LAST DAWN ON MACAW MOUNTAIN
Rough hands pulled at her clothes, spun her around, and painted her skin. They pawed and prodded and poked her. The day had arrived—the second Day of the Skull—when moonset and sunrise occurred simultaneously…
Silan shivered as the chaks—priests responsible for preparing victims—lifted her budding breasts and smeared her belly with sticky blue clay. She stared at the mountains and willed her soul to disconnect from the humiliation. Ancient architects, inspired by the peaks and plateaus surrounding the city, designed the wide platforms and soaring heights of the temples and pyramids of her beloved city…
Everything fell silent.
The crowd cheered and then quieted. The signal that they were ready for the next victim.
Her family stared down at the cold gray stone stained with blood. Her father grasped the oyster shell, his jaw clenched, eyes straight ahead.
Time seemed to stop. Peace blossomed in her heart when she saw the last star disappear, giving way to the dawn. She was ready.
She listened to the birdsong crescendo. Hands grasped her elbows.
The breeze carried the scent of mango blossoms.
The chaks positioned her body on the stone, her head facing east and her feet facing west.
They said prayers. Some of them danced. The crowds cheered at first—then became silent as the high priest raised the knife and aimed at her beating heart.
A macaw flew above her—bright red and blue and yellow. Wings stretched out, it soared above her. The bird was her wajob—her spirit animal—her escort into the next life.
The macaw circled again; she allowed her soul to follow.
The knife pierced her thin chest. The macaw screeched.
Dawn came to Macaw Mountain.
Nothing could stop the sunrise.
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