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The Bones of O

Jill Zeller



J Z Morrison Press on Smashwords

The Bones of O
© 2012 by Jill Zeller
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The Bones of O

Do you see this bone? Grandmother O said, yanking the comb from her hair and showing me the irregular shape, polished by her fingers, carved into a comb. This is a part of my mother’s skull. I pried it out of a stone wall. It went straight into a crack in the side of the brewery. I didn’t even know it was there. Sometimes when you aren’t looking for anything, that is when you find it.

Sticking it back into the yellow soufflé of her hair, she looked at me narrowly. You need to start looking.

She said that to me a lot. Especially lately. She never said what I should be looking for. Grandmother O did not approve of me. I would have given the world not be living with her, in pain and addicted to morphine, when I should be on a honeymoon to South America; in fact, I shouldn’t even be alive.

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