He looked at the letter. Over and over again. Maybe he was dreaming. This was too good to be true! Life had been rough recently. He checked again, if the letter was really addressed to him. If this was true, it would change everything.
It would change his life. He could get away from this poverty, buy a new car, even move house.
“Right, Martin, you’ve read the letter and it was addressed to you. That means, you’ve won the lottery – hip, hip, hurray!” said Darkie, who was wearing some black leather sexy outfit, with holes at the side of the dress held by pins.
“Hang on a minute, Darkie … the truth was the ticket wasn’t really his, right, Martin? Didn’t the good old neighbour, Mrs. Smith gave you some money and asked you to buy her that lottery ticket? But you forgot to give her the ticket.” That was Divs talking, who was wearing a simple white dress, which covered her from neck to toes, her hair braided with a white bow.
“But you could always tell the old lady you forgot to buy her the ticket and probably give her money back,” whispered Darkie to Martin’s left ear, her breath smelled like strawberries and her lips so inviting.
“I’m sure the decent way was to tell her the truth, who knows, she might share her winnings!” persuaded Divs. “Come on, Martin, I’ve always known you doing the right thing!”
“Think of all the good stuff you could have, new car, move house, away from this dilapidated flats with weird neighbours – and you could woo Estelle now.” Darkie seducing Martin with her looks.
“But Martin, would you be able to live with lies, with the guilty feeling that you deprived Mrs. Smith of her winnings, which might pay for her medicines and so on? Think about it, Martin,” replied Divs.
“The two of you, please leave me alone. Can a man think for himself?” And so Darkie and Divs left Martin in peace. If you were Martin, what would you do?