The sedative wore off gradually. Her eyes had drooped open slowly at first, so that the unfocused, white blurriness dominated her vision. Gradually, as if someone was drawing them in, lines formed around the edges of the blurs, creating shapes. Tiles. White tiles lined the ceiling. And light, fluorescent and harsh, reflected off the shiny surfaces.
Her sense of touch too, had been weak at first. She had a sense of permanence, but also of dissociation. It felt like floating almost, or like a dream. She was there, but she was also somewhere else. Nestled away in her own mind, watching her life unfolding from afar.
The screams finally brought her back to consciousness.
Throaty, full bodied screams originating somewhere to her right. Starting low at first, then building to an impossibly high crescendo. She could feel them reaching out to her, pulling her from the safe recesses of her mind.
Suddenly, she was aware of the dryness in her throat, the painful clamps holding down her feet and ankles and the tightness filling her chest. Fear had heightened every numbed sense.
How had she gotten here? Her mind was a jumble of sounds, images and words. She tried to order them in a way that made sense, but the flow was too quick for her to control. A high, blood curdling scream distracted her. It was a male voice, she realized. She knew him, she realized, but who was he? Who was she?
Her stomach rumbled under her thin, white gown. Hunger, a familiar sensation.
A vision flashed before her. A small, dark haired girl sat in front of a table. A taller boy and smaller girl, both dark haired, sat across from the little girl. An older man and a woman sat at either end.
The little girl's stomach rumbled. She looked down at the empty plate in front of her. A sticky residue was all that remained of her dinner.
"Isn't there anymore?" she asked, gesturing at the bowl in the center of the table.
"Now, Johanna," the woman said, "you know that we need the rest for tomorrow."
Johanna. Her name was Johanna. She was the little girl. And this, this was her family.
"Can't you speak to the Peacekeepers again, mother?" asked her brother.
Her parents exchanged furtive glances across the table.
"That won't be necessary, Jem," her father said from across the table. He was a tall man, lean and muscular from his work in lumber yards. He had thick, dark hair that grew like weeds and constantly fell over his wide, dark eyes. Her mother had to cut it constantly. Johanna remembered watching her father out back, sitting very stiffly in an old lawn chair while her mother snipped away his hair. Occasionally, she would pull a piece of sawdust out of his wavy locks and they would both laugh, looking younger and more beautiful than Johanna ever remembered them being.
"Your father's right," her mother said, tucking a dark curl behind her ear, "we're luckier than most. We should be grateful for everything we have."
Jem snorted. "Luckier than what? 11? 12? I can't even remember what it feels like to not be hungry."
Her father leaned across the table, his eyes locked on Jem. "And it's a good thing that you don't. When you have something and then it's gone, that's when you really miss it; that's when it's really painful."
Another scream filled her ears, ripping her back into the present.