Because we live in a culture that doesn't talk about death, I am innately curious. It's the ultimate unspoken thing -final, unchangeable, ridiculous - that my brain wants to unpack and understand.
A century later, arms companies hold remembrance day events, paying with money steeped in the very red the poppies on their lapels bade them never spill again.
I don't know how old I was when I first learned that I had to shout 'fire' if someone tried to grab me.
I hate to burst anyone's bubbles, but I do not speak for the Autistic community.
Do you ever feel like someone has dropped a box of bees in your brain?
If I die, take me home to my bed and hold my hand; cuddle me like you've always done, as if bringing me down from a meltdown.