Whumpee could only be described as colorful. Long multicolor hair. Bright pops of makeup. Enough piercings to end up on any 14 year old emo teens pinterest board.
With only scars peppering their face where gems once were, head shaved bald and skin sterilely cleaned; Whumpee barely recognized their own reflection in the tile walls. All they have to distinguish themselves is a red medical band, with blood type, an ID number, and the name of their new owner.
Being autistic kinda feels like that one scene in twilight where they're teaching vampire bella how to act human. Blink three times a minute, humans dont like it if you stare at something for too long, make sure ur breathing, sit down if they do.
Writing is such a complex art. It's like "here is what I see in my head interpreted" but it's also "I didn't know I could do that until I wrote it down." It's "I saw the world that way, really?" and "This could have been me if I was braver" and "this could have been me if I made different choices, for good or bad" it's "yes, this is me, dive into my head."