SHELF IMPROVEMENT i
(Autistic author)
"Plankton if you're gonna
get the shelf remade, then
just call a repair or buy a
new one." Karen says.
The shelf groaned, protesting
under the weight. The shelf
lurched, and with a
crash, it tumbled down.
Plankton's eye rolls back into
his head as he crumpled to the
floor. The room grew eerily
quiet, except for the sound of
Karen's gasp.
"Plankton!" she exclaimed,
rushing over to him. Panic
washed over her, her heart
beating like a drum in her
chest. She knelt beside him,
shaking his shoulder gently.
"Plankton, can you hear me?"
Her voice was high-pitched
and shaky. His eye remained
closed, his body unresponsive.
Karen had to figure
out what to do next.
Her mind raced through
scenarios, each more alarming
than the last. What if he
was hurt badly? What if
this was her fault? The
thought made her want to
scream, to throw something,
but she couldn't. Not with
Plankton lying there, so still,
so silent. She felt for a
pulse. It was there.
He was alive, thankfully. And
still breathing.
"Okay, okay," she murmured
to herself, "just stay calm."
She knew she needed to see
if she could wake him up.
Gently, she called his name,
her voice soft and urgent.
"Plankton, come on, wake
up." She patted his cheek,
not too hard, not too soft.
Still, his eye remained
closed, his body unmoving.
The quiet was deafening.
"Please," she whispered, her
voice trembling, "please wake up."
But Plankton lay there, unmoving,
like a discarded ragdoll. "Wake up!"
she called out, but his body
remained a lifeless weight beneath
her fingertips.
Her thoughts raced as she
managed to lift Plankton's
arm. It flopped back down like
dead weight. "Come on," she
mumbled, trying to hold back
the tears that threatened to
fall. "You can't leave me like
this." Her voice cracked,
but she couldn't let despair
consume her. She had to
think. Carefully, she slid
his arm over her shoulder,
grunting with effort as she
managed to get him into a
sitting position. His head
lolled back, but she held him
firmly. "Let's get you to the
couch," she says, setting him
down on the sofa.
"Don't leave me," she
whispered, squeezing his hand.
Her mind was a whirlwind
of "what ifs" and regrets.
What if she had insisted he
leave the shelf alone? What if
she had caught him?
Tears slipped down her screen.
"You're such a stubborn
husband but I love you," she
sobbed, her voice breaking.
"You can't leave me like this,"
she whispered to his unresponsive
form, her voice hoarse with
emotion. "We've been through
so much together. Remember
when we first met?"
Her thoughts drifted to their
early days, the laughter, the
bickering, the love..
She tried to chuckle,
but it came out as a sob.
Her voice grew softer, more
desperate. "You have to come
back to me, Plankton."
Her eyes searched his face for
any sign of life, any flicker
of an eyelid, any twitch of his
antennae that would indicate
he heard her. But there was
none. The silence in the
room was a heavy blanket
smothering her hope.
Her hand tightened around
his, willing him to squeeze
back, to give her a sign.
Suddenly, she heard a faint
moan. "Plankton?"
she gasped, her eyes widening.
There it was again, a soft
moan, and the tiniest
movement of his mouth.
"You're okay," she said,
relief flooding her voice.