Unseen senses, p.1
Unseen Senses, page 1
Unseen Senses
Petra Donovan
Copyright © 2024 by Petra Donovan www.petradonovan.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the publisher’s prior written permission, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Petra.Donovan.Author@gmail.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
First Edition 2024
Note from the Author
Like much of fiction, the book requires a suspension of disbelief. We often rely on visual descriptions to understand settings, characters, and emotions in writing. This book offered an opportunity to create a world where the other senses had to provide more context. As an author, it provided an amazing challenge.
However, it should be noted that blindness is a spectrum and not accurately depicted in the novel. Other considerations, like pressure, pain, and discomfort due to blindness, were also not covered. If this causes you concern or could be a trigger, please do not continue with the book.
I hope readers enjoy the characters, their unique personalities, their sensuality, and their strength in dealing with love, friendship, and family dynamics.
Chapter 1
Abigail Sorensen held back her thick hair with one hand while the other wafted the aroma of the cooking pot. She leaned in, breathing the scent in lightly and tasting the air on her tongue. As she tuned out the sounds of her apartment, she focused on the sizzle and pops of the sauteing onions. The pop noises had virtually stopped, and only a light sizzle remained. She nodded her head in approval before continuing to the next step.
In a sightless world, where generations have been born and lived without the sense of sight, Abigail relied on her four senses to navigate her small corner of the world. The apartment kitchen was a refuge - a sanctuary that pulsated with the hum of life orchestrated by deft hands moving nimbly across countertops. The gentle ticking of the oven timer and the soft hum of the refrigerator provided a melodic backdrop, a rhythm of existence in a world woven with textures, scents, and sounds.
She added the ingredients to the pot, all pre-measured before she started cooking. First, she added the white wine and quickly stirred it in the pot to scrape the fond into the mixture, de-glazing the pot. She smiled as she felt the mixture thicken slightly as the wine boiled off. Next, she added flour and mixed again for a minute before adding beef stock, Worcestershire sauce, thyme, and one bay leaf. She cocked her head to the side thinking and added one more leaf; the first had felt a little small. She covered the pot. "Jules, reduce the stove heat to simmer. Please."
"Of course, Abigail. The heat on element one has been reduced to level three."
Abigail, a maven in the artistry of scents and flavors, found her joy in the mundane tasks of her routine. Like most evenings, she decided a mixed salad would pair perfectly with the soup. Her fingertips, adept in navigating the unseen, caressed the rough exterior of a kiwi. With precision, she pierced it with a paring knife, setting free a zesty fragrance that electrified her olfactory nerves, promising the tangy sweetness within. She inhaled, savoring the lively preview of flavor that danced in the air.
"Jules set the ambiance to Parisian Fall," she commanded, her voice cutting through the quiet with authority.
The room transformed as the artificial intelligence Jules tabulated and executed the choice. Soft chirps and leaves rustling enveloped the space while, as if in the distance, the accordion music of the Bal-musette played softly. The apartment felt transported to Paris. The atmosphere complimented the dinner for one she prepared. Not exactly one, more like one, plus an extra bite or two for a feline with an exquisite palate.
As Abigail sliced the kiwi with her paring knife, her mind drifted towards thoughts of what-ifs. The fruit revealed its tender core with each cut, like how Abigail's heart was vulnerable to exposure at a single touch. Cooking was a source of comfort for her, but it also reminded her of her loneliness. No matter how many elaborate dinners or baked treats she made, they could never fill the void in her heart. Abigail quietly chided herself for setting a Paris backdrop, which would not help her melancholy funk.
As she moved through the routine, the echo of loneliness danced alongside her, growing louder with every slice and sizzle. Abigail longed for more, a connection, a thread to connect her heart to another. But her routine catered to one for a reason, and the unspoken desires would remain silent in a world that still had sound.
Abigail's stomach moaned as she maneuvered to the dining table with a plate and bowl in hand. A thud and demanding meow interrupted before she could even start. "Venus, how nice of you to join me for dinner," she said, ear-rubbing the demanded cat. "But you know onions are poisonous to cats, no matter how tantalizing it smells." Venus only responded with another indignant meow.
Teasing Venus, Abigail took an exaggerated spoonful of soup, playfully taunting the pesky feline. "Do you think I would forget you?" Abigail said, responding to Venus's lightly pawing at Abigail's hand. "I prepared something special for you tonight." She held out a small morsel of the baguette from the French Onion Soup. Abigail had soaked it in salmon oil as a special treat. Without hesitation, Venus snatched it with her teeth and dropped it on the table before eagerly licking and chewing the piece. "You are such an uncivilized eater," Abigail chided, resuming her meal. "Is this how all cats dine?" True to her nature, Venus ignored her and continued munching on her meal.
"Jules, is anything interesting in the news today?" She started their regular evening meal conversation.
"Yes, an announcement of improvement in haptic glove technology." Jules provided a recap on the topic that Abigail would find interesting. It reported that the enhancement will allow medical practitioners to use their hands for diagnosis instead of solely relying on the observations of an AI module.
