Through the lens of a Level 1 Autistic Individual

Realization Today, on the way home from lunch, I saw a sign with the name of one of the prolific developers here in Stockton. That reminded me of the volleyball class that I was in, thirty years ago, and remember mention of pick-up games in Grupe Park. I was ignored when I asked about joining the fun, and this triggered a massive realization (actually an epiphany) of some very brutal truth. At work, I was a "loner", with people taking advantage of the knowledge that I have no sense of smell, by gaslighting the "fact" that I reeked with body odor. This fallacy was revealed when both my mother and one of my brothers told me that I never did produce a bad musk all this time. This gave me relief as well as that sense of sadness that people, in different circles, lied to me to "protect my feelings" when shunned. The "mock musk" was the one known "excuse" for people shying away from me. Being tall, large, and autistic seems to trigger an unco

=== Jambreaker === Prolog "This isn't my bed! Mom? Dad? Anyone?" Bare feet slap to the cold floor of a room far more sterile than the carved stone & wood of the room where he laid his head the night before. In place of the home-woven curtain hangs a decidedly solid door with a reinforced window. A face peers in from the other side of that window with a smirking "Well, well, well! Good morning, there!" before leaving with the sound of footsteps and laughter. The kid, maybe six years old by the Tellurian measure, examines the door, and forms a construct "wand" in one hand and a darkened face shield in the other, like how his father taught him. Looking through the shield, he points the wand at the thick plate between the knob and the edge of door, and sends energy through it. He feels the heat even through the shield as he torches a jagged groove in the door, which then swings open with the "ping" of small metal parts clanging to the floor,