CHIP AND FAIL ii
(Autistic author)
"And then there's my roommate,
Jake," Chip went on as he nudged
Plankton.
Plankton felt the nudge like a
sledgehammer, the vibration
reverberating through his bones, his
body visibly taut.
"He's got a pet
named Steve," Chip said,
laughing, "and he taught me
how to play the guitar!"
Plankton's eye grew larger, his
heart racing as the room
spun around him. He felt like
his mind was being invaded by a
swarm of jellyfish, buzzing with every
word, every touch. But Chip was in his
element, his words tumbling out.
"And we had a food fight!"
Chip said, slapping
his hand down on the bed, sending
waves of pain through Plankton's
overstimulated nervous system. He
swallowed a cry, his hands
gripping the sheets. "It was like
a battle royale with spaghetti!"
Chip's laughter filled the room,
but Plankton couldn't find it in
himself to laugh. The noise, the
motion, the smells - it was all
too much. His mind was racing,
trying to keep up but he was losing the
battle. He needed silence,
darkness, a chance to reset.
But Chip was still talking,
still touching, still demanding
his attention. He felt
trapped.
"And then, get this, Dad," Chip
said, slapping his knee with
each new anecdote. "There's
this professor..."
Plankton knew he needed to tell Chip to
slow down, to give him space, but
more Chip talked, the less he could
comprehend. His mind was a
whirlwind of sensory input,
spinning out of control. Chip, not noticing, was
still grinning, his screen sparkling
with joy, voice rising with excitement.
But Plankton was no longer
listening. His eye had glazed
over, his mind a tangled web
of sensory overload. He
couldn't even hear Chip anymore.
Chip, noticing the lack of
response, paused.
"Dad?" he said, his voice
softening with concern as he
poked him with his finger, adding
to the cacophony of sensory
input that engulfed and drowned
Plankton.
Chip, puzzled by his dad's lack of
response, leaned in closer, his
face a picture of innocent
curiosity. "Isn't that amazing,
Dad?" He asked, placing his hand
on Plankton's arm again.
The room was spinning, the
sounds of Chip's voice and the
memory of his stories a cacophony,
his chest tight.
"Dad?" Chip's voice grew
quiet, his smile slipping away as he
noticed his father's distress.
He had never seen Plankton like
this before, so still..
"Are you okay?" He asked,
genuinely concerned. But his
question was like another
explosion of light and sound to
Plankton. But Chip, in his excitement,
misinterpreted. He leaned in even closer,
his hand landing gently on Plankton's
shoulder. Plankton's body
constricted, unblinking. The pressure
of Chip's hand was a heavy
weight, and the softness of his
voice was a scream in Plankton's
overwhelmed ears. He couldn't
speak, couldn't move..
Chip's eyes grew wide with
concern as he watched his dad.
He had never seen Plankton
like this, so silent and unresponsive.
Was he ok? Did he say something
wrong? The doubt grew in his chest.
"Dad?" He ventured again, his voice
smaller than it had been. Plankton's
body was a statue, his eye fixed
somewhere beyond the room.
Chip's hand hovered over his arm,
uncertain of what to do.
"Dad, are you okay?" He asked,
his voice trembling. He had
never seen his dad so
silent.
Plankton's body is
rigid and unyielding.
He can't understand
why his dad isn't responding,
why he isn't laughing at the
funny stories or asking questions
about his college life.
"Dad?" Chip says again, his voice
more tentative now. He reaches out to
shake Plankton's shoulder. Something's
wrong, he can feel it. He didn't know
Plankton has reached a
breaking point, and his mind
shuts down in self-defense. He
can't process anything, not even
the love in Chip's voice.
"What's wrong with you!" Chip
asks, his eyes wide with confusion
and hurt. He had only wanted
to share his excitement, to
connect with his dad after being
away for a week. But Plankton's
reaction was like nothing he had
ever seen before. Plankton's unable to
decipher Chip's words or the
concern etched into his features.
Chip's scanning Plankton's
expression for some clue, some
sign of what was happening.
"Dad, talk to me," Chip pleads,
his hand resting on frozen Plankton's
shoulder. Nothing. He's expressionless.
Panic starts to bloom in Chip.
"Dad, say something!" He begs, his
hands shaking. Plankton remains
motionless, his eye unfocused.
Chip's mind races, trying to
understand, trying to piece together
what he could've done wrong.
The silence stretches between them,
taut as a bowstring. Plankton's face
remains an unreadable mask.
Chip's thoughts tumble over one
another, trying to remember
anything that could've triggered this.
He knew his dad was a bit of an introvert,
needy of his space, but this was
beyond that. The room felt
claustrophobic, the air thick with
unspoken words.
