Ernesto Moreno
Xiuhcoatl

The moment that the obsidian touches flesh is the first moment that you realize what has happened.

There is no reason to believe that you were awake before this moment.

No reason to believe that your life was more than the quetzal feathers and Xoloitzcuintl eyes now bearing down on you.

What brought you to this point? What brave act committed you to the top of this blood-caked mountain?

No point in wondering.

No way to wonder.

The fog lifts only once the cold stone is halfway into your chest. And by then what choice do you have, really?

You get to see the priest hold your heart in his hands.

You get to hear the cheers.

Get to remember the yácatas and hummingbirds back home.

Get to take one last breath.  

And you hope that you’ll get to see at least one of the heavens.