417

Short and weird

 

John finished pumping gas into his old Ford. He hung up the nozzle and ran into the station to pay. The cashier took twenty bucks for the gas and five for the lottery tickets. He played the same lotto number he'd been playing for two years. His unlucky-lucky number was 325: the month and day of his birthday, March 25th. It has to hit sooner or later, he was thinking to himself as the cashier handed him the receipt and lotto tickets.

 

John wasn’t overly surprised when the number didn’t win later that night. He was beginning to think it would be best to stop playing altogether. It was hard though; he’d already put so much money into the number and he hated to miss that day when it finally hit. The lottery had grown into a rather nasty habit for John. Even his girlfriend, Roxanne, went so far as suggesting he go to counseling. He assured her, however, that he wasn’t spending more than he could afford. Besides, he was actually ahead for the year, about 150 bucks. Not only that, he’d spent his winnings on Roxanne, so she could hardly complain, at least that's the way John saw things.

 

It was early Friday morning and John was sound asleep. He was dreaming his usual images and frights. Suddenly his subconscious came alive with the image of his grandmother, Madalene. She'd passed away five years previous.  She and John had always been close. In the dream John was presented with a powerful image of Madalene’s face. Actually it was more like a vision than a dream. He wasn’t scared, but pleased to see her once again.

 

Madalene smiled and simply said, “Four-seventeen.” Her lips didn’t move; it was more like a telepathic communication. Then her image faded into the dark abyss of his subconscious mind.

 

John woke up in a cold sweat. He wiped the moisture from his forehead and looked at the clock. It was 5:10 a.m. Almost time to get up for work, he realized. He lay thinking of the “dream” he’d just had. It dawned on him why his grandmother had come to him: she'd come to give him the winning lottery numbers. Madalene had been rather fond of the lottery herself. Both she and John would often buy each other lotto tickets as gifts with a promise to split the winnings if the number hit. They'd both shared the same dream.

 

John was so enthused about the lottery that he left work early. He rushed to the service station to gas up and buy his tickets with the full knowledge he was going to win. After filling up he paid the cashier, handing him an extra fifty two dollars for his lotto tickets. He would have spent more but he'd promised Roxanne he wouldn't gamble with his credit cards. He spent his last dollar on his new lucky number, 417, thanks to Madalene's psychic tip.

 

The lotto machine was still spitting out John’s fifty two tickets when the cashier said, “You must be feeling lucky today."

 

“Yeah, actually I am. I've got a hunch on 417."  John went so far as to suggest to the cashier that he too should buy some tickets on the same number.

 

The cashier wished John "good luck" and handed him his receipt with the wad of tickets. “Next please.”

 

John skedaddled back to his old Ford and pulled out of the parking lot, probably a little too fast, for he was excited. What was he going to do with all that money? Twenty-six grand is going to really come in handy, he thought to himself smiling. He could pay off his credit cards...buy that new fishing boat he’d always wanted...buy Roxanne a beautiful diamond ring…

 

He raced down the unpaved road at a fast clip; so fast, in fact, that he didn’t notice the train barreling down the tracks near the crossing. He had just enough time to turn left and gasp out, “Oh, God!” The train hit the old Ford at the driver’s door, killing him instantly. The train dragged the car one hundred yards before it released and tumbled down a steep ravine and burst into flames. The train engineer radioed in the accident but kept going. Patrons at the service station ran out to the street but could see no accident, only smoke rising in the distance. It wasn’t long before the emergency vehicles showed up. A fair-sized crowd had gathered, mostly kids on their bikes who could get no closer than the crossing to John’s smoldering car. The fire trucks could not access the car via the tracks; instead, they carried their hoses from a factory parking lot and through a small patch of woods to put out the fire.

 

The state patrol had conducted their on-scene investigation and things were beginning to wind down. The twisted, charred remains of John’s Ford was hauled away. The fire trucks had returned to the station house, the crowds had dispersed, and Roxanne was notified. Only one lone state patrol officer remained, the lead investigator. He paid little heed to the small pieces of paper strewn about the accident scene: lottery tickets that were ejected from the car as it tumbled. Just as he was about to leave, something in the weeds caught his eye. It was John’s watch, partially melted but still readable. With his thumb, he brushed away the dirt from the crystal face. After reading the watch hands, he pulled the pen from his shirt pocket and raised the clipboard. He wrote three numbers in the appropriate box: 4-1-7. He then circled the "p.m." in the same box.  After one last look around, he returned to his squad. He checked in with dispatch, and then drove off into the setting sun.

 

Madalene had indeed given John his number. Unfortunately, it wasn't the one he'd been hoping for.

 

 

Author's Note

This usually gets a decent response. I supose because it's so short it actually gets read. It's not much. Just a little cutie.

Reviews

[Siren]

This is good. I like it. I should have known that something was coming, but you got me all the same. I like he way you put this together though. The little details--fifty two bucks, skedadled, and other tips--they stick in my mind. Well done, and great write. :)