KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10
(Autistic author)
Ignorant of Plankton's
neurodivergence, Sandy
doesn't realize that her
persistent questions are
adding to his overwhelm.
She leans closer, her
face a canvas of concern.
"Look at me, Plankton,"
she says, her voice strained
as she grabs his shoulder.
Plankton's antennae
twitch in agitation, his
single eye snapping
up to meet hers. The
touch feels like a brand,
his senses on fire. "Words,"
he murmurs, his voice a
desperate static, trying
to return to the safety
of the word search.
But Sandy's grip is
firm, her gaze intense.
"Look at me, Plankton,"
she says, her voice a
persistent hum. She doesn't
understand the distress
she's causing, her intentions
pure but misguided. So she
turns him using both of her
hands to squeeze his arms.
The sudden pressure
sends waves of pain
coursing through his
tiny body, his voice a
piercing squeal of
static. "No, no," he whispers,
but she only holds tighter.
Her touch feels like a vice,
her voice a relentless
buzz in his ear. "What's
going on?" she repeats,
her grip unyielding.
Plankton's eye widens
with fear, his voice
a desperate static. "No,
Sandy, please," he whispers,
his body trying to
shrink away from the
contact. But she doesn't
understand, her eyes
searching his for answers.
"Just answer me! You're not
getting the book until you
decide to have a conversation!"
The pain in his arms
spikes, the pressure
unbearable. His voice
cracks like a whip. "Can't,"
he gasps, his breath
quick and shallow. "Too much."
Sandy's grip doesn't
lessen. "Why not?" she asks,
her voice a stubborn
hum. "You're okay."
The room feels like it's
closing in on him, the
sensation of her touch
like a million tiny
saws against his skin.
He tries to pull away,
his voice a frantic
static. "Too much," he
whispers, his breathing
quick and erratic. "Need
words, not touch."
But Sandy's grip
doesn't loosen. She's
determined to get
his attention. "Look at
me then," she insists, her
voice a firm hum. "I'm
right here."
Plankton's eye
flutters with the effort
to focus on her face.
The sensory assault of
her touch and her
persistent voice is like a
whirlpool threatening to
pull him under. "No,"
he whispers, his voice a
fragile static. "Please."
"Talk. To. Me!" She says
as she pulls him closer
to her.
Plankton's eye bulges with
the effort of not looking
away. The room is spinning,
his senses are on fire. Karen's
screens flicker with alarm,
picking up on his distress.
"Sandy," she beeps, her voice
a warning siren. "Let go of
his arms."
Sandy's grip tightens,
not comprehending the
harm she's causing.
"But he's not answering me!"
she protests, her voice a
confused trill. "Because until I get
an answer..."
Karen's screens
blaze with a mix of
frustration and fear.
"Sandy, you're hurting
him," she beeps, her voice
a sharp warning.
Sandy's grip
doesn't waver. She
doesn't understand the
severity of the situation.
Her eyes are wide,
her expression a mask
of confusion. "What's
wrong with you!" she
asks Plankton. "I JUST..."
"Sandy, stop!"
Karen beeps, her voice
a piercing alarm. "You're
causing him pain!"
Sandy's grip
finally loosens, her
hands retreating from
Plankton's arms. She
stares at him, her
expression a storm of
confusion and concern
as Plankton's tiny body
slumps.
"What's wrong with
you?" she asks again,
her voice a gentle
hum of bewilderment.
Plankton's body
quivers like a leaf,
his eye squeezed shut
against the onslaught of
emotions. "Can't..."
Sandy's face is
a canvas of confusion,
her hands hovering
over him like a lost
diver searching for the
surface. "But why?"
she asks, her voice
a gentle hum.
Plankton's
body is a taut
bowstring, each
breath a struggle.
He tries to find the
words to explain,
his voice a static
whisper. "Too much,"
he says, his eye
still tightly shut. "It's
too much."
Sandy's gaze
softens, her
confusion giving
way to concern. She
doesn't understand,
but she can see
his pain. "What do
you mean?" she asks,
her voice a gentle
breeze.
Plankton takes a
shaky breath, his
body still reeling
from the overstimulation.
He opens his eye,
looking at her. "Say
no, Sandy."
Sandy's gaze is
steady, her voice a
soft hum. "No?" she
asks, her eyes searching
his for answers. But he
won't elaborate.
Karen's screens flicker
with frustration. She
knows Sandy means well,
but her lack of
understanding is
causing more harm than
good.
"Sandy, Plankton's going
through something new,"
she explains, her voice
a calm beep. "He's
sensitive to touch and
sounds right now."
Sandy's eyes widen,
the realization dawning.
"Oh," she says, her
voice a soft trill of
understanding. "I didn't
know." She sits back,
giving him space. "Words,"
he whispers, his voice
a sob. "Words."
Sandy nods, her
confusion replaced
with empathy. "Okay,
let's stick to words,"
she says, her voice
a gentle rumble. She
picks up the word search
book, holding it out
to him like a peace
offering. "Words," he
whimpers.
Plankton takes the book,
his antennae drooping.
He finds comfort
in the predictability
of the letters and
the structure of the
puzzle, the words
becoming a lifeline
in a sea of chaos. He
begins to scan the
page again, his
breathing slowing.
Sandy watches him,
her heart heavy with
regret. She had no
idea her actions could
cause so much pain.
"I'm sorry," she says,
her voice a sincere
hum. "I didn't mean to
hurt you, Plankton."
"Words," he murmurs.
Sandy nods, her eyes
reflecting genuine
apology. "It's okay," she
whispers. "We'll just
stick to words."
Karen's screens
flicker with relief,
seeing Plankton's
body slowly relax. "Thank
you, Sandy," she beeps,
her voice a warm
hum of gratitude.
Sandy nods, her
expression earnest. "I'm
here to help," she says,
her voice a comforting
trill. She looks at
Plankton, her eyes
filled with concern.
Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly, his
body still tense. "Words,
words."
Sandy nods, her eyes
filled with curiosity.
"What happened to
make you like this,
Plankton?" she asks,
her voice a gentle
hum.
He takes a deep
shuddering breath
as tears start to
form in his eye. "Mmm,"
he hums, hugging his
knees.
Sandy's gaze is
intense, her curiosity
piqued. "What happened,
Plankton?" she asks,
her voice a soft
trill of concern.
"Hmmm," Plankton hums
as he rocks, now crying.
Sandy's eyes are
wide with worry,
her voice a gentle
hum. "Hey, what's
going on?" she asks,
looking for answers.
"Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps
humming, sniffling in between
hums.
Karen decides to
intervene.
"Sandy," Karen
beeps firmly, her
screens flashing with
concern. "Let's give
Plankton some space."
Sandy nods, her
expression a mix of
apology and confusion.
She takes a step back,
her gaze never leaving
Plankton's shaking form.
"I didn't know," she
whispers, her voice a
soft rumble of regret.
"It's okay," Karen beeps,
her voice a comforting
hum. "We're all learning."
Sandy nods, her
eyes never leaving
Plankton's shaking form.
"But what happened?"
she asks again, her voice
a gentle trill of concern.
Plankton's body is a
tiny storm, his sobs
quaking through his
tiny frame. Karen's
screen pulse with
sympathy.
"Sandy," she beeps,
her voice a calm
wave. "Let's talk outside."
Sandy nods, her eyes
filled with worry.