The Lottery - Part Six

"That it is Trailer Park Barbie" Micheal chuckles, pulling around out front before idling. "Welcome to your dream palace." he continues, obviously enjoying the situation. My jaw drops, my eyes darting over the weather-worn exterior of the trailer. The untended grass surrounding it practically seeks to consume the trailer, the wheels and the small set of steps to get inside being all but obscured by the greenery.

I whimper audibly as I open the door, swinging my bare feet out of the edge as they dangle over the dirt path that carved its way up to the shitty trailer.

"Wait" calls Sara, reaching into the various compartments around her as she gathers up snacks and water bottles. Grabbing a small plastic bag from under her seat she drops it all in, a care package from the concerned looking young woman. "Here, take it" she states, pushing and struggling to get the bulging bag through the small gap in the wire fence separating us.

Sighing to himself Micheal grans the bag, rolling down his window before holding it outside. "Come on you two, we don't have all day" he groans, glancing between myself and Sara.

I slide from my seat, my feet hitting the dirt hard as I feel chest and rear jiggle with the impact. I'm forced to cover my shield my eyes, the afternoon sun bearing down hard above me. Despite that the air feels rather pleasant, the trees around me providing a natural shade and the lack of black asphalt roads leaving little space to absorb the heat.

With my lips still quivering and tears forming in my eyes I mince over to the driver's side window, reaching out for the heavy and overstuffed plastic bag. I barely have enough time to get my fingers under the straps before Miceal lets go, a whimper escaping my plump lips as I feel the thin bands of plastic dig into my soft and sensitive skin.

"Where're ma keys?" I choke out, taking the beg into two hands as I squish my breasts together with my upper arms.

"No clue" Micheal says with a shrug, "shouldn't be too hard for you to break into that piece of..."

"They are on the kitchen counter I think" Sara interjects, leaning over to speak to me through the window. "I think I saw them when I... we... well..." she mutters, rubbing the scratch marks on her neck.

"Sorry 'bout..." I begin to mutter, still feeling awful for what Alison had done to Sara. Micheal and Sara soon reply, speaking over each other before glaring at one another.

"You should be" Micheal coldly states, moving to roll up the window. "Do not worry" Sara coos, waving her hand at my apology dismissively. "It was not you who did it, remember that" Sara chirps, her face soon becoming obscured by the heavily tinted windows.

"Thank..." I begin to say, the car quickly pulling a U-turn as it flings up a cloud of dirt around it. I watch as it practically races to get back towards the entrance, Micheal still desperate to make good time in getting back home after our long drive out here.

With the heavy bag in hand I turn towards the small dirt path up to the trailer, my eyes darting over the numerous discarded bottles and cans scattered around the unkempt and wild lawn that surrounded it. As I walk up I find the feeling of the dirt and pebbles beneath my feet not being all that bad, my body apparently being used to wandering around barefoot.

"Maybe she jus' had a party or somethin'?" I meekly squeak under my breath, something about the state of my new home telling me that this simply wasn't an out-of-place occurrence. The cheap plastic folding furniture looks well worse for wear, having been left out to the elements for god knows how long. I worry that if I were to even touch it, let alone sit in it I would simply break the fragile plastic.

The old pickup truck near the trailer, while rusted and looking a little disused, appears to be of rather solid construction. The older model looks built in a better era, the quality showing in the fact it would still likely run perfectly after all this time.

As I reach the trailer I carefully pace up the small fol- out steps leading to the wire door. I feel them flex slightly underneath me, the thin sheet metal bending slightly as I put my whole body weight on it. The feel the paint peeling beneath my feet, my cold running cold as everything begins to sink in about my new body and life.

"Dis...dis is bullshit..." I whimper, wiping away tears on my heavily tattooed upper arm before opening the wire door. It sticks for a moment before popping open with a rattle. A flimsy wooden door sits behind it, the white paint peeling back around the edges of the aging wood.

