COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10
(Neurodivergent author)
COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 10
(Neurodivergent author)
The room holds its breath, a
suspended moment of understanding.
Hanna nods, her smile a gentle ripple
across her screen. "Ok," she says, her
voice a soft echo. "Overwhelming moments
it is."
Plankton starts to rock slightly, they
both notice.
Hanna watches, her curiosity piqued.
"What's with the rocking?" she asks,
her voice a soft ripple of inquiry.
Karen looks at her, her eyes a gentle
wave of patience. "It's called
self-stimulation, or 'stimming' for short,"
she explains. "It's a way for Plankton to
regulate his senses."
"But why?"
Karen's smile is a soft sunrise,
illuminating the room with patience.
"It helps him process the world,"
she explains, her voice a gentle
tide of understanding. "It's like a
lullaby for his senses."
Hanna nods, her curiosity like a
tide that won't recede. "But it's
not like he's just throwing a fit?"
she asks, her voice a cautious
wave.
Plankton's rocking abruptly stops
at her wording, his antennae
snapping to attention like
whips in a storm. His face is a
mask of hurt, his voice a sharp
coral when he speaks.
"Don't you dare say that," Plankton
snaps, his eye brimming with
tears of sadness. "How could you?"
Hanna's eyes widen, the room's calm
shattered like a wave on
the shore. "I didn't mean to..."
Her words are drowned out by Plankton's
sobs. "Why'd you say that?" he
whispers, wiping his tears.
"I didn't mean it like that," she says,
her voice gaining volume. "I just don't
understand..."
Her words are a storm, cutting off
his air like a sudden squall. Plankton's
having an absence seizure, his
body frozen like a statue in
the middle of a tempest. His unblinking
eye is unseeing, and Karen knows he's
trying to process the shock.
Hanna feels panicked at the sight
of Plankton. "Plankton?" she whispers.
Her voice is a pebble thrown
into the pond of his consciousness,
the ripples unnoticed. Karen's hand
is a gentle anchor, a silent signal
for Hanna to be calm. She moves closer,
her screen a soft glow in the
morning's light.
"It's ok," she whispers, her voice
a lullaby against the storm. "He's just
having an 'overwhelming moment'."
Hanna nods, her screen reflecting her
newfound understanding.
Karen's hand is a soft current
on Plankton's back, guiding him
through the tumult of his
sensory overload. His body is
still as a statue, his antennae
a silent symphony of nerves.
Hanna watches.
"What's happening?" she whispers,
fear lapping at her words like
the tide at a rocky shore.
Karen's voice is a gentle
whisper, her screen a calm sea.
"It's ok," she reassures, her
hands a steady current on
his back. "It's just an
overwhelming moment."
Plankton's body is a marble
statue, his breathing a soft
hush in the quiet room.
His antennae hang limp, a silent
testament to the storm within.
Hanna's eyes are a sea of
concern, her voice a gentle wave
lapping at the shore of his
unresponsiveness. "What do we do?"
she whispers, her fear a
currents in the air.
Karen's screen never leaves
his frozen form, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "Just wait,"
she murmurs. "Let him come
back to us."
The room holds its breath,
a bubble in the vast sea of
their uncertainty. Plankton's
body is a marble statue,
his mind a tempest. Hanna's
concern is a gentle current
against the shoreline of her
understanding.
Karen's hand is a lighthouse beam,
steady and strong on Plankton's
back. She whispers to him, her
voice the rhythm of the tides.
"It's okay," she murmurs, her
fingers tracing circles of
comfort. "You're safe here."
Her words are a lifeline thrown
into the storm of his senses.
His antennae twitch, a distant
signal of life in the quiet
morning. His eye blinks, the
shutters of consciousness
opening to the gentle light
of her care. The room's
calm is a soft embrace,
their sanctuary in the
storm of the world.
"I'm here," Karen whispers,
her voice a lighthouse beam
in the fog of his fear. "You're safe."
Her words are a warm current,
washing over him, bringing him
back to the surface.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinks, and he takes
a shaky breath, the storm
within him slowly subsiding.
His body relaxes into her
touch, his antennae drooping
like tired seaweed.
"Thank you," he whispers, his voice
a quiet wave against the shore.
"I didn't mean to..."
Hanna's eyes are pools of regret,
her smile a fading sunset. Karen
nods, her gaze a gentle moonrise.
"We'll take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a soft surf against the
shore of their friendship.
The world outside the guest room
is a distant hum, a gentle reminder
of the waves that await them.
Karen's hand is a comforting
current on Plankton's back, her
screen a beacon of understanding
in the sea of confusion.
"Let's go home," she whispers, her voice
a soft ripple. Plankton nods, his
body a ship at anchor, finding
steadiness in her words.
They move together, a silent
ballet of care and trust, each step
a gentle wave carrying them
closer to the familiarity of their
own space.
"I'm sorry Plankton," Hanna says,
her voice a soft ripple of regret.
"I didn't know."