The Binding

by Bridget Collins

skeleton, the spine curled like a row of pearls round pale twigs of legs and arms, and the tiny splinters of toes and fingers. The skull bulged like a mushroom. They were smaller than my outstretched hand, those bones. They were as small and fragile as a bird’s. But it wasn’t … it hadn’t been a bird. It was a baby.

Babies bones next to or on top of the book

I could feel the greasiness of coal in the grain of my fingertips and crunching between my back teeth. The longer I stayed here the deeper it would get; until nothing would wash it away completely, until even my bones were black.

Black bones and stippled bones