At All Costs

“At last,” Gerald steeples his fingers, leaning forward until his nose nearly brushes his monitor.

Across the country, sixty-six, long, tall, hollow-cheeked men, each one an identical copy of the last, enter gas stations. As one, they step up to the counter.

“One lottery ticket.” They course. Sixty-six bored cashiers barely glance up.

Gerald cackles as his clones amble outside, “this time May, this time I’ll win.”

His unpaid intern rolls her eyes. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just buy them yourself.”

Gerald freezes, glancing around at the artificial wombs and top-secret DNA splicing tools he’s poured millions into.

Received 1st Honorable Mention in the NYC Midnight 100-word Microfiction Contest