Sweat. Sweat and heartbeats racing and panting. Eyes are wide as the body jolts up, hand clutched over the heart. It was a dream. The same dream she's had for years. No amount of internet searches could help her with it. No therapist could explain it. With a deep breath, they took the pill bottle and poured out two, swallowing them without much hesitation. Anti-psychotics. Every morning the world turned a little more grey with each dose they took. By now, the world was pretty grey all on its own. Drab clouds blocked out most sunlight. A city barely waking. That was their view every day. They closed their eyes, laying back before realizing that yes, that was their alarm going off and, yes, it went off under their bed for some strange reason.
Dragging themself out of bed, they ran fingers through their hair and changed from a tank top and shorts into a long sleeved sweatshirt and some jeans with that tank top still underneath because hey, it was comfortable and they'd take what they could get as far as comfort went. They looked at their wall floor mirror, brushing some of their bangs out of their eyes. Scruffy brown hair, freckled complexion. Yup. Just the same as yesterday. Some whistling came from downstairs, assumedly someone whistling in the midst of making some breakfast due to the smell of smoking pig fat coming through the cracks of the door.
The steps creaked as they went down, their bedroom door having had been right in front of the stairs. The living room they entered in was strewn about with some shoes and clean laundry that had yet to be folded. They turned the corner and went in the kitchen where a middle-aged woman in her pajamas was making food. She turned to them and smiled. "Good morning, sweetie. How'd you sleep?"
They shrugged, passing off a smirk of reassurance and sat down at the small table on the other side of the counter. The table was probably the most impressive thing in this house, other than the cooking of course. They pulled their flip phone from the charger next to the table and began doing the routine morning check. No messages. No photos. No e-mails. They sighed, pocketing the phone and watching out the window, waiting to see the sun peek out. Maybe? Nope. Okay. They felt a rub on their head, a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast being placed in front of them.
"Thought I'd make you breakfast for your special day, kiddo. It's not everyday that someone turns eighteen, huh?" The woman placed a kiss on their head before going and doing some cleaning up in the kitchen and living room. "I took the day off today, so I can actually help you celebrate this year, seeing as I owe you one. Or five. No…no four I think." The woman laughed before going to them and hugging them. "I'm proud of you, Frisk. Now come on," she said, breaking the hug. "Eat up. I'll drive you in today. My treat." With a wink, Mom was off.
Frisk smiled, taking the fork and eating up quickly and with vigor. Right. Birthday. That's what they forgot! Years just passed on and on, it never really seemed to mean much of anything, especially to their mom. Usually, she just worked and would have bought a cupcake or something with a candle and a note. What made this year so special? Because they were 18? No…there had to be something else.
Finishing up breakfast, Frisk took their dishes and cleaned them off, placing them in the drying rack before heading back upstairs to get their bag.
"Remember, sweetie, you've got that field trip today in third period! Your lunch is packed in the fridge!" Frisk gave a thumbs up before heading back to their room. Their little slice of life. Posters were plastered on the walls, some faded from years of direct sunlight. They grabbed the bag off their rolling desk chair, grabbing a book off the table, and heading downstairs to grab their lunch. A buzz muffled in their pocket. A text from George.
"Hey, Frisk! You hype for today's trip?"
A smirk. "Yeah, I am. Kinda nice to get out of the classroom for once." Sending the text, they picked up their clean and now hastily folded laundry and put it at the bottom of the stairs for later. "Do you know where it is?"
"I heard it's that really creepy mountain. That'd be so cool."
"Guess so. We doing rock collecting or something?"
"Don't know. It's a surprise, I guess. You coming in? Didn't see you on the bus."
"I am. Mom's driving me. We're heading out now."
"Alright! See you in a bit. And hey, happy birthday dude."
"Thannks. ttyl."
Drives to school were a bit abysmal, especially on days like these where the sun couldn't shine through. Stuck behind gray barriers that wished nothing more than to slow the world down physically and emotionally. Traffic also helped with this, as rush hour was never a good time, even in a small town like this. It was the beginning of summer traffic and tourists were flocking to the mountain for videos, pictures, and more. Nobody in town actually went to the mountain, at least, not on their own accord.
