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 ...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 5: Cracks in the Rules By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Back Alley – Day 32 They shared a sandwich behind a recycling bin. Juno held half in their hand like it was made of glass. Malika ate hers slowly, chewing longer than necessary, savoring every bite. “You talk to anyone?” Juno asked. Malika shook her head. “Just you.” “Good. They watch everything.” “You think it’s real? That someone’s really going to give us millions for this?” “I think someone’s sick enough to watch us for fun.” Malika laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “I hope they choke on their conscience.” They sat in silence, the wind lifting Juno’s hoodie. A rat skittered past. Neither flinched. “If you could leave right now,” Malika whispered, “but had to go back to how things were—would you?” Juno didn’t answer. Text Message – Day 34 Mira: I saw you. At the church steps. You looked right at me. Shannon: We’re not supposed to talk. Mira: I don’t care. I’m scared...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 4: Danny’s Journal By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Day 17 Okay. This was a mistake. Who the hell volunteers to be poor? For a year? For a *chance* at a payout? Me, apparently. Genius that I am. Thought I could outsmart the system because I’ve seen the system. Drove a taxi 20 years, day and night. Learned how to spot a drunk, a junkie, a liar. Figured that gave me an edge. Turns out there’s no “edge” when you haven’t eaten in two days and your socks are wet for the third time this week. I miss my place. It was small, sure, but clean. Had plants, nice sheets. Knew the neighbor’s cat. I even had a couch. You don’t realize how much a couch means until you haven’t seen one in two weeks. I miss coffee that doesn’t taste like burnt boot water. I miss my son. He’s grown now, doing alright. We got through high school together. His mom couldn’t handle him after she remarried, so he stayed with me. I used what my mother left me—wasn’t much, but eno...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 3: The Participants By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Ten people. One year. No money. No help. A chance at millions. They didn’t know who the others were. But we did. Family & Friends Danny – The loyal friend with a gambling problem and a chip on his shoulder. Says he’s “doing it for the money,” but deep down, he wants to prove something. Even he’s not sure what. Shannon – Your older sister. Polished, judgmental, quietly unraveling. Believes this whole thing is beneath her—but refuses to be left behind. Riley – Your niece. Fresh out of university. Book-smart, life-clueless. Thinks this will look good on a future podcast. Jay – Your son. Kind but guarded. Participating only because he doesn’t trust anyone else to survive it. Mira – The friend who always thought you were a bit “extra.” Signed up out of curiosity, but now she can’t tell what’s real anymore. The Strangers Avi – 62. Retired nurse. Lost her pension and her partne...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 2: Riley’s Journal By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita Day 6 I watched a man almost die today. I don’t know if I’m supposed to write that. We’re not supposed to mention other people. But it happened, and I can’t unsee it. He was right there—outside the café. I walked past him when I came in. Didn’t even glance at his face. He looked like the others—tucked into himself, garbage bag for a pillow, coat zipped all the way up. Invisible. And then he wasn’t. He was pale, his mouth turning blue. The paramedics moved like machines. I sat frozen with my stupid cup of coffee, trying not to cry. Juno was next to me. Quiet. I think they knew him. Or maybe they’d seen something like this before. I hadn’t. Not this close. Danny was across the room. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. Shannon was near the window—hood up. Our eyes met for half a second. She looked away. I’m not supposed to know who else is in this. But I do. Or I think I do. And maybe they re...

The Lottery of Empathy – Post 1: The Jolt By Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita They just wanted coffee. A few minutes inside. Warmth. A chair. Maybe even sugar. It was Day 6 of the challenge—not that any of them called it that out loud. No one dared. Each person had signed the same contract: no disclosure, no discussion, no quitting without consequence. Most of them didn’t even know who else was participating. They were told to “assume nothing,” which was harder than it sounded when you kept bumping into familiar faces. Jay was already seated when Riley arrived—her hoodie soaked through and hair plastered to her cheek. She hesitated when she saw him. He looked thinner. Sadder. He looked... like someone trying not to look at her. They said nothing. A few minutes later, Danny showed up—swaggering, as usual, acting like the café was just another Tuesday pit stop between poker and payday. But his hands trembled when he took his cup. Maybe from the cold. Maybe from something else. ...