The Skeleton Who Cried Monster - An Aesop Fable Retelling

Liars are not believed even when they speak the truth

Rus the skeleton tended to King Asgore and Queen Toriel's throne room in New Home. It was more of an inside garden, really. Here, only golden flowers covered the ground and were kissed by sunlight beaming through the windows. The Dreemurrs' thrones sat in the middle of the garden, perfect for viewing and sipping tea in the afternoon. Rus leaned against a nearby yellow wall briefly, wiping the sweat from his skull. He watered the flowers, planted them, and like anything he can obsess over, applied science to them. In fact, Rus learned about all of the flowers in the Underground since he was but a baby-bones. From Snowdin, an eternal winter village Rus lived in, to New Home, the Underground's distant capital. He only had a single cactus to maintain in the Hotlands. Rus's favorite district was Waterfalls, a tranquil area harmonized by the sounds of rushing water and the whispers of luminous blue echo flowers. It was also the most vacant district, usually used more as a stepping stone to get to other places. Rus liked to think it was his personal district. All in all, being the Royal Gardener was the easiest job in the Underground.

But gardening inevitably became unfathomably, painfully, and stupidly boring. It was a tedious and unfulfilling chore. There were only so many relatable jokes he could make to himself: Hopefully thistle be a better day, I should probably check the thyme and the overused, Gotta put the petal to the metal. Rus was sure his repertoire was getting stale and saturated with his day-time duties. Jokes aside, every day was simply just the same for poor Rus. His juvenile determination for this role had been depleting. When he was younger, he wanted to contribute to the underground in the most effective yet least-effort way possible. Rus's mother, Toriel, had a natural affinity for flowers so it worked out perfectly; likewise, he would have become a snail farmer due to Asgore's influence. Rus desired no more to contribute and belong to the monster community. He was the only skeleton there after all, and no one knew where he originated.

It was a clear, starry night in New Home twenty-one years ago. Rus was a sound-asleep infant wrapped in a simple, white-cloth blanket left at Asgore and Toriel's doorstep. No one had heard anything or saw anything. From then on, the Dreemurrs raised him as if he were their own. The Kingdom reached a consensus that Rus was a gift. He later learned that Toriel and Asgore lost their first child. He never pushed for more details. As doting and accommodating as the goat lords were, it would be an understatement that he stuck out like a sore-thumb in family photos. At an early age Rus understood their differences. Warm fur versus stiff bones, Shiny eyes versus empty sockets. Being so much more alive than Rus could ever be. Often he would get so upset he'd hide under the bed and brood. He recalled Asgore comforting him as a baby-bones, pointing out they both have tails. When Rus would pout and say his coccyx was too tiny, Asgore would heroically reply, "Well, let's make a stop at the re-tail store!"

He fell for it every time. Still, Asgore's impressive word-play was not enough to comfort Rus's uneasy identity. Toriel took on a more assertive approach. The queen sought to ensure that no kid would bully Rus or isolate him for being different. In turn, everyone was genial, agreeing, and unsparing of Rus. If there was a birthday party, he'd be the first invitee. If he didn't like vanilla nice cream, no one liked vanilla nice cream. Rus was never made to feel forgotten or challenged at school. The teachers were no exception; he could do no wrong. They would even "misplace" failing test scores and allow him to retake them under their "supervision". Yes, at school Rus would always be seen with another student and only bring home passing papers. Just the life any kid could want, and any parent to be proud of.

It was all so fake.

Floriculture was considered to be a modest duty, someone of noble status wouldn't do. But now at 21 years old, not only was the job boring but also pointless. As of late, Rus explored comedy and slapstick to connect with his monster folk. Clever jokes turned into improv and improv turned into pranks. His only friend, Doggo, didn't seem to mind though. Rus enjoyed the furry soldier: Doggo was blind as a bat and therefore the best to set whoopee cushion traps on. Although like anything enjoyable, pranking was addicting. Rus set his eyes on bigger and more daring schemes.