The Lottery

Dystopian Micro

FlashFic inspired by the work of Andy Futuro, the work of Keith Long , and an unhealthy dose of projection.

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The cellophane window is staring from the kitchen table, envelope laughing at me with my own name.

It's from the Lottery.

Knew a guy back in college that got his conscription at 23. Everybody knows you go in the Lottery at 21 but it usually takes a good decade before you get picked.

Everyone gets picked.

His number came up short.

Died at 32. Acute renal failure. Hard to fight the good fight with one kidney.

They promised funding dark matter breakthroughs would complete the Human Genome Project and baby, they weren't kidding.

Problem is people don't need fuckity genes to destroy themselves, they'll always find a way, and now they had permission to find new ones. Meanwhile chlorine enemas make a comeback as neurological constructs like Autism refuse to respond to genetic perfection. Isoprex gets rebranded as Macroflex. Adderall is a vitamin, they pop benzos like tictacs.

Can't unfuck the human mind with CRISPR.

Dispense the days coffee beans. Swear to christ this damn machine shorts me every morning. HEALTH IS WEALTH. Organ hungry pigs. Pour over mud water, plus stevia. We get a coffee subscription while the Higher Ups still get sugar but they get whatever the fuck they decide they deserve.

They run the Lottery.

Rip the envelope open with my teeth because I ain't giving them the dignity of treating this envelope like a goddamn envelope. Fuck your biological pink slips. Maybe the QR code gets damaged and I can stall for a new notice. As if it would make a damn difference. Once you get a surgery date it’s a done deal. If you no show they send a woowoo bus to escort you so you don’t miss the reschedule. You don’t get another notice. They take your door down when it’s time for your body to hit the slab.

There it is. June 21st.

Left kidney, appendix, spleen, tonsils, skin graft upper back.

Farm the vestigials for stem cells. Throw the rest into zero g bio storage til a Higher Up gets too comfortable cheating diabetes or ODs on xylazine.

My docs must think I'm a fuckin horse if they're taking the spleen.

At least the fuckers are letting me keep my teeth. Took all the ex wife's lowers on the first conscription. Bottom dentures are a bitch.

Fuck this. Fist the organ audit and head to the trash and loathe myself for the hesitation. Listen as the disposal grinds it to pulp for composting.

Fertilizer. Everything is fertilizer.

If they want fertilizer that’s what they’ll fucking get.

Pop up the floorboard under the sink. Still got the hooch that crazy bitch brought back from the speakeasy in Texarkana the week before she ate a bullet.

She wouldn't let them take her a second time. If you luck out of organ donation with medical clearance confirmed you get put back in the Lottery. Skipped her second surgery conscription and opted out of reality a day later.

I thought she was a coward but I get it now.

I get it.

Might be as big a piece of shit as the Higher Ups but if I'm gonna be their fertilizer they're doing it decomposition style. With any luck they won't find a body til the rot sets in. They'll call it a waste but I calls it freed will.

Swig the hooch and gag. Forgot how old this horse piss was. Finish it with a grimace and a grin anyway.

Liquid courage.

I don't need to miss their appointment.

Waiting for the inevitable is their game, not mine, and I got a date with the ex wife's Sig upstairs.