Not Quite Human

A miniature collection of poems and flash fiction by Ivy Janes about her experience as an

autistic individual, using the perspectives of not-quite-human narrators to explore the

alienation and disconnect this disability can bring to human connection.

Piece #1 - There was a mouse who lived in the wall...

There was a mouse who lived in the wall. How they could smile

A mouse who could only venture at him

out of his hole at night.

until none of the warnings that echoed

A mouse who hid away through the mouse’s head were enough

whenever he heard a noise approaching. to drown out the longing

Afraid of those who lived with that had overcome him.

or rather, above him.

People. A mouse who of course knew

Casting long shadows over kitchen tiles that he was not a person.

laughing and bickering and shuffling above But couldn’t he be loved like them?

never knowing he was there. Couldn’t he be seen? Be adored?

Could that love really be

A mouse confined to his hole so far from reach when he saw it

paralyzed by his fear. right before his eyes everyday?

Who couldn’t help cowering

from the people’s A mouse who decided, at last

booming voices and looming shadows. that he’d do it.

From their feet, big enough to crush him. Sure the people were big

Even so, not a day went by and they were loud

where he wasn’t watching them. but everyday they proved they were caring

in scene after scene he watched

A mouse who’d observe day after day from his hole in the wall.

as the people fought

as they cried and made up A mouse who waited, restless

as they’d dance and they’d sing until at last the morning came.

as they lounged and learned and wanted. Until the first of the people entered

Watched until one day and with his whiskers twitching

a new feeling sparked in him and little heart pounding

one that grew and grew, a yearning he stepped out into the open.

far too vast for a creature his size. And he

And it ate at him saw them, and they

from the inside out. saw him, and howled

a piercing scream

A mouse who knew to be wary the mouse would never forget.

of the people, after all they were the reason

he only roamed at night. A mouse they would never love.

Yet, a mouse Because in the end, he wasn’t

who couldn’t help but think one of them.

of how they smiled at each other. He was different.

He was strange.

And they wanted him

gone.

After all, who would hold love

for a mouse that lives in their wall?

Reflection:

This piece is about how some individuals, though they have love to give and the desire for

connection, are doomed to be cast aside from the very start due to their nature. It is meant to get you caught up in the mouse’s dream and hoping for his success, before the reality crashes in that he is not an individual that would ever be accepted so naturally in our world.

Piece #2 - Here, There, and Back Again

I wasn’t always a ghost.

When I was alive, my friends and I would play house or detectives, making good of the 45 minutes outside we

were allotted. I loved our games of make-believe.

Tag I liked less, for I was never the fastest runner, and eventually I started to get left behind.

I tried to sprint to keep up as they got further and further away, insisting all the while that they weren’t running

at all. As I got older, we didn’t quite play anymore.

We’d gossip lightheartedly, and fret about our marks in school. We’d lounge in bleachers, or lean over tables in

crowded rooms, exchanging stories and quips over the noise.

We'd walk to the corner store, and I would watch from behind as they grouped and hooked arms. Sometimes

they’d leave without me, and I wouldn’t say a word.

Then came the day I became a ghost.

I still hovered around my friends, trailing behind them down sidewalks, and leaning on tables beside un-saved

chairs. I laughed at every joke cracked, and nodded attentively to stories told by people who didn’t care I could

hear them. I tried to pitch in, but the conversations would never pause for me. All my jokes were met by silence. I

longed to be a part of them again. For them to see me, hear me. Anything.

For a very long time, it was lonely to be a ghost.

Then a frightening thing happened: I realized I was free.

I ran, and I laughed. I sang and spun in circles. I never got tired, never dizzy.

I didn’t make myself smaller to be more easily pushed past. A ghost has no time for such things. I no longer felt

ashamed.

Then came a day where I was no longer a ghost.

I wasn’t used to this physical form. This... being seen. I ran into walls, and bumped my toes on table legs.

I forgot I had to restrain myself, forgot how.

Each time someone spoke to me, I’d panic, scrounging for the right way to react. Lost track of when something was

funny enough to laugh, or to simply nod and look amused. When I wanted to spin and sing, I was watched, and

met with glares. No freedom from the world's prying gaze, always always I was seen. Scrutinized by judging eyes.

Laughing eyes. Fearful eyes. Never letting me be. How was anyone meant to live this way? So relentlessly

perceived? Back at last, and I realize I felt the most alive when I wasn’t real to anyone at all.

Reflection:

This piece reflects the fear of perception I often feel as an autistic person, as my experiences growing up have led me to intrinsically believe I do not know how to ‘be.’ It compares my life before and after I started unmasking my autism less and the freedom I found there, as well as the fear and frustration which came with not being able to hide anymore.

Piece #3 - Aglow

I am a christmas light, left hanging as seasons pass I glow bright, brighter still when you glow near me

And you a firefly, buzzing about far too fast. Wishing it were always that you were here with me.

You’d been part of a swarm, travelling together I hide my hurt, each sunrise as you fly away

Until one day they left you. Alone, untethered. Wishing I could come with, but a light can only stay.

