Perception

Prologue

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All characters and events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.  

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Fuentealbilla, Albacete, Castile-La Mancha, Spain

25th September, 2002

-11:30 am

"Okay Mrs. Santaló, would you kindly describe the incident to me once again?" asked Doctor Antonio.

"Doctor, would you please just tell me what is wrong with my daughter?" Perla Santaló asked, as she continued sobbing.

"I can help you, only if you tell me what exactly happened. It seems as though something is missing from what you said. It's almost as though there's something you're not willing to tell me, Mrs. Santaló." he told her, as he glanced at her face, disapprovingly.

"No, I swear. I didn't see this coming." she added on.

"You really had no idea of the shortcomings of this incident? Because this is bizarre, to not have an idea of. " He said. "Has she ever mentioned to you about any illness or fatigue?"

"Heterochromia. Nothing else that I know of." she explained. "Although, she does keep getting weird dreams sometimes. She sleep talks a lot, especially since the past couple of months."

"What does she say when she does so?" he asked, looking sternly. This seemed to have caught his attention, clearly, because he pulled himself closer to his table.

"She just mumbles most of the time. Random numbers, objects, sometimes her own name, I don't know they never made any sense." she said softly.

"Do you remember any of the above mentioned things she's said?" He asked.

"She keeps saying one zero nine six, camera, door, and her name, Abigail." she answered. "But what does all of this have to do with what she did now doctor?"

"All this may not make any sense now, but they might, if I get to talk to her, or if you-..."

"I did try asking her, politely, and she was traumatized. I don't suggest you asking her anything about this, doctor" she replied firmly.

He paused for a while and said "Strange. Very strange. Nothing connects. I don't see any possibilities of a post traumatic attack or anything for that matter."

***

24th September, 2002

-9:00 am

Sunny morning, with the sun's rays just above the horizon. Abigail Santaló loves to run along the flat depths of the hills, trying to outrun the sun. Perfect Sunday morning routine, she thought. She thought.

The sky, so blue and beautiful. Not a whiff of dark clouds, or anything that can make the sky look dull, almost as blue her my eye. The pastures, fresh and green, like her other eye.

She wanted to avoid going out to her uncle Samuel's fiftieth birthday party, because it's boring, with all old people drinking Sangrias and dancing away in glory. And her cousins don't really like her. They look at her as a piece of menace, although she's learned to grow with it. Just like how she's  learned to grow with the statement "Oh she's too mature for a nine year old."

She heard her mama calling her from the kitchen when she had ran out into the fields. She did tell her she'd be back in a jiffy. She couldn't wait. She had to come, looking for little Abigail.

"Abigail, you come home with me right now. We're getting late." Mama called out, while coming outside to get her. "We have to be there by nine thirty."

"Mama, just five more minu-..."

"No more excuses this time junior. We're in a hurry." She said, smiling at me, as she came forward to lift her off the ground.

"Mama! Loo-.." she backed off from her.

"What is it darling?" She asked, coming closer, confused.

"No, mama, look!" she said, pointing behind her back. Mama looked behind her, to find nothing intriguing.

"Sweetheart, don't play with me. We don't have ti-..."

"No, mama! Papa's come back to life." she said "Look, he's standing right behind you."