The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the warmth of a full summer day. Flowers blossomed, and the grass was richly green. The small village of Dunham was beginning to gather for its annual tradition, the lottery. Children ran about, gathering stones and chatting excitedly, while the adults greeted each other with small talk, the anticipation of the event palpable in the air. The town square was the center of activity, with families arriving one by one, their faces a mix of curiosity and unease. The lottery had been a tradition for as long as anyone could remember, and though no one questioned its necessity, an unspoken tension lingered beneath the surface of the villagers' smiles.
Rising Action
As the villagers continued to assemble, Mr. Summers, a round-faced, jovial man who ran the local coal business, arrived with the black wooden box. The box was old, its paint chipped and faded, and it had been used for as long as anyone could remember. It was said to have been made with pieces of the original box that had been lost over the years. Mr. Summers placed the box on a three-legged stool in the center of the square, and the crowd quieted down.
The lottery began with a roll call, Mr. Summers calling out the names of each family head, who stepped forward to draw a slip of paper from the box. As each name was called, there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, the villagers growing more tense and subdued. The slips were carefully folded and placed back into the box, the ritual proceeding with an almost reverent solemnity.
Rising Action (Continued)
As the villagers watched intently, the families took turns drawing from the box. Bill Hutchinson was among those who stepped forward, his wife Tessie and their children standing nearby. When Bill's name was called, he moved to the front and drew a slip of paper. He held it tightly in his hand, not opening it until all the heads of families had drawn their slips. Mr. Summers instructed everyone to open their papers simultaneously.
A collective sigh of relief spread through the crowd as most people found their papers blank. However, a gasp followed quickly when one slip revealed a black dot. Tessie Hutchinson's voice broke the silence, protesting loudly, "It wasn't fair! You didn't give him enough time to choose!" Her voice was shrill and panicked, drawing the attention of everyone around her. The villagers murmured among themselves, but no one stepped forward to support her.
Climax
Mr. Summers raised his hand to quiet the crowd. "All right, folks. Let's finish this quickly." He called the Hutchinson family forward. Bill, Tessie, and their three children reluctantly approached the black box. The villagers watched in silence, the tension in the air almost tangible. Mr. Summers placed five new slips of paper into the box, one of which was marked with a black dot.
One by one, the Hutchinson's drew their slips. Tessie held her breath as each family member opened their paper. When it was her turn, she hesitated, looking around at the faces of her neighbors, hoping for some sign of support or intervention. Finding none, she finally unfolded her slip to reveal the black dot.
A collective murmur ran through the crowd, and Tessie began to scream, "It isn't fair, it isn't right!" But her protests fell on deaf ears. The villagers, including those she had considered friends, began to move towards her, picking up the stones they had gathered earlier. The annual ritual was about to reach its grim conclusion, and no one seemed willing to stop it.
Falling Action and Conclusion
The crowd encircled Tessie, their faces devoid of the familiarity and warmth they had shown earlier. Mr. Summers nodded to the villagers, signaling them to proceed. The first stone was thrown by a young boy, barely old enough to understand the gravity of his actions, but driven by the momentum of tradition. One by one, stones flew through the air, striking Tessie. Her screams of protest and pain echoed through the square, but the villagers remained unmoved, their resolve hardened by years of unquestioned ritual.
As the brutal act continued, a sense of normalcy began to return to the villagers. They murmured amongst themselves about the crops, the weather, and other mundane topics, as if the horrific event unfolding before them was just another part of their day. By the time the last stone was thrown, Tessie lay motionless on the ground, her voice silenced forever.
The villagers began to disperse, returning to their homes and routines, the tension dissipating as quickly as it had come. Mr. Summers carefully collected the slips of paper, placing them back into the black box. "Same time next year," he said to no one in particular, his voice carrying a chilling finality.
Life in Dunham returned to its usual rhythm, the lottery a dark but accepted part of their existence. The villagers knew, deep down, that the cycle would continue, each year bringing a new victim to the altar of tradition.
