The Human Effect

Chapter 1

I hear the perfectly timed knock on the door, forcing me to snap my eyes open and sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes and staring at the knocker. He was middle aged, I guess, balding and with a larger belly than I have. He is wearing the designated uniform for a knocker -- plain blue shirt and matching pants, a name tag that read 107764 with "Harry" embedded under it (his own identification), and the wooden stick used to rap twice on our door every morning at precisely 5:35.
"Good morning," he states, his voice dry.
"Good morning to you too," I reply flatly. Waiting for my sister to sit up in her own bed and reply, I sit very still. We're not supposed to move at different paces. I hadn't realized she wasn't up yet -- I suck in a breath. I'll have to be Reprimanded later today. That's the third time in a week. It's always been harder for me to fit in to the rhythm.
Once Melanie is sitting up, we swing our feet out in accordance with Mom and Dad, and head for the dressers, directly across from each of our beds respectively.
Stripping off our sleeping clothes to put on our Daily Wear, I feel myself redden a little. I shouldn't be ashamed, but I always feel slightly embarrassed when it comes time to change, for a reason I can't quite come to explain. But I keep that to myself. I know nobody else feels that way.
Mom is dressed in her Diet Engineer's suit, Dad in his Clothing Production uniform, and Melanie and I in a pink tee shirt and plain jeans to identify us as girls, and as children. Which should be obvious since we go to school, which is where we are headed next, but you never question the system. That's what Mom says.
We step in uniform to the kitchen table, where the children -- me and Melanie -- sit quietly while the parents go to the Platter to pick up four trays, then drop them down in front of us. We eat in silence, our forks moving in unison. When we finish, we get our backpacks and Mom and Dad get their suitcases. Closing the door, we head off our separate ways to our next destination. Another empty day waits ahead.