"Dad, you're scaring me," he whispers,
his voice cracking. "What's going on?"
Plankton's trapped in
his own body, a prison of
sensory overload.
The room seems to spin faster,
the colors bleeding into one another.
He can't find the words to explain.
He wishes he could tell Chip to stop,
to back away, but his tongue is a
dead weight in his mouth. But Chip,
his mind racing with worry,
doesn't understand. He's never
seen his dad like this before.
"Dad?" He says again, his voice
shaking with fear. "You're not
moving."
In a moment of desperation,
Chip grabs Plankton's hand, trying
to shake him out of his trance.
"Please, Dad, talk to me," he
whispers, his grip tight. But
Plankton's hand is cold and stiff,
like holding onto a mannequin's. Chip's
face falls, his eyes filling
with tears. "What's wrong, Dad?"
He sobs, his voice thick with fear.
Plankton feels the warmth of Chip's
hand, the pressure of his grip,
but he's trapped in a world of
sensory overload, unable to
move or speak. His heart aches
with the pain of his son's distress,
but his body won't cooperate. He
desperately tries to break through
the fog, to tell Chip he's okay,
that he loves him. But even his
consciousness is frozen now.
Chip's sobs grew louder, his
shoulders shaking with each
breath. "Please, Dad, please," he
whimpers, his eyes brimming with
tears. The weight of his
father's unresponsive hand in his
own was like a stone, dragging him
down into a pit of fear.
He didn't know his dad was
autistic, didn't know the silent
torture he was enduring.
Plankton's heart was a caged bird,
flapping its wings against the
walls of his overwhelmed mind.
He wished he could tell Chip that
he was okay, that he loved him, but
his thoughts were a tangled web,
catching and trapping every
sensation until he couldn't move.
Chip's grip tightened, his voice
desperate. "Dad, please," he
sobbed.
But Plankton remained unresponsive,
his mind a hurricane of stimuli.
The weight of Chip's hand on
his shoulder was unbearable,
each touch a bolt of lightning
striking his already fried nervous
system. The room was spinning,
the colors blurring into a
swirl of chaos.
Chip's voice grew louder, more
insistent, his touches more
frequent as he tried to pull
his dad out of his silent world,
his grip on Plankton's arm tightening.
But Plankton's body was a statue.
"Dad, please, say something," Chip
whispered, his voice choked with
sobs. Chip's face crumpled as he
concluded his dad wasn't okay. He never
saw him like this, so silent and
still. But the more Chip talked,
the more he touched, the deeper
Plankton sank into his overloaded
state. Plankton's body remained still.
He didn't understand why his
dad was so unresponsive. His
heart felt like it was shattering
into a million pieces.
Chip leaned in closer, his eyes
searching Plankton's for some
glimmer of recognition, some sign
that he was okay, desperate for any
sign of life.
"Dad, you're scaring me," he choked
out, his grip on Plankton's hand
becoming frantic. Plankton's heart
was racing, but his body remained
still as a statue, the storm inside
his mind unseen by his son.
"Please, Dad, talk to me," Chip
pleaded, tears rolling down his
cheeks. In his panic, Chip didn't realize
his touches were only adding to
Plankton's distress. His face crumpled as he
realizes his dad, so still and unresponsive,
is not okay.
The room grew smaller, the air
thicker with Chip's sobs. "Dad,
please," he whispered, his voice
shaking. He didn't know how to
help, didn't know what was happening.
All he knew was that the man he
loved was slipping away from him,
and he was powerless to stop it.
Plankton's mind was a tornado of
sensation, each touch, each sound
a knife slicing through the
fragile silence he needed to survive.
He wished he could tell Chip to
just give him a minute, to let him
find his calm. But the words were
stuck in his throat, his mind a
whirlwind of panic and confusion.
Chip, unable to understand the
storm happening inside his dad,
felt a sinking dread. He had
never seen Plankton like this, and
his inability to connect with
his father was like a punch to
his gut. He tried to lighten the
mood, to pull him out of his
silent cocoon with a joke. "Remember
when I accidentally turned your
laboratory blue with that chemistry
experiment?" he asked, his voice
shaking slightly. But it's not working.
Plankton remained unmoving,
his expression unchanged, lost in
his own world of sensory overload.
The silence was deafening, a stark
contrast to the tumult in his mind.
Chip's words were just more noise,
more chaos to process.
Chip's eyes searched his dad's
face, desperation etched into every
line of his youthful features.
He didn't know about Plankton's
autism, about the need for quiet
and predictability to navigate the
world. He only knew that his
dad wasn't responding, and it
was tearing him apart.
He took a deep breath, trying to
think of what to do. The silence
was suffocating, pressing down on
them like a heavy blanket. Then,
suddenly, he had an idea.