As I turn the door handle I find it unlocked, the door swinging inwards as I'm met with a barrage of scents that leave me gagging. The smell of stale beer clings to the musty and sweat-laden air, the smell of moldy food and decay clinging to it all as an undertone to the general funk. The rattle and clanging of cans rattle their way across the floor as I push open the door, a sign of things to come that leaves me crestfallen.

The interior of the trailer is several outdated, the design looking more akin to something from the seventies compared to anything else. Think moss green shag carpeting stretches across the whole floor, much of it having been worn down and stained heavily over years of use. The walls are covered in a layer of fake wooden, likely some sort of cheap paneling covered in linoleum.

The entrance leads to a room that is both living room and kitchen rolled into one, the cramped space barely having space for a couch and a small TV while leaving room to move. The dark navy blue couch, much like the floor, is covered in empty cans of beer and vodka pre-mixes along with the occasional bottle of harder spirits. The tv resting against the right hand wall is also surrounded by booze, the tiny table it rests on doubling as a liquor shelf.

To my left sits a row of slender kitchen counters, an old gas range stove sitting between them as a small sink lays next to it. The countertops are covered in some kind of fake marble, heavily worn and scuffed after decades of use. The counters are painted a bright sickening orange, the contrast between them and the carpet making my eyes hurt. The sink and counters overflow with dirty dishes, flies buzzing around the fetid food clinging to the mismatched bowls and plates.

Deeper inside I notice the living area branching off into three distinct rooms, though one is merely a continuation of the living space more than anything else. Two small rooms act as a separator of the trailer, both on the far side and about halfway down the length of the aging structure. They each have a sliding door leading inside, the closer one being slightly smaller and appearing to be floored with blue and white tilling.

Wandering inside I place the bag on the kitchen counter, my eyes darting to the set of keys resting by the door. My hands clamp over my nose, the scent of my sweaty body being leagues better than that of the trail. As I tentatively pace my way down the length of my new home I open all the windows I can, the ones overlooking the kitchen soon letting in a cool breeze as the fetid air is shifted and pulled out.

To my right I glance inside the tiny room, finding the smallest bathroom I had ever seen. The folding door appears segmented, allowing it to curve around as it slides into the walls. A simple shower and toilet sit in the room, the cramped space bearly allowing for both to exist side by side. There is no sink, the kitchen sink apparently serving the purpose, leaving the pale blue water-damaged walls on full display. Mold clings to the edges of the shower and around the drain, the small fan above the tiny frosted window either not working or never being used to keep the moisture at bay.

The next room down appears a little larger, the same folding sliding door being used to keep it hidden from the rest of the house. I slowly open it up, the slats of wood clacking loudly as they slide into the wall. Inside I'm met with the sight of filing cabinets, over a of them, all placed haphazardly around the room. A small folded-up single bed rests squished up against the far wall, the thing likely barely fitting in the room despite its tiny size.

"Are these da cab'nets dat Al'son was takin' 'bout?" I mutter to myself, reaching out to one and pulling open a single draw. Paper, stacks and stacks of paper sit inside with large dividers separating them for one reason or another. My eyes glance over it all, my headache and temporarily dulled mind struggling to really take it all in.

"Dat's a later problem" I sigh, stumbling out of the room and towards the last room at the end of the trailer.

The last room is a mess, the cans extending out this far as they pool around the sides of a large disorganized double bed. The sheets appear stained and filthy, weeks or months of use without a single washing slowly adding up. Clothes litter the bed, various items of cheap and tight clothing having been left out either due to laziness or not being sure what to wear. The walls are painted a dark red, the almost purple color giving a moody and almost sensuous feeling to the bedroom as a whole. A feature wall of the same fake wood sits to the right, a large wardrobe and small vanity sitting pressed flat against it.

The vanity is covered in various letters, most of which lay torn open. Approaching them I pick up a few, my eyes darting over them as my jaw drops.

