The Lottery of Empathy

The Lottery of Empathy – Epilogue: Years Later By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Written by Riley Year 1 We didn’t stay close. Not really. But we didn’t disappear, either. We called, sometimes. Shared meals once a month. Texted when the wind hit wrong. Shannon dropped out of fashion school—panic attacks. But Malika let her stay for a few weeks. She got back up. Bruno sent no messages. But someone saw him at a farmer’s market. Selling jerky. Smiling. With a dog. Jay still left things for people. Quiet helper. No spotlight. We were still fragile. But we weren’t alone anymore. Year 2 Mira relapsed. We lost her for three weeks. Avi found her sleeping behind a church and took her home. They live together now. Healing is slow. But real. Danny’s son visited for Father’s Day. They went fishing. Didn’t catch anything. Didn’t care. Kenzo teaches ESL to immigrants now. Calls it his redemption job. I published the book. “The Lottery of Empathy.” You’re reading it. ...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 10: The Reveal By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Day 100 They were summoned—each one of them—by a plain letter tucked into their sleeping bags, coat pockets, lockers, hands. “You are invited to a final gathering. No obligations. No cameras. Just truth.” They came. Not all at once, and not without suspicion. But eventually, ten souls gathered in a quiet space: a small repurposed library near the edge of Strathcona. The fire was real. The coffee was free. No one was watching—or at least, not in the way they feared. The Donor Speaks A woman stood at the front. No security. No microphone. No suit. Just an old wool sweater and tired eyes. “You were never meant to compete,” she said. “That was the lie we told to reveal the truth.” “I was once like you. Forgotten. Frozen. Furious. But I had help. Someone lifted me. And I swore, if I ever made it, I would do the same.” “I didn’t want to give to the loudest voice or the saddest story. I...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 9: A Cold Kind of Christmas By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Day 85 – December 25 There are no carols. No trees. No lights. Just the sound of rain on tarp, wind through alleyways, and the flicker of fluorescent bulbs in half-empty shelters. Christmas comes anyway. Riley She’s been writing every day, even when she can’t feel her fingers. She folds her pages into a Ziplock bag she keeps tied to her belt. She hasn’t seen her aunt or cousin—but she’s sure they’re still in it. Her gift today? A tiny notebook someone left on a bench. It smells like peppermint and ink. Danny He traded a clean pair of socks for a cigarette and watched the world pass from the SkyTrain platform. He says he’s not bitter. But he sings “O Holy Night” under his breath with tears in his eyes. Says the song reminds him of his son. He won’t let himself cry in public. Shannon She hasn’t spoken to anyone since December 1. Walks with her head high, makeup still flawless. ...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 8: Bruno’s Recording By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita [Voice Memo – Day 53] *Click.* Alright, 3:22 a.m. I can’t sleep. Hip’s screaming again. Left one always flares up in the cold. Probably rusting. I saw her again today. The tall one. Riley? Rachel? Whatever. Pretending she didn’t see me. She did. They all do. This is the fourth time. That’s not random. That’s design. This thing we’re in—this isn’t a damn contest. It’s a simulation. Behavioral ops. Data extraction. I’d bet money they’re feeding this into a pattern algorithm somewhere. They don’t want empathy. They want measurement . They want to see what breaks first—your stomach, your spine, or your soul. That Indigenous kid—Juno—sharp eyes. Quiet. Watching me. Could be handler, could be just smart. Not sure yet. Danny thinks he’s slick. Walks like he’s still got clean socks. Probably hiding something. Everyone’s hiding something. The girl with the baby eyes—Malika? She helped the d...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 7: Rain, Rescue & a Bit of Soup By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Day 48 – Commercial-Broadway Station It’s raining again. That heavy, sideways Vancouver rain that soaks your socks and your soul in five minutes flat. They’re huddled under the concrete overhang near the entrance. The smell of piss and exhaust and wet clothes hangs in the air. Someone’s coughing too hard. Someone else is nodding off. Malika spots her first—a dog, curled up behind a dumpster, shivering. Then she realizes: the dog is not alone. Five tiny pups. Brand new. Still wet. Riley gasps. “Oh my God, she’s having them right now .” They gather around—Danny, Juno, Shannon. Forgetting themselves for once. Forgetting the rules. Just people watching life try its best to survive. Then a voice behind them: “ That’s my girl! ” A man runs up—panicked, breathless. “She’s mine. She was stolen last week. I’ve been looking everywhere.” He drops to his knees, crying, kissing t...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 6: Too Many Coincidences By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Day 42 – Food Bank, East Van The lineup wraps around the building. Cold wind. Stale breath. Everyone trying not to make eye contact. Riley spots Danny two people ahead. He’s hunched, collar up, holding a cracked grocery bag like it’s full of treasure. She looks away. Malika is four spots behind her. Their eyes meet. A flicker. No one smiles. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzz louder than conversation. Shannon turns a corner near the bread crates—and freezes. Jay’s there. Helping restock. He doesn’t notice her, or pretends not to. She grabs a can of soup and leaves fast, forgetting the peanut butter she came for. Day 44 – Community Center Drop-In The floor smells like mop water and paper towels. A volunteer hands out stale coffee in tiny styrofoam cups. Someone plays piano badly in the corner. Bruno watches from a bench by the wall. He sees them— all of them —trickle in. Not ...