You saw in the dark someone else lit up aglow One day you visited, all abuzz and restless

And you did something I’d never try: you blinked And I knew something had changed, something had

hello. come for us.

I was caught by surprise, didn’t know how to You told me, with a smile crueler than you could

respond know

Fast as I could I blinked back, scared you’d move A new swarm had taken you in, gave you places to

along. go.

We flickered back and forth until came the light of It took you longer to find me night by night

day From the buzz of the swarm, you say, it’s hard to

Nowhere I’d rather be, though a light can only stay. spot my light.

We’re different in every way, an unlikely pair Until came at last what I knew was goodbye

But we glow just the same, in that we could share. The night I never found you among the stars in the

sky.

Each night I would search the stars for my firefly

For my friend who’d found me, who chose to flit by. If only I could reach for you. To cry, to beg

But as it’s always been, a light can only stay.

You found solace in your sure place on my wire

And I shone, for once feeling my presence desired.

Reflection:

This piece was written about a friendship of mine, both how it came to be and how it fell apart. It is about the joy of forming connections based on your interests and becoming a close friend and source of comfort for someone, only to watch as the person you once mattered so much to begins to outgrow you as they outgrow passion.

Piece #4 - Little Monsters

Little monsters pretending

to be little girls

so on the playground

other girls might laugh

at their jokes

Pretending they don’t practice

smiling in the mirror

or memorize the rhythm of

jumping ropes

Little girls pretending

to believe them

through cruelty, and pitying grins

But never

can little monsters stay

To play long

in little girls’ games.

Reflection:

This piece is about the experience of being an autistic girl in school, and the first instances of realizing you are not one of your peers. Of trying to fit in with the other kids and do all the things they do, yet somehow still sticking out as ‘wrong’ or ‘different’ compared to the rest of them, without any clue as to why.

Piece #5 - print ("Hello, World?")

There once was a robot, who knew its creators loved it. With each wire tenderly strung, and software patiently

embedded, it understood that it was theirs, and it was so very happy. When assembly was finally done, the

creators grinned, and whispered “Welcome.” Slowly it blinked, and it smiled right back.

They left it overnight at its charging station, in its very own room - kind, but one can get lonely in the dark.

It wanted so badly to impress the creators, to show them all their work hadn’t been for nothing. It thought all

night of how it could live up to their expectations.

The next morning when the creators walked in, the bot was up and ready. It whirred, and whizzed, and spun

about. It blinked and blared all the colours of the rainbow, in a dizzying show of lights.

When finally the display was over, it could still feel the remnants of power firing about, its steel chest faintly

rattling. It awaited the applause, the “Look at what it can do!” but all the bot received was confusion.

They backed away, whispering things it could not understand. It hadn’t sensed any damage from all the movement

before, but now in its wires there buzzed a funny sort of feeling. A static that made him long to hide away forever.

They took it back to the charging station, and as the door shut it changed its mind - it wished they would never

leave.

The next morning, they came for the bot once again. However, that night it had figured out a better plan to please

the creators: it would stay still. So absolutely still, until they divulged what it was meant to do. It had been foolish

yesterday not to wait for instructions. So very foolish, but it could fix that now.

They carried it out to their lab, and set it down before them. They watched intently, waiting, waiting, waiting, and

under the silent stares of the creators, the bot began to panic. Why weren’t they telling it to do anything? What

did they want from it? If it wasn’t made to impress, or to obey, what was it for?

It couldn’t go on not knowing like this, the weight of its creators' disappointment weighing down, carving

phantom dents from the outside in.

Though it was not a function they had built into the bot, somehow it knew what it had to do next. If it could just

channel all of its power, somehow the bot had a feeling it may just be able to get it done. Fix this at last.

The little bot turned to face away from the creators, and with everything it could muster, projected from its eyes

in great red letters across the wall:

WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO BE?

The creators read the bot’s message in shock, then turned to stare at it with worry unmatched.

The bot could feel the damage already, vital parts corroding inside, sparks flashing behind his eyes.

As it collapsed, it felt itself scooped into someone’s arms, and wondered if the creators had faith enough to try and

fix it. If it would ever be woken up again.

Reflection:

This piece is about my experiences trying to cater to the expectations of those around me in order to be what they want - wanting to remain a desired presence to the people who mean a lot to me but not knowing how to do so. Similarly to this robot, who I try to be tends to be either too much or too little, and in the end I find my efforts to win over acceptance only leave me more exhausted and unsure than before.

I find writing about and reflecting on my experiences a great way to understand myself

better, as well as to communicate what I feel to others more than simple conversation ever

could. If we express ourselves with authenticity and passion, art can connect us all like

nothing else. That being said, I hope these pieces have let you see from a new perspective, or made you feel seen. Perhaps you were even able to feel some sense of the comfort or catharsis writing these brought me through your reading.

Thank you for reading!

Diverge note: If you enjoyed the collection, please check out The Stars Diverged Journal. Created by the author of the works above, TSDJ is an online magazine which publishes issues made up of original works by neurodivergent creatives around the world. Have a story of your own to share? Contact us diverge@dal.ca to be our next feature!

Special thanks to Ivy for their time and dedication to the project.