photo by Samuel Zeller via Unsplash
It was the spaces between the ribs Sam watched, triangles of black caught between bleached pins, growing and shrinking with each coil and flex. Crescent bones hooked together, held a moment then snapped apart, making a sound liked plucked wires.
‘How is it doing that?’ he whispered.
The serpent was stripped of flesh and muscle and skin, the elongated organs long dissolved to atoms. The diamond-shaped skull turned at the sound of his voice, blank eye sockets searching for him.
Col sighed, scrubbed his forehead with blunt fingers. ‘How are any of them doing it?’
Behind him, the sound of a thousand plucked wires.