Hi and thanks for clicking on my Bone Fanfic!
This is my first fanfiction I have successfully made, so I would really appreciate critical reviews so I can improve.
Thanks again and I hope you enjoy the story! ^-^
~Dedicated to my lovely father who always tries his best~
The rain drizzled outside, pitter-pattering onto the rooftop of the bakery. It was always toasty inside, even during the bitter winters. The smell of yeast, cinnamon, and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. When customers entered the shop, the dingy little bell would ring, allowing employees a step ahead. Unfortunately, Phoney never seemed to get the memo.
"Hurry up Mr. Bone!" boomed the impatient geezer behind the counter.
Phoncible despised working at the Boneville Bakery, almost as much as the insolent customers. That and the fact he had a low-life scum for a boss. He knew he was getting underpaid, but he kept his job because it was the only one that had its perks. Besides, he needed all the money he could get. To support his cousins and himself.
"Yeah, yeah! Comin'!" Phoney spoke under his breath as the bell rang and rang. Oh, how he hated that bell.
Phoney wrapped the end of a brown paper bag, to seal the goodies inside it. "Here you are." He held out the warm crinkled bag toward the elderly man. "Terribly sorry sir. I was out back checkin' the- "
The old man scoffed with squinted eyes. "You tEEn-agers make me sick… Always excuses, excuses. Never any hard work!" He snatched the sack away from the adolescent bone and walked off. "And you can forget about the tip!" mumbled the senior as the door slammed.
Excuses? NEVER any hard work? The very thought made Phoney cringe. He was working his butt off at a bakery eight hours a day AND took care of two kids! But one-day Phoney was not going to be working at this shabby shack. He was determined that he would one day have plenty of money for his cousins and himself and never have to be hungry or homeless; he would do anything it took to achieve this goal. Phoney thought to himself as he rubbed his unibrow, "Sheesh, any more of this madness and I'm going to collapse." That statement wasn't far from the truth. Phoney Bone's body ached all over, and it wasn't just his usual ailments from lifting massive stacks of flour at the bread shop. The young bone's mind swirled and span with fatigue, and often he would feel dizzy and would need to close his eyes, count to ten, and tell his body to stop acting up again.
"Get up you worthless sap! Get up before it's too late!" he usually told himself.
These spells of vertigo would occasionally overwhelm him to falling onto the ground. Luckily, his boss never caught him in an episode; he would probably fire him if he did.
The aroma of freshly baked bread and sweets filled the room, as usual, making Phoney notice his never-ending hunger slightly more often. Phoney grinned, "Just two more hours… Just two more hours… I wonder what I'll pick this time." he thought with a palm to his forehead.
When the greedy scumbag of a boss was out - near the time Phoney's shift was over – Phoney would steal bread for his family and himself. He didn't hesitate to do so just three months ago when he first received the job. Mr. Malecon was an underpaying jerk, so he had to get his money's worth somewhere. Besides, his co-worker Linda did the same thing.
The Boneville Bakery was the town's favorite bake shop - since 1869 - and customers never seemed to stop rolling in. The tiny bell constantly rang when handfuls of customers came into the brick building. When guests arrive, they are greeted by two glass display counters, with mahogany wooded tops and edges. The displays are filled with bounds of pastries stacked on top of one another. Seeded, blueberry, chocolate chip, and plain bagels in shiny layered rows. The powdered sugar sparkles like snow on the cinnamon twists, while the various flavored doughnuts gleam with colorful icings. The wide assortments of bread – loaves of all kinds, jumbo soft pretzels, buttered rolls, sesame seed hamburger buns, freshly baked muffins, swiss rolls filled with delightful creams, – overflow the remainder of the displays. In the corner, a wooden barrel is filled with one-foot French baguettes, each with a ruffled brown paper wrapping, labeled with the BONEVILLE BAKERY logo. To help customers decide what to order, the long blackboard full of chalk written prices, names, and specials is there to assist. Jazz and swingy songs surround the store and entertain guests as they wait for a staff member to supply their needs. Ah yes, this bakery is a sweet escape for all residents and provides excellent nourishment for all the people of Boneville, with 100% fresh, locally farmed, ingredients.
At least that's what the employee manual says.
To Phoney the bakery was a miserable, pathetic, small shack full of food he wasn't allowed to eat. At least not when Mr. Malecon was around.