"That is exciting," she said, already pondering how to leverage the technology in other fields. It was one of the many marvels developed since the Sightless Plague.
After clearing her dishes, Abigail returned to the kitchen to tidy up. Adding the cooking pots and utensils to the dishwasher, she hand-washed her dishes and cutlery, part of her nightly routine. She turned on the water first, letting her ears gauge the pressure. While some people could distinguish hot or cold water by sound, Abigail hadn't yet discerned the difference, but she tried every day. She let the water move over her hands and lace through her fingers, methodically washing each dish using a cloth and unscented dish soap, a perfect moment to let her mind wander.
Her dishwashing daydreams were interrupted by trumpet fanfare and her mother's ringtone. "Hear ye, hear ye. Her Royal Matriarch, the Supreme Leader of the Household, is calling. Stand up straight and answer with respect!" Gwen Sorensen created the ringtone herself, believing it was appropriate for her station as the head of the family and reflected her style of humor. Abigail allowed the message to remain saving her energy for future battles. Battles with higher stakes. "Hello Mom, how are you this evening?" Abigail quickly completed the dishes as her mother replied.
"Abigail, my dear. It feels like forever since we spoke." It has only been three days. "I have been sitting by the phone waiting for you to confirm you can attend our anniversary celebration this weekend."
Abigail's attendance at the party had never been optional. That meant there was an ulterior motive for her mother's call. The subject of the inquisition wasn't her attendance. The impetus of the call was to determine if she would bring a date. Feeling mischievous today, Abigail decided two could play a game of manipulation. "I'm not sure, Mom. I have lesson plans to create this weekend, and I was thinking of reorganizing my closets. Perhaps I will go to the pool."
"Stop that. You haven't been to the pool in at least a year. It is our fortieth wedding anniversary. Your absence would devastate your father." Playing the dad card, clever tactic, Abigail thought. While she loved her mother, it was frustrating that her mom always had the upper hand in a game of wits.
While she spoke, Abigail moved through the apartment. She checked the windows and secured the door locks. A daily evening evening. Apartment now secure, she flopped down on the sofa. Abigail conceded to her mother, perhaps for self-preservation or a lack of will. She knew the family matriarch would soon start fake crying. It was hard to console tears of manipulation. "Of course I will be there. Do you need me to bring anything? I could make cookies?"
"No, my dear. I am having the celebration catered. Perhaps there is someone special you could bring? But not Tessa. I have already invited her."
Abigail mouthed a silent "crap". Her childhood friend usually served as her plus-one. Now Tessa was getting her own invite. "Mom, there is no one special, and I don't want to be grilled about it." Abigail couldn't avoid questions about marriage and starting a family. A well-meaning guest will suggest introducing her to someone or another. Once Abigail could no longer handle the judgment, she would hide in her childhood bedroom closet. No one ever checks the closets looking for her.
"Mom, I could never bring someone to such an important celebration. Me showing up with someone after all this time would steal the spotlight from your special day." Confident in her resourcefulness, Abigail smiled, knowing her answer would deter her mother's persistence. Abigail absentmindedly began petting the cat that had hopped onto the sofa. Venus nestled onto her lap and emitted a soothing purr. Both were content with their successful manipulation.
"Oh, yes, I wouldn't want to put that type of pressure on you. I won't be able to control your aunties, but I will do my best." Ugh, the aunties. The majority of those ladies were not biological aunts, but their close friendship granted them the title. "They all want to see you happy. It comes from a good place."
"I know. They all mean well." By 'all' Abigail was looping her mother into that category. It would be nice if my happiness wasn't dependent on a man or a baby. Was this the hundredth time she had said those exact words? Was there a prize for repeating it so often?
"Yes, of course, dear. You can find happiness without a man or a baby." Dismissing the topic further, Gwen Sorensen continued, "I was hoping you could keep Tessa under control at the party. I love that girl like another daughter, but I can't have her misbehaving with the guests or the staff."
Abigail sputtered out a laugh, unable to hold it back. The truth was out. Today's call had nothing to do with Abigail coming to the party. It was about putting a leash on Tessa. Her mother's concerns were valid, but the request would be equivalent to asking Abigail to hold back the water if it rained that day. Tessa was a force of nature.
"There is nothing wrong with Tessa's behavior, Mom. Perhaps you should ask your guests to control themselves around her." Abigail and Tessa were best friends, and she would defend that friendship. She also needed to take pity on her mother. "I will do my best to keep Tessa entertained."
"Perfect, my dear, that is all I ask. I should continue making my calls. See you this weekend." The call disconnected.
"Okay Mom, love you. Say hi to Dad for me," Abigail said to the disconnected line. Talking to her mother felt like a whirlwind had gone through her head. She couldn't help feeling played from the moment the telephone proclaimed her mother's call. Had she ever had the upper hand?
Like most of their interactions, her mother's call reminded Abigail of what she felt was missing from her life. Abigail's life would be easier if she could deny her yearning for a partner to celebrate anniversaries with or longing for the feeling of holding a baby. She wanted those things, but simultaneously, she was terrified to trust anyone and let down her defensive walls.
