The waiting room was tasteful. Ancient but clean brick walls divided it so it didn’t feel like an acre of sitting people, while windows, with potted plants, created a sense of openness. Vivaldi, played soft, gave way to Pachelbel.
A pleasant voice interrupted. “Today’s number is three-four-H-twenty-one-B-five. Repeat, today’s number is three-four-H-two-one-B-five .”
There were a few muted shouts of joy through the windows.
I looked at our ticket. 34H21B6. We just missed it.
As we left the building I couldn’t help but to feel a slight pang as I watched the losing family being led to the euthanasia chamber.
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Word count = 100