Grinning, the hostess churned the cloud of plastic balls. Kay watched the television screen, imagining the static in the chamber, the balls crackling like thunder. They dropped out one by one, like hail pellets, each printed with a shiny number.

Twenty-one, thirty-four, sixty-seven, forty-three, sixteen... She scanned her ticket backwards and forwards, holding her breath as the final ball emerged.

The electricity flickered, and she felt a jolt as her head hit the tile. Blood trickled from her lips as she tried to clutch the ticket, her passport to the good life, but her hands were no longer her own.

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