Lucky Number Seven

"2, 29, 47, 8, and.. 8"

"Holy shit"

"...and this year's bonus number is... 7"

"HOLY SHIT"

27th of December. All the gift wrapping has been gathered in a pile after opening, now lying in a bin bag in the hall. Just across that hall, in the living room, the Bradbury family is watching the Christmass Lotto, an annual family tradition. They each have a ticket, Billy, their only son, and Thomas and Mary. The London, two bedroom, apartment is full of excitement, more so than it has been all year. The Bradburies don't tend to entertain many guests, Thomas hasn't made many new acquaintances working as a construction worker for Mister Mulberry over the past seven years. 

The usual, overly extravagant blonde is reading out the numbers in her overly extravagant dress. The Bradburies watch it all on their bleak, old television from their bleak, old positions in the living room. Thomas on his armchair, the only thing he inherited from his father. The remainder is on the couch. The number seem to match up with his ticket, Thomas sits up from his habitual, reclined position, eyes wide and mouth ajar. 

"Holy shit"

"...and this year's bonus number is... 7"

"HOLY SHIT" Thomas, now standing completely erect, shocks the couched Bradburies. 

"What is it?" Billy asks with his childlike curiosity, Mary remains casually seated, void of excitement

"We've won" Thomas replies coldly.

"How much?" Mary, colder still, inquires further, with her Londonian accent, typical to the lower classes of the lower class.

"The big one.." 

Billy and Thomas, now both standing, release a yell that could be heard all the way down in central, where the live broadcast is being held. The television switches over to the traditional old British sod singing some traditional old British melody, almost as if in reaction to the lads' exclamations, now fighting to see which is crowned as the loudest. 

The front door swings open, Thomas, with lucky ticket in hand, runs into the street, soon followed by little Billy. Mary, still inside, grabs the phone and starts calling her mother-in-law, she'd be glad with some good news after her husband's death. She watches as the two males run through the empty street singing and dancing, holding up the ticket as if it were an ancient relic of the greatest importance. Their care-taking of the ticket would be similar to that of an archaeologist just having found the teeth of Jezus Christ.

The kettle, Mary realises that she's left the kettle to its own devices. Rushing over the kitchen she grabs it by the handle, with the telephone in her other hand, she multitasks three cups full of tea. 7 teaspoons of sugar for hers, none for Thomas or Billy. 

Switching priorities again to the Bradbury parade on the street, she steps back to the window to watch her husband and son dance around with glee. The phone does not seem to make a sound when it slips from Mary's loosening grip and onto the floor. Shocked, Mary finds a man looking over the prone bodies of Thomas and Billy. Next to the man, a car, blood on the bonnet.