Cling-a-ring. The aggravating bell snapped Phoney's attention back to reality once more. He stopped fiddling with the black pen and looked up at the woman. Behind the counter was a middle-aged woman with curly short blonde hair, holding a floral handbag. Her face was covered in blobs of makeup. She had painted fish lips and ridiculously long eyelashes; Phoney had a hard time trying not to notice how idiotic the lady looked. "Welcome to the Boneville Bakery, how can I assist you?" Phoney spoke trying not to sound sarcastic.
The clown-woman spoke in a shrill, fast-paced tone. "Hi, there! I need three loafs sourdough, one loaf multigrain, half a dozen bread rolls, five jelly-filled doughnuts, two chocolate muffins… And what is your special…" The woman looked closely at the young bone's name tag. "Phon-ence-ce-ble." She shot a brainless smile at the boy.
"God, I hate my job." Phoney thought.
Two hours later…
Phoncible looked at the roman-numeral clock - he did every five or so minutes – and was joyfully greeted by the time. Time for work to end.
His unibrow sprung up, and he gave a smirk. "Finally, time to get outta this joint." Phoney whispered to himself as he untied his black apron; the words BONEVILLE BAKERY were embroidered into the fabric. Phoney took a deep breath through his nose and breathed out from his mouth. He wasn't feeling so well, a little nauseated in fact. He noticed that his balance was a little off and unsteady when he did anything physically wearing. Sweat began to form on his brow; his body started to burn up from the inside out.
Behind the counter lay a wooden box where the uniforms were to be kept. Phoney tossed his black apron into the box and darted around, to make sure Mr. Malecon wasn't around. The juvenile bone looked right, left, then right again, as if he was about to cross the street. His eyes immediately shifted to the display counter. No one was in the lobby, a rarity at the bread shack. The only sound that filled the room was the jazzy music, and the occasional shuffling and clanks from the kitchen. As the wonderful smells filled Phoney's lungs, he reached into the display case and grabbed one loaf of rye bread and two blueberry muffins. Phoney didn't mind being risky every now and then with the muffins. Smiley and Fone's eyes lit up with pure joy when Phoney brought them muffins like they'd won the lottery. He quickly grabbed a plain brown sack and cautiously packed the goods into it. He looked around, once more as if crossing a street, and sprinted toward the back door.
Past the washrooms, and soon the kitchen. Almost there… Then the boss's' office. Closer… Then the storage closet… Just a bit further…
He grabbed the metal exit-door handle. Then it hit him.
White spots began to appear around him, and they were spinning like children on a merry-go-round. They swirled and swirled around his scorching hot body, taunting him. He felt a sudden urge to gag, and he dropped the bread. The bread spilled on the floor, making an unpleasant sound. He placed his left hand over his mouth, and he clutched the metal doorknob harder as if he could someway transfer his pain onto it. He gasped for air, and the room got darker. Darker and darker. Darker and Darker… Until there was only black.
"WAKE UP YOU FILTHY CROOK!" "I SAID WAKE UP."
Phoney felt like he was being shaken on a boat by difficult waves – like in that stupid story Fone always talks about – and he slowly began to flicker open his eyes. Slowly he began to see a white blob that turned into a figure that soon turned into a bone. He looked familiar… OH WAIT-
"I said WAKE UP you useless fool!" Mr. Malecon yelled with fury as he shook the teenage bone.
Phoney regained his senses and opened his eyes wide as he saw the horrifying sight of his outraged boss. Mr. Malecon's beady black eyes were pools of hatred. The no-older-than fifty, bone's bald spot shined from the bright overhead light; he only had grey hair on the back of his scalp. Mr. Malecon wore silver oval spectacles that only enlarged his menacing stare. He hadn't shaved in a long time; his chin was stubbly with white hairs. His putrid breath stunk of alcohol. To Mr. Malecon's advantage, his body was broad and portly, leaving Phoney helpless in the situation.
"M-mr. Malecon!" Phoney looked into the eyes of his supervisor and tried to think of something fast.
Phoney tittered an anxious laugh with a fake smile and managed to stammer a pitiful excuse from his trembling lips. "I was- just fixing to leave for my shift, and I forgot to put-"
"Enough! You are fired! I've had enough of your absurdities!" Mr. Malecon growled at the shaking boy.
Phoney was hysterical. "But Mr. Malecon! What did I-"
"OUT! I never want to see your filthy face in my fine establishment EVER AGAIN."
Phoney Bone didn't speak.
