Census by Adam Murray

The government sent a man to count the dead in Iztapalapa—the murder capital of Mexico. He wore clean shoes, so everyone knew he wouldn’t stay long.

By noon the heat had softened his clipboard. The ink bled slightly, as if the numbers were melting. A siren passed and kept passing, looping the block without resolving into direction. He paused, unsure whether to mark it as movement or noise.

By afternoon the neighborhood turned gold. Sunlight filtered through concrete like honey through broken teeth. A radio played soft boleros from a balcony. My uncle grilled carne asada in the street—watching the census man with amused curiosity. My aunt yelled because someone burned the tortillas—then checked her voice—embarrassed in the presence of a government official.

Here, the bodies don’t pile up. They drift—into alleys, into rivers, into silence. Mothers answer the door holding photos. Some are laminated. Some have been folded so many times the faces are creased into thirds. One—to distract from the agony of waiting—was made into an origami crane.

The man wrote numbers. The street wrote echoes in voices that used to pray. His radio announced a revised methodology. A new form. A better way to measure absence. The man nodded as if the voice could see him. He adjusted his shoes, careful not to scuff them on the curb where something dark had dried.

When he left, the dogs followed him, confused. In the stacked concrete barrios of Iztapalapa they had never learned the word for outsider.

Death lives here, yes—but so does warmth. Plates pass hand to hand. Someone laughs so hard they have to sit down. The radio keeps playing. His report said violence was declining. The street laughed until morning. By dawn, some of the laughter had become silent. But by then, the numbers were already filed.

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ADAM MURRAY — Adam is an Australian writer currently based in Mexico City. His work has appeared in Horrific Scribes, Neon & Smoke, and The Deadlands, and explores the intersection of memory, violence, and speculative futures.

Art by SCOTT TIERNEY — Scott writings include the novella Kin, and the comic book series Pointless Conversations. His short-stories have been published on Liar’s League, Bristol Noir, After Dinner Conversation, and HumourMe. Examples of his art can be found on his Instagram page (instagram.com/scotttierneycreative) with more on his website (www.scotttierneycreative.com).