The first thing that comes in my mind whenever I hear the word “lottery” is easy money, for my father used to play such game, having in mind that his numbers were “lucky,” in order to have a few more. But having read this short story, it seems that my perception of the word “lottery” is something opposite with that of the story. Although the story started in somehow a common scenario in a village where there is “peace,” in the end it turned out in to something that is, again, opposite to what I expected. I found the story ironic. Everyone in the village is to participate and should participate to the lottery, and the “should be lucky” one to get the paper with a black spot gets a “reward” of being stoned. Such irony in life is something I experience the same and reflects to how immature I’ve been for the past years.
Firstly, I am the box that was used in the lottery. The box that is if needed is like the main attraction in the midst of the crowd, as if the only hope for betterment. And at the same time, the same box that was unjustly treated as if it had never been a part of something remarkable, something important. The same box that was “splintered badly,” is of no use anymore and is meant to be replaced by another one – a new one. The box that has nothing to say because it’s just a mere object. As for me, because of such immaturity, I just let them do the same to me, making myself as an object – the one used for immediate aid.
Secondly, I can see myself in little Dave’s situation. The young and pure heart to which is the well of all positivity and optimism. The one who easily trusts anyone not knowing of the things round him, it is as if every moment is meant for laughter and joy. Trust that can be easily given by anyone. Same as to mine – my every decision is greatly influenced by people who are around me. Even I have the ability to say, to reason, or even to object, because of having such a heart that is so pure and is afraid to hurt anyone or fail the expectations of anyone, I keep my mouth shut just to please them.
I have been such for the previous years of my existence but then I realized who I really am all the time. I am one of those children who gathers the stones. One of those who, despite of all the knowledge and ability to think, is part of throwing stones without any knowledge or understanding why must do such act. To throw stone to someone or something just because it’s the norm of my environment, the norm of the society which I belong with. The one who throws the stone because it is what is should be done.
But with all these, I can say that I am also Mrs. Hutchison the one who was in the very beginning a very confident looking one with a commanding voice to her husband. But then the same woman who was the lucky one who was drawn in the lottery to experience the ones in a life time reward. The reward that made me realize one thing, that there will be others, despite your ability to reason and speak out, who will throw rocks upon you that would cause you to fall, and in the end, still, the one who has nothing to do but to unwillingly accept the reward that was for hers. But then it’s not always that my whole being is the same as her, I have my own way of facing the things that are approaching me, and as a response, no matter how others throw rock upon me, in the end, it’s still up to me if I want my life to be a life worth living, which requires a happy life or become a martyr.
(Updated on 08 August 2016)