"I SAID, I NEVER want to see your filthy face in here again! Got that?! Now OUT!" the grotesque manager roared as he pointed toward the exit.
He had to think swiftly. He nodded solemnly.
Phoney scanned the floor for the loaf of bread. It hadn't fallen far from his reach. He grasped hold of the rye loaf and raced out the door.
"HEY COME BACK HERE YOU FILTHY PILE OF SH-"
The door slammed and all Phoney could do was run. Runaway, before Mr. Malecon could see where he was heading off to.
As he dashed through the streets of Boneville, - not knowing where he was going or caring where – he noticed the rye loaf was no longer in his hands. He must have accidentally dropped it. The gust blew alongside the broken boy as the rain – harder than a sprinkle now – poured onto him. Phoncible's body, star shirt, suspenders, pants, and newsboy cap were all drenched in water. He breathed heavily, huffing and puffing the smoky fumes of the city, as he rushed past the many umbrellaed bones, holding his cap with his hand to keep the wind from taking it. He caught the passersby's' expressions as he ran past them - shoving them out of the way - and saw disgust. He rushed past the Boneville library where Fone always goes, soon past the barbershop with its white, blue, and red spinning pole, the honored statue of Big Johnson bone, the Bonetiful Boutique with it's flashing jewelry on display, Nemo's Italian restaurant, suddenly there were no more streets and soon he was past the… The adolescent bone stopped running and bent down and placed his palms on his kneecaps. Phoney Bone shut his eyes and gave out raspy breaths as he tried to regain his strength. All he felt was his heart pounding through his chest and the overwhelming wooziness. He honestly believed his heart was going to burst out of his chest any moment now. Rain continued to pour onto Phoney as toxic thoughts flowed into his young mind, slowly killing him.
After a moment, Phoncible reopened his eyes to reveal the horrific site. He was lost, and it was all his fault.
"Oh God, oh god no… Where am I…?" Phoney spoke in a brittle whisper.
Surrounding the shaky boy lay unkempt houses in straight rows parallel from each other. Phoney shivered from both the windy, wet weather and his realization. Something about this neighborhood was familiar. Too familiar.
Phoncible hugged himself as he shivered and continued along the neighborhood. He felt an eerie sensation as he sloshed along the endless trail of households.
"H-how could I be so foolish…? What was I—I THINKING back there? How could I jeopardize my two cousins over something as stupid as bread? Have I lost my mind?!"Phoney wept as he tried to clasp his emotions.
The boy sniffled and shook as he trudged along the path, feeling unsteady with each step. Phoney knew Fone Bone, and Smiley would be worried sick by now. The rain got a tad lighter now, reassuring Phoney it might not be so bad… The strange feeling continually grew and grew as he wandered along the trail. Maybe his mind wasn't right. Maybe he had lost it. But he felt a great urge to keep going ahead, so he persisted.
His eyes flickered at each battered building, as he tried to formulate a plan to get back to his cousins. The teenage bone had an intuition that if he kept moving along this path of familiarity, it would someway lead to his cousins.
Something caught the young bone's sight; Phoney stopped in horror. Ahead him stood something he never wanted to lay his weary eyes on again. To his left stood an abandoned one-story house. Not just any home; the house his parents and him used to live in.
The startled bone's eyes widened, as his jaw dropped; he slowly placed his wobbly hand over his mouth.
The orphaned bone looked up and down the whole house, noticing all its miserable details.
White paint had faded and chipped leaving an appalling look on the now grey, wooded surface.
Father painted the house a shiny new coat, and he was so proud.
The gloomy windows were broken and darkened with filth.
Mother used to place plants on the edge of the windows.
The moldy rooftop was green from the abundance of moss, and in the middle, it caved in.
Father used to put Christmas lights on the eaves of the roof.
The tattered porch boards rattled from the draft of the wind.
We used to have an old rocking chair on the front porch; I would sway back-in-forth for hours.
Wet yellow tinted weeds and wildflowers encircled the entire house.
Mother always loved to plant purple and yellow pansies in the yard.
Phoney gazed at the wrecked house full of shattered memories of the past. He compared those memories to the torn present which he lived in. He heaved choppy breaths as the salty droplets flowed into streams; Phoncible began to vigorously sob. He clinched his skull, clawed it, and he let out a gut-wrenching scream.
He was furious that his life – his cousin's lives too – had been taken away from them by the shadow of death. Why was his heart ripped from his body and then hacked into a thousand pieces?
