*A picture is worth a thousand words. In this creative writing series, I write a short story in a thousand words using famous artwork housed in art galleries as inspiration. These short stories are not in affiliation with the galleries or artists mentioned. This work is fictional with no resemblance to real world events, people or places. Names, places, events and incidents are the product of imagination and used fictitiously.*
Life’s a lottery
Rome, 1740.
The sun prickled Antonio’s skin, his eyes ached from squinting at the sun. The piazza was bustling like always when the lottery was to be drawn. On this occasion, Antonio had purchased several tickets – some through illegal means and others in fake disguises and names. He needed to win this time.
Gambling was always a sore subject in his family, his uncle, Benedict, lost everything after an unfortunate incident at a lavish dinner party at a high ranking Roman officer’s home. Antonio remembered the day well. It had only been a two months after his father’s demise and as a dutiful member of the family his paternal Uncle announced he would burden the responsibility of housing, feeding and supporting Antonio and his mother. Although Antonio always thought there was an ulterior motive for Uncle Benedict’s sudden generosity. He always eyed his mother Maria with a strange cat-like stare, calculating his next move. And Antonio pretended to turn a blind-eye at their closeness and fondness. Several months ago Benedict lost all his fortune – or so he says – in a card game with his wealthy friends. As the brother of a loyal and talented member of the Roman army, Benedict was given special passes to honour his brother’s memory and therefore become friendly with a certain sort of person. Long story short, he lost all his money, respect AND any social standing he’d accumulated throughout his life. So now Antonio had taken it upon himself to become the man of the household, the paterfamilias.
The crowd pushed and shoved for a better look at the balcony, the stage where the life-changing 25 denarius ticket would be drawn. The red cloth covered balcony towered above Antonio and he shuffled his feet for a better look at the crowd and his potential exits if things got rough. While surveying the piazza, the hustle and bustle of the world continued. Everyone preoccupied by a world where they are the main character, a world where they are number one. The market traders hollered and shouted, selling fresh fruit, vegetables, delicate silks and other oddities from sea travel. In the distance, a fashionable lady in pink pranced through the crowd while her entourage fought for her attention. Her face upturned and sneering at the crowd. A white dog snuffled it’s way through the legs of the female’s gentlemen companion. The man completely unaware of the dog surveying his fine washed and pressed garment. In another corner of the square, men clambered up a statue pushing for a better view of the lottery, these men were visibly drunk and disorderly, Antonio noted. They sang and swayed in a jolly and carefree manner. A loud cheer disrupted Antonio’s survey and drew his attention to the piece of paper flying through the air. Damn! I missed the opening draw!
The paper floated without a care into the sea of grabbing hands, the rules of the lottery draw were simply – whoever has the paper with a series of numbers that correlate to a prize by sundown, is the rightful heir to the winnings. Hands clawed and grabbed, hair pulled and feet stamped on. The men and women standing idly around the piazza feigning ignorance to the day’s events suddenly lurched into action, fighting for a chance at glory.
Antonio was pulled down into the crowd, his hair pulled and shirt ripped by the feasting bodies of greed and desperation. He kicked and punched until he broke the surface of the crowd, gasping for air. He squinted his eyes and saw the glimmer of a white paper clutched in the hands of an older man, his hair thin and eyes sunken. In what felt like slow motion, the crowd turned and saw the man cheerfully proclaim he was the winner. A smile beaming in complete ignorance to what was certain to happen next.
“GET HIM!” a woman with a shovel bellowed from the midst of the action. The crowd roared and the man was tackled to the ground. In the heat of the moment the unfortunate man released the paper and it rolled to the side, while his body became apprehended. Antonio seized his chance at glory, kicked his way from under a burly man’s grip and climbed on top of the pile of people. Screams filled the air and Antonio tasted blood. He rolled to the ground and grabbed the paper, bracing for an impact that never came.
“huh! Yes! They didn’t see me??” he muttered as he peered his head from under his arms. Slowly he crawled to sit behind a nearby overturned cart. He looked around and with a breath of determination sprinted from the safety of cover through the square. In a brief moment he thought he’d won, visions of grandeur filled his head. The crowd, like blood hounds, turned and followed Antonio in a swam. Panting hard and sweating Antonio ran as fast as he legs could carry him. He jumped over overturned barrels into the depths of Rome, the alleyways narrowed and the sound of danger prickled Antonio’s neck. He ran until he reached a dead-end.
Danger impending, he prayed to anyone and anything that would listen. Cornered, the crowd looked angry – they looked lethal.
“Give it here, boy” a woman cackled, another stepped forward menacing with a wheel of cart, that Antonio could presume she stole to batter her opposition with and gain some sort of dominance.
“er…I don’t know what you’re talking about?” he shuffled awkwardly.
With no questions asked a burly man, the same one who had trampled Antonio, waltzed up and grabbed the paper and unrolled the now damaged paper. The man scanned it.
“Is this some kind of a joke…boy?!” Wide eyed and confused Antonio snatched the paper. He read it again and again, turned it over in his hand. It was a shopping list, no winning ticket, but a list of ingredients to make soup.
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