I'm Just 11

Part 1 Ruins Chapter 1 Disappear

Legends say that on Mt. Ebott, there is a hole that guides you to the Monster Realm. Frisk has always been told to never go up that mountain. Frisk has always been told to never go play with the other children, too. They might be afraid of who Frisk is. At least, that's what Frisk's parents keep saying to them. Frisk knows it's because friends break hearts, friends destroy your path to greatness. Friends are useless. So, Frisk ignores the other children. But sometimes, the other children don't ignore them.

"Look at him, he's so ugly."

"His fat face makes him look like a hippo!"

"He pees in his pants!"

It's not like it bothered them. The insults, the finger-pointing. But it was the pronouns that bugged them the most. They always felt sick each time they heard different pronouns than the ones they use in their head. As if they had caught a cold. It did happen once. The children were insulting them, kicking them in the ribs, in the stomach. The children left when the bell rang, and they were just lying on the cement, letting the rain pour on their face. They stayed there for a long time. They've calculated 17 minutes. Until a teacher had to come to get them. Their parents had been so mad, they've never done it again.

"How dare you throw your education away after all the sacrifices we've made!" had yelled their mother.

Frisk had looked at the ground, wondering why they did it. They couldn't find an answer. So they were punished. No more hanging out in the gardens, no more dessert. Just studying all day and hoping to get good grades.

The teachers weren't doing anything in the schoolyard. In class, on the other hand, they tried to remind the children to be kind to others.

"Frisk doesn't deserve to be called a hippopotamus. If you don't want to be called a hippopotamus, then don't call others like that."

Hippopotamus became giraffe very quickly. Their skin was so yellow and their hair was so dark. The freckles weren't helping either, making dark marks on their skin. They became Giraffe. They were smaller than some children in their class, so it didn't make any logical sense. Smarter children called them a duck. Others called them poop. They were being pushed in the yard. During recess. Their parents kept reminding them not to make friends.

Frisk eventually found comfort in old simulation games. Especially love simulation games. They went into old gaming sites and typed Love Simulation. In there, they were given their cheap romantic entertainment. Their parents had forbidden them to watch anything but wildlife documentaries. They had to find other stimulants. They found pick-up lines, tips for flirting, outfit change, kissing, romance, love, anime. Anything, really. They had kept this site to play other games. Shooting target, completing a level, cooking, going berserk. Each time they were punished, they played those games on their computer. Those were the only things that kept them going on.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Their parents had found out that Frisk played those immature games.

"It's gonna rot your brain!" Their dad yelled.

"I didn't raise my son as a gamer!" Their mother had exclaimed.

"We raised a competent and capable son able to make us proud."

I'm just 11, they wanted to reply sometimes. They kept their mouth shut.

Their parents had confiscated their computer. Now, they had pens and papers to keep them entertained. They draw circles, squares, rectangles, triangles, pentagons, hexagons, heptagons, octagons. They draw octopuses, fishes, birds, trees. Once, they've found a "How To Draw" book in the public library. They never brought it home, but once in a while, they would bring some papers and a pen and followed the steps of the book. How To Draw Manga, How To Draw Chibi, How To Draw Aquatic Animals, How To Draw Robots. They doodled in their notebooks, making sure to erase their drawings each time. Except, their parents caught them, because all good things come to an end.

"How do you know what those are?" had asked their mom.

Frisk had shrugged.

"Son, those are inappropriate for you," had claimed their dad.

"If I ever see a drawing like this, no dessert for a month."

"Don't ever look those up."

Frisk had nodded.

"Stop this drawing hobby. It won't help you with your career later in life."

Frisk just draws shapes now. But the children kept looking at their drawings, at their notes. They mocked them.

"Frisk is a loser."

"He just draws shapes!"

"You're trash, Frisk."

"Lil' poop Frisk!"

They kept their head down. They tried to push it through. They broke. Legends say those who climb the mountain never return. They didn't want to come back. They found everything for the trip. A backpack for clothes, snacks, water, toothbrush, extra underwear, extra bandage. After a child had "accidentally" cut their cheek with scissors, they always brought some extra bandages. Their parents yelled at each other before they left without a sound. They passed through the backyard, climbed over the fence, and walked to the foot of the mountain.

They look up. Mt. Ebott was tall. They wrinkle their nose. They can do this. They circle the mountain to find a trail. They look at the sky. The sun is at its zenith. It's probably lunchtime. Their stomach growls, but they ignore it. They find the trail and follow it. A lot of zigzags and stumbling on rocks. But they can reach the mountain. They want to disappear.

Nobody will care, and everything could go back to normal for them. Frisk just needed to get away from them.

The top. After three snack breaks, as the sun is setting, they've arrived at the top. They have grabbed a stick on their way here. A stick is always fun to have. They look like a professional walker. They try to find the cave. The cave that leads to the hole. The hole that leads to the Monster World. When they find it after two snack stops—they were getting more hungry and couldn't ignore it any longer—, they enter the cave and look around them. Maybe they could just stay here for a while. They have some clothes. They have 3 snacks left. They can stay here for a while, see if anybody is searching for them. Not that anyone will, but just in case.

They circle around the hole and camp against the wall. They open their backpack. Only 3 snacks left. They'll have to make a stop at home to get some more. They eat their final 3 snacks. It was granola bars made of oats, wheat, brown sugar, almond, and dried cherries. It's getting colder. It's getting darker. They can't build a fire. They have never learned. Simulation games didn't help them acquire the skill. They wish they had night vision, like many nocturnal animals. They look in their backpack for some warm clothes before the darkness surrounds them. They find their long sleeve blue shirt and a pair of blue cargo pants. They get rid of their thin clothes and change while still having their brown boots on.

The night settles and Frisk is ready to sleep a bit. Their backpack mostly has clothes, so it can be a good pillow. They close their eyes and try to fall asleep.

They succeed to some extent until they hear a branch crack. They wake up with a gasp. They look around. Their eyes have accommodated to the darkness, but not enough to see everything. They pick up their stick with them—in case it's a wild animal—and move forward. They can hear the crickets, the owls, more branches cracking, some birds. They try to find where the noise came from. Unknown to them, a root is in front of them. They trip on it. But instead of landing on dirt, they feel the gravity pulling them further down.

They scream.

They fall.

They clutch their stick close to them.

And they fall.

And fall.

Fall.

It feels like an eternity. It's never gonna stop. Until it does. They land on a bed of golden flowers. How come they haven't broken a bone or die? They stay lying there, looking at the hole. It's dark. It's still night. Or, at least, Frisk guesses that it's night. They'll never know. Not now, at least.

They have no chance of being rescued. They have no chance of surviving. They don't have food, they can't change clothes, they don't have their toothbrush. They're just lying in a bed of golden flowers, wondering if this is death.