The dishes before being wiping them down

Temple was an enormous trapezoidal pyramid made of stucco-covered stones polished and painted white and highlighted with shades of blue, red and green. Continuous dust, smoke and grime had turned it into a light beige color. It was assembled with four sloped terraces that encased the older, smaller temples. This current version was larger than any other structure in Tenochtitlán save for Moctezuma's palace. It was a city unto itself, rising up from the ground like giant spaceship. It dominated the horizon, looming over the people, canals and markets of the city, even the other temples. The platform at the top of the pyramid was larger than a football field, and on this platform were two boxy temples. One was apartamente de vanzare bucuresti decorated with blue panels and the other painted red. The first was for the rain god Tlaloc and the other for the sun godHuitzilopochtli. Both of these temples stood nearly one hundred feet high on their own. It was on the top platform in front of the two temples where the sacrifices took place. If Acol and his family were going to be sacrificed this morning I was going to have to hurry. The fastest way to the top was the twin stairway that ran straight up the front face of the pyramid. Each stairway led to one of the two temples at the top. It was there where victims were stretched out on the altar, the curved stone pushing their apartamente de vanzare apartamente bucuresti chests up into the air. Four priests held down the victim, one at each hand and foot. A fifth priest, painted white and wearing a long black robe to match his long black hair, would say a prayer to Huitzilopochtli before using a sharp obsidian dagger to slice open the victim. They didn't apartamente de vanzare bucuresti stab into the sternum to gain access to the heart. Instead they sliced open the soft part of the abdomen between the ribs and the belly. The priest would reach inside, pushing through the guts and the spleen, between the lungs, groping for apartamente de vanzare bucuresti the warm, tough ball of pulsing muscle so desperately needed. The poor victim must have been suffering terrible agony at this point, feeling the cold, penetrating hand and arm of the priest reaching inside, feeling the fingers on their heart, then the struggle of the main arteries being torn asunder apartamente de vanzare bucuresti as the heart was ripped from its proper resting place like a kid finding an Easter egg. The heart itself was about the size of a mango but it fit into the claw of the priest like a small pulpy grapefruit. It would still be beating for a few seconds after removal, waning electric pulses still being sent by the cardiac conduction system. Hopefully the victim would have passed out before seeing their own heart held up before them, but it's possible they hadn't. The thought made my stomach lurch. I ran up the endless stairs, my head spinning in the high mountain air. The sun would be up soon. The sky was turning from a dark navy into a blend of orange and pale blue. Drums for the morning cycles were being pounded, accompanying the prayers of the priest. Crowd noise from the square below grew louder as parishioners began to assemble. My legs were burning tired. I was barely two-thirds of the way up when I had to stop to catch my breath. I looked back down, several stories virtually straight down, and my head began to spin. The crowd had grown quickly. They were moving closer to the temple no doubt curious as to what I was doing.