He fell on his knees and covered his face with his hands and let out hyperventilated-sobs. He did not want to see that house. He NEVER wanted to see that place. Never again did he want to see that fragment of his former life. He was sure the city would have taken down the building by now… But he never dared to check.
"Shh, Shh. It never will happen again. It never DID happen. It's all a dream, yes, a dream —a nightmare to be exact. And you will wake up again soon. Very soon." he thought, trying to soothe his crushed soul.
Suddenly he heard fast-paced splashes in the distance. He grew pale and gazed up looking side to side. Something–someone–was edging toward him. They must have heard his retched cry.
Was it someone coming to get him? Maybe his boss? Or maybe it was something worse…the authorities! Oh, God, Oh God. Oh God no, please.
He panicked, and his body could not bear the striking pain any longer. His brain was engulfed in blurred anguish, making it harder for Phoncible to think straight. He picked himself up from the ground and was about to make a run for it–the tactic had not failed him so far–but he realized he could not budge. The figure–now two figures–inched closer and closer to his frail presence. He fell to his knees once more. The water sloshed onto him, he barely caught himself. Phoney panted dimly with his head bowed. He hesitated to lift his view to see his awaiting doom. "P-please… Don't h-h-hurt me…" Phoney hoarsely whispered with his eyes scrunched shut and his hands atop his scalp. His burning curiosity was haunting him as the plops of water lurked closer. The last thing he laid his eyes upon were two grim dark shadows.
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"Hey Phoney, Phoney. Wake up Phoney, please wake up."
"No use, he won't wake up. I've tried all day and still no reply."
"Are you sure it works? M-maybe we got ripped off?"
"All we can do is wait it out. In the meantime, we nee-. Fone? Fone don't cry! He's going to be ok, we are all going to be okay."
"I don't want Phoney to never wake up again! Not like mom or dad! Phoney is the closest to them I got…"
"Come here, it's going to be okay, you got me, don't you? He's probably just in a long sleep from all the work. Yea, a long sleep! He'll wake up sooner or later… At least I hope so."
Phoney heard weary sobs in the distance. Where were they coming from–more importantly, WHO were they coming from? He paused and realized those voices and muffled cries were of his own flesh and blood, his cousins! Surrounding the bone was an array of darkness; he was confused why he couldn't see anything. It hit the young bone—he was asleep! Why could he not wake? He was conscious yet could not awake! He was immobilized as he listened to the intangible suffering in his cousin's snuffles. Helplessness occupied the bone as he could not be there for his cousins now. But what baffled him was WHY were they crying? Did food run out? Did Fone get a papercut? Or was it something FAR worse than he could imagine. He wanted nothing more than to leap up and run to them, to end their weeping.
"I have to wake up, I just have to. Not later, but right now!" his conscious remarked. "Fone, Smiley! I am coming… Hold on!" He called out thinking someway they could hear him.
He wandered through the fog of the dark abyss, hoping to awake someway. Slowly he crept forward for what seemed to be hours and Phoney saw something. Two open doorways lay ahead of him. The door on the left illuminated with bright light, and he saw both his parents standing there with warm smiles. His father wore a navy and white stripped buttoned suit with matching navy pants, an olive tie, and black square spectacles. His body was short—just like his son's. As for his mother, she had bright, shoulder-length, straight ginger hair; her body was slim and elevated. She had rosy cheeks and freckles; she wore a white lacy dress. It occurred to him–those were their funeral clothes. The door to the right was darkened, and he saw his two cousins weeping alongside his limp body, that lay on his cot. Phoney Bone stopped to see the strange confrontation with swollen eyes; he questioned what the apparition meant.
"Phoncible, my son, you look so well. We have missed you." Chuckled father.
"You have grown up so fast! You look well." Cooed mother clutching her hands together on her chest.
Phoney's jaw fell open; his eyes flickered first at his parents, then his cousins, then back at his parents. He was motionless as he heard the sobs of his cousins, as well as the jubilating vision of his parents. He staggered toward his parents, and as he did, his vision got whiter and blurrier. Immediately after he noticed the odd feeling in his eyesight and his chest, he stepped back rapidly.
"Mother? What is the meaning of this? What does it all mean I don't understand I mean–" Phoney stammered in confusion.
"Phoncible…" his mother answered, holding something back from him.
"What your mother is trying to say is–are you ready to come home? To be with us again?"
