“The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green.” 

The story begins with a pleasant reference to the warm, clear day, an ironic contrast to the horror that is about to unfold. 

“The lottery was conducted—as were the square dances, the teen-age club, the Halloween program—by Mr. Summers, who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him, because he had no children and his wife was a scold.” 

On a lovely summer day, with the friendly crowd milling, who better to conduct a lottery than Mr. Summers, whose cheerful and orderly presence makes the event seem more special? His flaws—childlessness, a nagging wife—make him seem all the more human, in ironic contrast to the event he oversees.

“Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box.” 

The box—from which annually is drawn the deadly fate of one of the villagers—has been used in the lottery since before the oldest resident was born. The townsfolk are reluctant to alter anything about the annual ritual, perhaps for fear of jinxing it. Though perceived almost universally by the residents as vital, the lottery’s purpose, after many generations, has become hazy.