store. Once again, I drive it out of my mind. Like I said, I love my husband.
Pulling into a parking spot, I see a twenty-dollar bill lying on the ground. I put my foot on it, reach down, and pick it up. It’s my lucky day, I thought. I put it in my back pocket and walk into the grocery store.
I picked up the few needed groceries and went to the customer service counter to buy a lottery ticket. I pulled out my lucky twenty from my back pocket and paid for it.
“Hi, Doreen,” JoAnn said as she touched my shoulder. “Buying a lottery ticket?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, waiting for my change.
“Jackpot is high, isn’t it,” said JoAnn.
“I know. I would love to win it.”
“What would you do with it all.”
“Take a long vacation with Jack.”
“You know what they say,” said JoAnn. “People who win the lottery end up divorced and unhappy.”
“I have heard of that,” I said.
“I’m sure you’ll be happy if you win,” said JoAnn, smiling.
“What would you do if you won the lottery?” I asked curiously.
“I would kill Brad, then I would live a life of luxury,” said JoAnn.
“JoAnn! Would you do that?”
“No, not really. But he can be very trying at times,” said JoAnn.
“I have to go,” I said. “Have a nice day.”
“You too. Say hi to Jack.”
“I will.”
Grabbing my groceries, I left. On the way out, I thought about her killing Brad. It hit home. Halfway to the car, a dreadful thought came to mind. I could not remember where I put my lottery ticket. I looked in my sack. It wasn’t there. I dropped my grocery sack, opened my purse, and searched among keys, wallet, Kleenex, a small notebook, ink pens, and trash. I fumble through my wallet. It wasn’t anywhere. Where did I put it? I didn’t leave it on the counter, did I?
I became frantic when the thought of losing the ticket became a reality. It took two minutes to lose, and I bought it with the money I had found. It was my lucky ticket. I felt weak. My emotions were racing, but there was no crying or whimpering yet.
“Is everything alright, madam?” a voice asked. I turned, startled to see a handsome man standing beside me, straight and tall, like the oak tree in my backyard. I flushed.
“Uh, no, I think I have everything under control,” I stammered, staring at him, my hand still buried deep in my purse. I felt embarrassed. He smiled, turned, and walked away. He was a polite man, a handsome man, I thought. He seemed so sure himself. But I am married. I pushed what I was thinking out of my mind and resumed trashing my purse. Finally, I concluded the ticket was not there. I could scream.
A car pulled up behind me and blew its horn. Jumping at the sound, I picked up my grocery sack and, clutching my purse, walked to the car. Once inside a whine come from my mouth—more like a whimper. What did I do with that ticket? I thought, staring out the window.
For a moment, my thoughts drifted to what JoAnn had said. The part about killing Brad. Would she? I can’t imagine that. I stared at the people coming and going at the grocery store. My mind drifted like in a dream. A fleeting thought crossed my mind. The same devious thought. It was so horrible I began to entertain it. What if I did? The money would be all mine if I won the lottery. All mine. Like a companion. It would always be there to feed my happiness. I could not help but smile at the thought.
My thoughts went back to the lost lottery ticket. I can remember walking away from JoAnn and then… Ah Yes! I remember. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the folded dollar bills. The lottery ticket stuck out from between them. A wave of relief came over me. I bent down, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. I took a deep breath. I put the ticket in my wallet—in one of those hidden secret places—and put it in my purse.
I drove home, put the groceries away, and started supper. A few minutes later, Jack walked in.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Terrible,” he said.
“Oh, poor baby.”
“That’s okay; I’ll survive,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. It was the kind of kiss a person gets after seven years of marriage—affectionate and sincere. I could feel his fondness for me as he rubbed the sides of my waist and put his arms around me. It made me feel good inside. I watched him set the table, and a sudden rush of guilt came over me. My thoughts from earlier began to haunt me.
We finished supper, and I cleaned the table. Jack went in to watch TV. My uneasiness made me nervous, and watching Jack didn’t help. It’s a thought—a murderous thought, and thoughts can be action. I went into the living room and sat next to him. He put his arm around me.
“What are you watching?” I asked.
“A murder mystery,” he said.
“What’s it about.”
“I don’t know. Something about a wife killing her husband.” I shivered. Jack felt it.
“You, ok?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m ok,” I said.
I watched for a while, then got up and wandered into the kitchen. I paced the floor. I must stop thinking this way. This is no way for a woman who loves her husband to feel. What am I thinking? It’s a silly thought, and I tried to push it out of my mind. I am a grown woman, and my thoughts are selfish. The idea of murdering him—it’s going a little too far. Or is it? I went to the living room and stood behind him. I rubbed his cheeks and kissed him on the forehead.
“I’m going to shower, then go to bed,” I said.
“Ok. I will be right in,” said Jack.
While in the shower, questions ran through my head. How would I do it? Where would I put the body? I could hit him on the head with a skillet. That won’t work. I don’t have a cast iron skillet like my mother. I could cut the brake lines on his pickup. Then, when he goes down the hill and onto Tuner’s curve, off into the deep ravine—no more Jack. I giggled and went to bed.
I went to the grocery store the following day to check the lottery ticket numbers. Was it a winner or not? If I won, would I kill Jack? I already settled on cutting the brake lines. Then, ravished with guilt, I tried not to think of it. Who would keep me warm at night? Where would I go, and what would I do? It’s a morbid thought, almost criminal. I could not do it. I could not kill my husband. Stop thinking that way. I would not be happy, and I want to be happy. Even if I win, would I be satisfied without him?
A tear ran down my cheek as if I had already done it. I wiped it away. I walked to the customer service desk and looked at the red numbers on the digital display. They mock me as I compare them with the numbers on my ticket.
I went outside and leaned on the car, confused and trembling. Tears ran down my cheeks at the thought of losing Jack. I wiped them away. I love him, I thought to myself. I am happy. He provides me with everything I need, including love. What more do I need?
I watched the lottery ticket leave my fingers, fall to the ground, and lay there. I could not help but wonder about the ticket. Did it represent happiness or sadness? Then, a breeze blew it away. I would be set up for life, but would I be happy? That was the question, and really, I had no answer. I just stood there and watched the piece of paper called a lottery ticket blow away. I stood there until I could not see it anymore.
Leave a Reply