Abigail had considered adoption; she could open her heart to a child, but that felt incomplete. She grasped the benefits of being a single parent, but couldn't abandon the partner-shaped void. Abigail considered her parents to be her goal, with a little less manipulation of her children. Abigail wanted someone to partner with whose strengths and weaknesses offset her own.
A single tear slid down Abigail's cheek as she mourned for her old life. For the last five years, she had considered her existence in terms of pre- and post-attack.
Pre-attack, Abigail not only dated but thought she had found the one. She had played the field and imagined futures with every eligible and at least one ineligible man she met. But meeting Ryker had fit perfectly in her vision for her future—their future.
Post-attack, Abigail avoided interactions, mentally constructing walls and moats to keep people at a safe distance. She also learned that Ryker was the sort of man who jumped ship when times were tough. Abigail rubbed her neck, recalling the welts from where her purse strap had been used to choke her. The botched purse snatching had resulted in weeks of physical recovery and now years of emotional trauma.
Abigail gave herself a shake and cleared her throat. She could not dwell on it much longer without her anxiety getting out of control. After rechecking the locks, she headed to bed. Alone.
In the embrace of the weighted blanket, Abigail felt the comforting weight pressing her into the mattress—a tangible reminder of past loves and the shared intimacies of a bed. However, these memories, though vivid, lacked the warmth of human touch, and no cozy blanket could replace the comforting embrace of a partner's arms.
Gently tracing the tips of her fingers across her face, Abigail allowed herself to imagine sensations if it had not been her touch. These imaginary caresses, filled with tenderness and longing, teased her into yearning for something more profound. Despite this desire, a persistent fear held her back, making her hesitant to open herself to vulnerability.
The longing intensified, and she ached to place her hands on someone's chest and feel the reassuring thud of their heartbeat. Yet, the fear of potential heartache and disappointment lingered, creating a barrier that kept her from pursuing the deeply desired connection.
With each deliberate breath, she tried to control the slow release of her apprehensions. In the quiet room, she discerned only her scent, a solitary presence in a space that had long awaited the warmth of shared moments. Another's breath absent, untouched side of bed empty, isolation weighed on her, unwelcome companion.
Sensing Abigail's solitude, Venus thudded against the mattress and kneaded the bedding, creating her cozy space. Curling into a protective ball, the cat fell asleep, her purrs providing a gentle backdrop to Abigail's contemplations.
As the embrace of sleep enveloped Abigail, she grappled with a profound question—whether she could rediscover the original Abigail, who approached life with unbridled enthusiasm. If the answer came, it was lost in the last few minutes of consciousness before sleep finally overtook her.
Chapter 2
Jules instructed Abigail to veer right to avoid a pedestrian. Instead, she veered left and clipped her foot and shin on a stone step. The lack of sleep from the night before had left her feeling sluggish and unable to concentrate. Abigail let out a curse, her words echoing through the air, and then quickly apologized to her surroundings, mindful of any nearby children. It might have been safer to stay in bed, but duty called, and she had to go to school.
Abigail was already running late as she bumbled through the coffee shop's door. The rich aroma of brewing coffee enveloped her as she navigated to their usual table by recognizing the familiar sounds of coffee machines and the comforting hum of conversations.
She couldn't start the workday without meeting her best friend for an aromatic tea or coffee. As a high school biology teacher, she needed that burst of caffeine and lighthearted conversation with Tessa, an English instructor at the same school.
"Mornin. Already ordered your tea," Tessa's sleepy voice slurred. Abigail wasn't alone in starting the day poorly. But at least Tessa was running on time.
Abigail's acute sense of smell caught a hint of alcohol lingering in the air, intermingling with freshly toasted bagels. Tessa's movements were sluggish, and the sounds of her gulping down coffee revealed an underlying discomfort that Abigail could almost touch.
"Tess, are you hung over?" Abigail sat opposite Tessa, careful not to spill the tea.
"I don't know, Mom, am I?" Tessa responded, gulping down coffee loud enough for the entire café to hear.
"Sarcasm noted, I'll take that as an affirmative on being inebriated. We partied hard on a Thursday night, did we?" Abigail's shoulders slumped as she rubbed her temples. "It seems like it is every few days. Maybe mothering is what you need," Abigail reprimanded.
Unfazed, Tessa tore off a chunk of her bagel and shoved it into her mouth. Still chewing, she replied, "We're still young and free. It's our era to live it up. There was a time you would have been out all night with me, a walk of pride straight to school. Don't judge." Tessa ripped another piece of bagel, smacking her lips together like an insulant child as she chewed.
Tessa's words landed with the impact of sharp fingernails on Abigail's face. A wince played on her features, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine, laying bare the depth of her emotional turmoil. It was one thing for Abigail to regret the loss of the old her, but it hurt more to have Tess shove it back in her face. "Not nice, Tessa Sato. You're judging me. I am worried about you. How are you going to manage teaching this morning? You are going to get fired."
Tessa stuck out her tongue and blew raspberries in Abigail's direction. "A coffee now, a bagel to reset the tummy, and I will fill a thermos of coffee before we leave. The first period can draft some crappy poem about spring."