 

Ms. Alison Mae Daniels

We are writing to inform you that the plea you have made with the DA has been accepted. While your license will still be revoked for a period of (14 Months) for your offense (Dangerous and Reckless Driving Whilst Intoxicated) no such offense will be listed on your criminal record. 

You have been added to the Lottery pool, and will be in such pool for a period of (14 Months). 

The fines relating to this offense and those outstanding have also been waived as a part of this deal as well as a sign of good will. 

We hope this is the last time you will be hearing from us.

Joanne Williams,

District Attorney's Office

"Criminal..." I whimper, my hands shaking as I read the letter. While the current offense had been looked past thanks to joining the Lottery I couldn't help but worry what else she had done.

My eyes quickly move to the next letter, finding several essential-looking documents inside. While the letter is rather short I find myself immediately moving to the two formal documents in the back, a pair of death certificates dated for only a few months back for a Mr. and Mrs. Daniels. I feel my heartache as I read them, a pang of sadness being felt for the young woman who had apparently lost both her parents at the same time.

"Da poor darlin'" I mutter under my breath, my face softening before I remember that she had escaped that life and into my own thanks to whatever fuck up had occurred with her rating by the Lottery.

Lastly I turn to another formal-looking letter, immediately recognizing the letterhead at the top as belonging to a big three law firm.

 

Dear Mrs. Daniels.

We regret to inform you that you uncle, Mr. Walter Riley, has recently passed away without leaving a will. As those managing his estate we have been searching for his next of kin and have, after no small amount of effort, found that you are to inherit his estate intestate.

We will be delivering to you all documentation relating to the estate, including all deeds and transactions, for your perusal. Updating document registers and resolving now dissolved trusts relating to these assets may take some time however, so please in the meantime try to come to an understanding of the estate to the best of your ability before contacting us to discuss where we are to go from here.

We wish to repeat our condolences once more, and hope to hear from you soon. 

Best regards, Mathew Colbyn,

Principal Attorney - Wills and Estates

I quickly drop the letters back on the vanity, racing back through the trailer towards the cabinet-filled room. I wince and groan as I feel my chest bounce achingly as I run, my hands reaching up to cradle the heavy mounds as I attempt to stop their jiggling.

As I reach the room I quickly rip open a draw, pulling out the first stack of files as my eyes dart over them. I feel the gears in my had grind together, the mental rust in Alison's underused brain making it hard for me to really move through the documents with any real speed.

Long lists of transactions and emails fill page after page, a long stapled-together section of documents resting at the end with a settlement and deed from some property I had never heard of before. A small plan sits along with the deed, the quaint little home apparently having quite the nice backyard and what appeared to be three bedrooms.

I quickly place the files back where I found them, moving on to the next soon after before repeating the task with each one in the draw. House after apartment after house all appear to be neatly organized and detailed in the folders, the full history of the communications leading up to the transaction being meticulously kept along with all the documents relating to the property and its sale. Each has the same name appearing multiple times, Walter Riley, as the buyer or the owner of the property on the deed.

It soon all starts sinking in. There were at least a dozen of these filing cabinets in this room, with four draws apiece and god knows how many properties in each one. If they were all the inheritance, all the properties of this Uncle Walter, then that would make her wealthy beyond my wildest dreams.

I drop to the floor, feeling my plush plump behind acting as I pillow against the plush shag carpeting. Chewing at my bottom lip I try to focus, thinking back to my law degree as I pray it wasn't lost in the transfer. Reading over more and more of the documents, fishing them out of the bottom draws of the nearest cabinets, I try to wrap my head around just how much needed to be done.

"Reg'ster needs ta be changed... bank 'counts need ta be updated... an' like they said, trus' need ta be dissolved or updated ta reflect da new ben'ficary" I mutter, barely paying attention to my voice as I butcher the words leaving my mouth.

"They prob'ly 'ave more 'sperience dan me, but..." I muse, frowning heavily as I try to focus on the rough timeline on my head. "To get me 'outta 'ere? Should prob'ly only take..."