"What? What do you mean?!" Phoney hesitated, beyond baffled.
His father cleared his throat, and moved his head slightly to the right, hinting the other pathway.
Phoney paused.
"…You mean… I'm dead?..." Phoney spoke flatly.
"Well not completely, you have a choice, and you need to make the decision now." His mother stated firmly.
Phoney looked to the sweet embrace of the left door—his parents, the ones he missed infinitely, wanting nothing more than to run into their arms and stay there forever, holding tighter until all the pain melted away—and then the bleak right door, revealing the ones who relied so heavily on him, in tears.
Phoncible closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth slowly.
"I've made my decision." Phoney softly proclaimed.
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Slowly, Phoney opened his eyes to reveal the setting around him. He felt someone holding onto his chest sobbing–it was Fone Bone. Smiley Bone cried placing a comforting hand on Fone's back, trying to be the stronger one for his younger cousin. Smiley was looking down; he hated to see Phoney in such a horrid state.
"Arrghh…" Phoney moaned softly.
Smiley's eyes instantly shifted to his eldest cousin, and he was alarmed to see his cousin animated.
"F-fone! Get up! It's Phoney, he's awake!" gasped Smiley in awe.
Fone sniffed and looked up from Phoney's chest, to be startled by Phoney's sudden movements.
"Where am I…?" Phoney spoke as he tried to regain his wits.
Phoney sat up on his hands, as his spinning mind tried to function.
"Phoney!" Fone beamed from excitement as he removed himself gently from his cousin's torso. Fone Bone sat on the edge of the cot as he admired his cousin's lively appearance.
"You're at home with me n' Fone! We're worried sick cuz! We thought… You might not, well, ya know." Smiley answered caringly as he placed a hand on Phoney's forehead. "Yer fever must've broke!"
"What, happened? I mean… Just give me a moment." Phoney told Smiley as he rubbed his temple. Smiley Bone and Fone Bone patiently answered Phoney's questions, and soon when Phoney started to remember what events had occurred to him, he explained his whole story carefully— though, he left out the part, about his parent's house."But what was that scream? We went out lookin' for ya, and when we heard your yellin', we knew trouble was a-brewin'." Smiley questioned with concern.
"I-I got startled, because—a BIG flash of lightin' came, right in front of me!" Phoney explained, gesturing his hands like a boom had struck.
Fone Bone gasped "Weren't you scared?!"
"Of course, but I knew the best thing to do at the time was to duck down! Everybody knows that." Phoney claimed with his arms crossed.
Smiley and Fone fell for his pathetic attempt to drown his feelings. Phoney could never let them know his true self.
Everyone was silent; the only sound present was the pattering rain on the roof and the rattling floorboards. Living in a deserted tool shed was tough, but it was all they had.
"Wait, so you guys found me in the rain? And took me back here?" Phoney asked, trying to break the silence.
"That's right cuz. You weren't lookin' so well either. We brought ya in here as soon as possible and tried to warm ya up." Smiley clarified with energetic motions. "And well, we made some sacrifices to get ya the right kinda medicine."
"Wait you did what? What sacrifice?" Phoney blurted, hoping that his cousins didn't sell both their kidneys or something thoughtless of the sort.
"Well to make it short, I had to sell my pa's guitar." Smiley consoled.
Phoney complained. "SMILEY, you didn't have to do something so stupid for me. I don-"
Smiley interjected motioning his hands as if he were pushing something back. "I know cuz, but you were awful sick, you shoulda seen yourself!" Smiley paused. "Don't worry I'm sure pa won't mind." He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "An' I know I'll get another some other day, I'm sure of it!" He gave a reassuring grin.
Fone suddenly ran up to Phoney and gave him a tight squeeze. Phoney gave a surprised reflex, but once he realized Fone was giving him a hug, he hugged him back with his eyes closed, and a smirk.
"I thought, I was going…to lose you." Fone whispered.
"Me too." Phoney quietly released from his mouth, before he could take the words back. Uncontrollably, a teardrop plummeted from his face.
Smiley joined in the group hug. Squeezing hard.
"Aghhh… Smiley, you're crushing me!" Phoney uttered and flinched.
Smiley snickered and clasped looser now. "Sorry cuz, just excited is all."
As the three reunited cousins embraced, in the stormy weather, Phoney received something in his heart. And he knew right then… He made the right choice.
Hope you enjoyed the story! Please feel free to leave their feedback in the reviews. Thank you for reading!