Two men had appeared in the doorway, dressed in the black Guardian garb. They were directed to take me by the female judge, who was definitely not whispering anymore. Her harsh shouting reverberated in my swollen head. “Remove her immediately!” she barked at them, pinching the bridge of her nose like the whole thing had inconveniently given her a headache. They roughly hooked their arms under mine and pulled me to my feet. As they lugged me out the door like a sack of potatoes, I could see the boys helping Rash to his feet. I was thankful that for now, at least, he had escaped further punishment.
The Guardians were trying to make me walk. I tried but I felt dizzy and uncoordinated, like my legs were made of jelly. My shirt was soaked with blood and my eye was starting to close up. One of the men gave up and slung me into his arms. I had no strength to struggle. Besides, there was nowhere to run to.
The hall started to narrow before my eyes. I felt my body being hollowed out and filled with lead. Everything that I had tried to build was gone, forever. Any warmth I had in me was replaced with a cold dread, knowing that I would most likely be dead in a few hours. My vision was getting tighter and tighter, until all I could see was a spot of light dancing before my one good eye. I felt my body being dumped on a hard, cold surface. I exhaled, farewelling my life. Hope was gone. Death was imminent. I prayed it would be fast.
It felt like I had missed something, like there was a gap in my memory. I didn’t know how long I had been here and what they were asking of me. I knew that it was big. Something I was resisting. Things kept slipping and I needed to retrace my steps. I felt like it was essential I figured it out soon, before something bad happened.
There was an ominous cloud hanging over my head, pushing down on me, pushing me to look deeper. I curled around the emptiness and pulled a yellow quilt around my shaking shoulders. This was home, right? It looked like home, but there were small things that didn’t quite fit—like the small crack above my bed that I used to trace with my finger when I couldn’t sleep and the quilt made from scraps of fabric, sewn by my mother, the faded spot on the curtain where the sun hit in the afternoon. There was no sun here. It felt like we were underground. It was cold. My ears sought noise from the outside world but there were none. No birds, no wolves howling, no lawn mowers grumbling. All that was familiar to me was twisted or simply missing.
And somewhere at the back of all of this, there was something pushing. A fissure was appearing in the black spots of my memory, one small shaft of light. I felt like if I could get my fingers in and pry it apart, things would become clearer. Thoughts ticked over time and I came back to home. Was I even supposed to be at home?
I was tracing that imaginary crack over and over when they came in. One, two, three people, smiling unconvincingly. “How are you feeling?” one asked, patting my arm absently. She peeled back the covers and wrapped a black bandage around my arm, inflating it until it hurt while pressing her cool fingers to my wrist. Someone handed me a tray of food and a milkshake, which they told me had the extra vitamins I needed in it. I didn’t register faces, voices. It seemed unimportant. Food, however, seemed extremely important and I eagerly dove into my meal and took sips of my shake, while nodding at their questions. A tall man, with a frightening smile, all giant teeth that didn’t quite fit in his mouth, asked me if I’d had any nausea that day. I shook my head and touched my stomach instinctively. My milkshake stuck in my throat.
I rolled my hands over my middle, expecting loose clothing and a flat stomach, my fingers pressing down. “What the hell is this?” I screamed. I was bulging. I looked like I had swallowed a sack of rice, or had been blown up with air. My once smooth, smooth stomach had been replaced by a protrusion, a lump. Concern flickered on the blonde lady’s face but it was quickly covered up, her composure a serene mask. The other, older woman, held my hand away from my stomach. She held it tightly, as if trying to stop me from touching it again. I felt her manicured nails digging into my wrist.
“Now calm down…” someone whispered as I felt my armed pulled upward violently and jabbed sharply.
A fog rose up around me. I was floating on a grey cloud, unaware and indifferent. I went back to feeling like I couldn’t quite grasp what was happening to me. But somewhere, a thought was pawing at me and I got the sense this had happened before, many times more than once.
Was I dreaming or was this real? Things swirled around in my head, blood, warmth, shredding pain. I reached out and grasped at the one thing I knew was true. My name was Rosa, I was sixteen years old, and I surrendered myself to the Classes early because my mother was pregnant. But even this memory seemed wrong. Wasn’t there a boy? I shook my head, trying to clear it, but his face remained a blur surrounded by a blondish halo. I hit my thighs with my fist weakly in frustration. It was like I was climbing the inside of a bowl, always slipping back down to the bottom every time I thought I had made some progress.
Whoosh! The sound of air escaping from somewhere startled me. But then a calm washed over my whole body and whatever startled me didn’t seem to matter anymore. Every muscle in my body relaxed and I felt myself sinking.
Whoosh! There was that sound again. I wondered where it was coming from, but at the same time I didn’t care. Curiosity was a vague shape, easily shelved. I felt at ease, peaceful and sleepy. But something sharp kept pushing up inside me and telling me to fight it, drag myself out of this strange fog. This peace was false.
I pricked my ears, feeling like I hadn’t used them in months. The whooshing sound had come from underneath the slim, metal-framed bed I was sitting on. I dragged my body up to sitting and rolled over and down the side of the bed. Every movement needed my full concentration and energy like I was moving through molasses. Once over the edge of the bed, I felt like I was dragging myself over the edge of a cliff, my legs dangling in the air. I gripped the cold, metal bars of the bed, feeling like I might fall miles and miles into a dark abyss. My body felt uncoordinated and unbalanced but I persisted, pulling my awkward form along the floor like a commando.
And there it was…
Underneath the bed was a tiny silver pipe with what looked like a little showerhead over it. “Whoosh!” A flush of cold, sweet smelling air hit my face and everything went dark.
I woke up back on my bed, with unfamiliar people crowded around me. Men and women in white coats, holding my arms up, pinching my toes, looking in my eyes with small, silver torches. I pursed my lips, trying to concentrate, but explanations seemed just out of reach. Were these doctors? Or perhaps scientists? In Pau, well, in the rings I had been to, there were a few people who dressed like this. They poured out of a dingy looking building in Ring Five at quitting time. They quickly shrugged off their white coats and shoved them in their packs as they walked home. Shedding their skin as they returned to their other, separate life back in the housing areas. Pau was like that—no one ever talked about what they did for a living. Pride was not a rewarded attribute.
“I think she must have rolled off, or fallen,” the tall man said. “I don’t think she’s compromised.” I tried hard not to raise an eyebrow at the word ‘compromised’.
The younger female smiled at me, patting my head soothingly. “You fell, darling. Try not to move while we examine you.” I felt like saying, I’m not a wounded animal, but at the same time, I wanted to snap at them like one.