Radio chatter mumbled on and on in the background as Frisk stared out the window. Some early morning podcast that her mom was fond of. It had some charm to it, but it really wasn't something that was interesting this early in the morning. Mostly daily news, stuff like that. The trees that passed through the winding roads and buildings towering above seemed almost like a movie that never stops repeating. Endless loops of things that never really mattered. A faint smile spread their lips. Something so simple always seemed so comforting. A sort of consistency that they could always rely on.
The school wasn't that far from their house, only about a 15 minute drive, 20 with traffic. About ten minutes before classes started was when they pulled up, Frisk grabbing their bag, kissing their mom on the cheek and waving off a "Have a good day!" from their mom before slamming the door. Floods of students came in from busses and cars and sidewalks, most talking in groups or pairs. Some, like Frisk, walked on their own, heads down usually listening to music. The school overhang housed a little pavilion with benches where some students slept and chatted and waited while the warmish weather was still around.
"Hey Frisk! Over here!"
They looked up from the ground to see a gangly guy, dark in skin and hair, but warm in heart and eyes. Frisk responded with a wave and smile as they approached their friend.
"How you doin', Frisk? Feeling alright?"
They nod as the two begin to walk into the building.
"How's your throat feeling? Any better?"
With a shrug, they start to fiddle with their hands before George interrupted. "Don't worry about it, okay? I…do you think you could help me more with my sign at lunch? I still can't really understand it and I feel bad every time you have to write stuff down for me." Frisk nodded with a smile wider than normal.
"Thanks bud."
The two walked to class down through the crowded halls, pushing and shoving their way through the claustrophobia to a double-doored classroom. Light streamed through high windows in the ceiling, breaking up the pain that was the fluorescent bar lights. Walls were plain and the floors had the occasional red square panel worn down by years of kids trudging through them. A fairly plain school for fairly plain people.
The pair pushed in as the bell rung with students already taking up all the desks towards the front. The two found seats near the back, George telling Frisk all about his weekend and how, for the seventeenth time, they were invited out to his parent's cabin any time. And for the seventeenth time, they signed they'd think about it. He merely shrugged, pushing up his glasses as the teacher came in, an interpreter close behind. Not like they'd do much as Frisk knew not to speak much in class. The person was hired last minute when she came into the new year since the one they had known since they were young retired. It was a sad day. The interpreter merely sat on her phone the entire time.
Students one by one passed up their homework from the night before as the teacher came across, collecting it and continuing with the lesson plan for the day. Frisk took their notes, but mostly stuck to doodling the things from their dreams. The skeleton faces. The fish and dinosaurs and goats.
And a flower. A daisy-like flower with the horrifying of faces. Their mom had sent Frisk to therapy since they were about five. Her name was Regina and she didn't really help much. Depression. Anxiety. Night terrors. Schizophrenia. It didn't matter what it was, no amount of medication ever helped. It was just a lukewarm façade. Something that was really supposed to help, but Frisk wasn't crazy, right? It was just a dream and they'd forget all about it soon enough.
This went on for two classes, first English and second maths. Both times, Frisk was doodling and working and working. Figments of her imagination ran rampant during class as that was the only time they felt like these ideas came to fruition. It's was mostly vague thoughts and theories she'd bounce off of George, since passing notes in their case was less of a distraction and more of a necessity in order to communicate effectively with the rest of the class. Or so it was meant to. Thankfully, George would just lie to help a buddy out. He would normally get in trouble if they got caught, but he could smooth talk his way out of it.
Lunch came by and Frisk was able to find a small table towards the back of the lunch area. The space was relatively open, concrete columns painted red scattered occasionally through the area. Tables were fairly close together, chairs sliding between them with different students. Some sat on the floors in circles, chatting about last night's homework or some project coming up or something they saw online. Frisk took their lunch out of their bag, beginning to munch on some peanut butter and jelly sandwich as George came back over with a tray of school food that didn't seem really all too appetizing. A cheese sandwich, some carrot sticks and a small milk carton. To Frisk's concern, he merely shrugged. "Ah…y'know. Those subsidized lunches are usually shit. I'm sure I'll be fine." Frisk gave him half their sandwich.
"Thanks…you ready to help?" A nod. "Cool. Let's get started then."