The Lottery

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty
Close Read: The author's choice to use the word "liberty" here is very ironic because this lottery completely contradicts the word sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest
Question: Why do they pick the smoothest and roundest stones if the stones are being used to kill someone? Why would they want something so visually pleasing to commit such a terrible act? stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"
Expansion: The name "Delacroix" comes from the french words "de la Croix" or in english; "of the Cross". In french, this name is pronounced delah-kwah instead of dellacroy, like the villagers pronounce it.--eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather. surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted
Replace: avoided looking at one another and exchanged bits of gossip
Replace: nervous glances as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. "Little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it.
Restory: (From Mr. Summers perspective) I hate this day. I organize so many events for this town and they make everyone so happy, but I know they could never dissociate my name from this event. Each year there is a part of me that hopes my slip of paper will have a dark black circle on it. If it did, I would never have to witness another lottery again. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box.
Close Read: Later in the story Old Man Warner talks about how crazy it is that people are getting rid of the lottery tradition. Obviously not everyone is a fan of tradition, especially ones like these, but others are afraid of change. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.