CHIP IN MY BOX v
(Autistic author)
As Chip watches, Plankton's
body starts to twitch, his
snores growing louder and
more erratic. Chip's heart
leaps into his throat, his
stomach clenching with fear.
Is he having another episode?
Karen notices the shift in
his breathing and gently
squeezes Chip's hand. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "He's just
waking up."
Plankton's eye flutters open,
his gaze unfocused. For a
moment, he seems lost, then
his gaze sharpens as he sees
his wife and son. The
fear and anger from before
are replaced with a weary
resignation. He sits up, rubbing
his eye with the heels of
his hands.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs to Karen,
his voice thick with sleep and
regret. "I didn't mean to scare
you." He looks at her,
his eye searching for
forgiveness.
Karen's eyes are filled with
compassion as she nods.
"It's okay," she whispers,
her hand still in his. "We just
need to find a way to help
you through these moments."
Plankton takes a deep breath,
his shoulders dropping. "I know,"
he says, his voice a mix of
exhaustion and resignation.
Chip's eyes are glued to his
father, his curiosity a
constant thrum. "But why do
you have these moments?"
He asks, his voice laced with
concern.
Plankton sighs, his eye
dropping to the floor. "It's
complicated," he says, his
voice heavy with weariness.
Chip's curiosity doesn't waver.
"But what causes it?" He
asks, his voice persistent.
He wants to understand, to
help, to be there for his
dad in a way he never has
before.
Plankton looks at his son,
his eye filled with a mix of
pride and frustration. "It's
my brain," he says, his voice
strained. "It's just... wired
differently." His antennae
twitch nervously. "Sometimes,
it gets too much, and I need to
step back, to find a way to...
recalibrate."
Chip frowns, his curiosity
deepening. "But what happens
when you have those moments?"
He asks, leaning in closer.
Plankton's gaze is on his
sensory box. "It's like...
everything's too loud, too
bright," he says, his voice
barely audible. "I can't...
I can't filter it out."
Karen's eyes are filled with
understanding as she nods.
"It's like your brain is
a radio," she says, "And
sometimes all the channels
are on at once."
Chip's eyes go to Plankton's
box. "So, the box..."
Plankton nods, his antennae
drooping slightly. "The box
helps me focus," he says,
his voice still quiet. "It's got
things that calm me down."
He sets the box down next
to himself.
Chip's eyes light up with
renewed interest. "Can I
see?" He asks, leaning in.
Plankton hesitates, his hand
on the box. It's his sanctuary,
his shield against the world's
assault on his senses. But he
sees the earnestness in Chip's
eyes, the need to understand.
With a sigh, he opens the box.
Chip's eyes widen as he takes
in the contents: a velvet
curtain, a weighted blanket,
a stress ball. "What are these
for?" He asks, his voice filled
with wonder.
Plankton's antennae twitch
nervously. "The velvet's for
touch," he says, his voice
still low. "It's soothing."
He picks up the weighted
blanket, his hand shaking.
"This one's for when I get
overwhelmed, it grounds me."
Chip's eyes widen as he
looks at the items, his
fingers itching to touch.
He looks at the fidgets. "And
these?" He asks, his voice
hopeful.
Plankton watches his son,
his antennae still. "It's for
when my hands need to do
something," he says, his voice
a whisper. "When I'm...
overwhelmed."
Chip's hand reaches out,
his curiosity overruling his
fear. He grabs the fidgets,
his eyes wide with wonder.
He turns one over in his
small hands, feeling it's texture.
Karen watches
them both, her
heart in
her throat.
Chip picks up some of the
fidgets, his thumb tracing the
smooth edges. He looks up,
his eyes shining with
determination. "What if...
what if we could make a
game out of this, li—"
His words are cut off by a
sharp clatter as the fidgets
slip from his grasp. They hit
the open sensory box, landing
on the other items with a series
of clinks and cracks as every
thing inside shatters into
tiny, unrecognizable pieces.
The room seems to hold its
breath, the echoes of the
destruction hanging in
the air. Plankton's eye widens.
Karen gasps, her hand flying
to her mouth as she sees
the shattered remnants of
Plankton's coping mechanisms.
Chip's eyes fill with horror
as the reality of what he's
done sinks in. The fidgets
lie scattered, broken and
useless, a stark reminder of
his own carelessness. His
hands are shaking as he
reaches for the box, his heart
racing with regret...
Plankton's eye widens, his
body going rigid with shock.
He's seen his sanctuary
desecrated, the one thing
that brings him peace shattered
under his own son's curiosity,
a knife cutting through
the thick silence.
The room feels like it's spinning,
his senses bombarding him with
the sight of the destroyed box,
the feel of his heart racing,
the sound of his wife's
stifled gasp. He can't breathe,
his chest tight with an unspoken
rage that builds with each
passing second. Plankton's
expression is unreadable.
"Chip!" Karen's voice is a
desperate whisper, a plea for
their son to understand,
but Plankton's mind is a
whirlwind of chaos.
"Dad, I'm sorry," Chip
stammers, his eyes wide with
fear as he looks at the
wreckage before him.
Plankton's breathing is
quick and shallow, his eye
darting from shard to shard
of the broken fidgets. He
can't speak, the words
trapped in his throat by the
onslaught of sensory assault.
His mind races, trying to
find a way to escape the
chaos that's invaded his
safe space.
Karen knows what this means for
him, the turmoil that must
be raging inside.
Plankton's breath comes
in short, sharp gasps, his
body trembling with
suppressed fury. The world
around him is a cacophony
of sounds and lights, his
sensory overload reaching a
new peak. He can't focus,
his mind a blur of images
and emotions.