Xibalba

• Charlotte Mckenna, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2016

The streets were long and windy, with cracks as wide as the Mariana trench. Between them, blood oozed out and sizzled in the blasting heat of the afternoon sun. Rotten hands, and teared up legs littered these monstrous cracks on the streets. One would wonder, what on earth has happened in this dastardly town. But nothing stopped these town folk, who lingered around the corners of houses, and carried as many knives as their bones.
During the night, the town folk dressed themselves in gowns of blood and guts and patrolled the streets. When the occasional man stumbled by, the town folk would slash off their hands and feet, and stab holes in their heads. They watched as the men fell to their knees, and a moment later, like nothing happened they were pushed into the cracks.
At the end of the night, the filled holes were covered with dirt and rubble, and jumped on by the young town folk. When the odd hand rose, the children would pick them up and play with them as if they were toys. Come the afternoon, when the children were tired out, they would climb the street lights and power lines and hang their treasure for all to see. Mostly, the power lines hung with body parts, however the street lights had beautiful, golden, silver and bronze necklaces and other jewellery. It would happen to be the only beautiful thing left in this dastardly town.
When night came again, and again. The same thing always happened, stab, push, fill and jump. But, one night no one came out, instead candle lights lit up the inside of the rotten houses. Every second street light was shining in the once dark night. It was like hope had risen amongst the folk, and that after so many years they could sleep without fear.
Around their houses, a wall had been built, and no more of these strange men would stumble into their streets any more. When the morning came, men, women and children came out of their houses, and united in the middle of the street. Their laughter filled the streets, and their dirty faces light up in the blasting sun.
“Mother?” A boy asked, as he tugged at the woman’s shirt.
“Yes Atticus?” She replied, ruffling the boy’s hair.
“Is Daddy coming home now?” He asked hopefully, looking up at his tired mothers face.
She smiled, and picked her son up, and put him on her shoulders. “Can you see over the walls Atticus?”
“No,” the boy replied.
“That’s because Daddy did everything he could to protect us from the night and the dead.”