[ WP ] Give me a story where the good guy wins , but the victory is unsatisfying .

`` 10, 56, 27, 9, 27, and… 41! ” 
 
 Patrick O ’ Witty held the coffee-stained lottery ticket in a quivering hand, his red-rimmed eyes staring at the flickering television screen in utter disbelief. His eyes began to itch and burn when he realized he hadn ’ t been blinking. He checked the numbers several times, certain he was mistaken. The numbers on those silly white ping pong balls inexplicably lined up with the ticket in his hand. The audience on the television applauded and the host displayed a collection of pristine, gleaming teeth as he smiled at the camera. 
 
 He won. 
 
 Patrick O ’ Witty was a billionaire. 
 
 His heart began to race as he reverently set the small paper on an end table, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. A burning mixture of anxiety and glee made him light-headed. Luck had finally turned in his favor. 
 
 Recovering from a terribly unfair divorce settlement, Patrick struggled to make ends meet. He had been working double shifts at Weinmeier ’ s, a local grocery store chain that had been slowly but steadily growing. Paul Reichart, the assistance produce manager, had been selected to head their new store over in Boughtown. That left an open promotion and Patrick knew he was the favorable selection. 
 
 He wouldn ’ t need that anymore. 
 
 He ’ d never worry about money again. 
 
 It only took one week for Patrick O ’ Witty to realize that sudden and incredible wealth isn ’ t what he thought it would be. 
 
 The phone was ringing again. 
 
 “ Hullo? ” 
 
 `` Pat? ” the voice sounded slightly muffled and entirely unfamiliar. 
 
 “ Yeah? ” he rubbed his throbbing temples with an unsteady hand. 
 
 “ Pat! My God, it ’ s good to hear your voice! It ’ s your cousin, Tamara! ” Patrick couldn ’ t confirm or deny if he even had a cousin named Tamara. 
 
 He hadn ’ t heard from any of his family in over a decade, yet the past week had the phone ringing off the hook with aunts, uncles, second-cousins, twice and thrice removed. He did a little googling but still didn ’ t understand what that meant. 
 
 Patrick set the phone down gently on the cradle as the excited voice jabbered on the other end. He ’ d been warned this might happen, and he had tried to prepare himself for it. The sudden barrage concerned family only accentuated the loneliness that had consumed his life for so long. 
 
 He winced as an authoritative knocking suddenly struck his front door. A strange social anxiety had made an unwanted appearance in those gloomy days. Frequent visitors and press came to his home to offer their hollow congratulations on his near record-breaking jackpot win. He sat behind curtained windows, pretending he wasn ’ t home, visibly cringing until the knocking ceased and the unwelcome guests went away. 
 
 He shot a glance at the red polo shirt that hung on an arm chair in the darkened living room, forgotten. “ Weinmeier ’ s Grocery ” was proudly embroidered on the breast pocket along with an assortment of colorful fruit. He had it starched and ironed recently, trying to give himself any edge he could to win that promotion. He didn ’ t need that promotion anymore, didn ’ t need to work at all. 
 
 And so he sat in his lazy-boy recliner in front of his television, bored, lonely, and anxious. He ’ d never have to worry about money ever again, and that absolutely terrified him. 
 
 Edit: Words are hard.
