static_abyss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
static_abyss) wrote2018-11-28 09:59 pm
static_abyss) wrote2018-11-28 09:59 pm
LJ Idol Week 7: Juliana Guadalupe Sanchez Mena
One Friday, in Tlaxixinca, towards the end of the rainy season, when the tree branches hung heavy with fruit and the hills were full of shadows, Juliana Guadalupe Sanchez Mena made a deal with Mixcoatl, the serpent god of war. The deal was this: that no bullet shot from the gun of a conquistador would ever pierce her flesh, that no bullet shot from her rifle would miss, and that Maria Jose Martinez Lopez would love her until the day of her death. In exchange, Juliana Guadalupe promised that her soul and the souls of her daughters would, for seven generations, belong to Mixcoatl, devil to the Spaniards and devourer of men. Then, Juliana Guadalupe took up her rifle, armed the women in her village, and burned the Spaniards to the ground.
She fought battle after battle, at the edges of civilization, the darkened corners where the Spaniards had forced Juliana and her people. She became familiar with the sound of a Spanish boot on fertile ground, with the sound of bullets piercing flesh, and the coppery smell of Spanish blood. The Spanish pushed and Tlaxixinca pushed back with the fury of their ancestors at their back, with the sounds of anguish that for so long had been their lullaby under Spanish rule.
There was war, and then there was the quiet determination that burned like righteousness in Tlaxixinca. They fought battle after battle, and no matter how often Tlaxixinca lost, Juliana Guadalupe would always be left standing. She cleansed herself in the blood of her people, and waded across the river of Spanish death to freedom.
On October 31, 1820, Juliana buried Maria Jose in an unmarked grave underneath the branches of a yellow coco. And so, the last promise made to Juliana was fulfilled. Maria Jose Martinez Lopez loved her until her dying day.
Tlaxixinca would be free a year later, but Juliana had become accustomed to fighting. She knew well the sting of untempered rage and the bitter taste of sadness. She heard the Spanish tell of how her skin glowed red with the blood of the conquistadors, how her teeth were pointed and sharp to better tear the flesh of the cultured. Juliana was the daughter of destruction left by the civilized. She belonged to a devil, and destined for hellfire, she had buried the last of her loved ones knowing she might never see them again. The Spanish called her a monster, so that became her tenet, her one unbending belief.
Juliana Guadalupe Sanchez Mena grew fangs, her skin turned red from colonizer blood, and she replaced the devil in the Spanish Bible. At 27 years old, she was burning men at the stake and hanging their bodies from tecojote trees. Until, on September 27, 1821, the war ended and there was nobody left to fight.
Juliana went back home, found a husband, and set about fulfilling her promise to Mixcoatl. From her, the Flores line emerged, women after women born for seven generations, each marked with a coil of hair in the shape of a serpent down their backs. They wore the mark of the god turned devil, and they flourished.
This was what Victoria Juliana Flores Sanchez, the last of the promised, inherited. Over her shoulders was the weight of a rifle that never missed, and in her blood she carried the rage and sorrow of Juliana, the desperation that forced a deal with a serpent one Friday, at the end of the rainy season. Victoria was the last of the promised, and so it was no surprise, that on the day her husband hit her, she responded by showing him mercy and shooting him in the leg. Then, Victoria took her mother's gun and headed North, because there are always battles to be fought up North.
She fought battle after battle, at the edges of civilization, the darkened corners where the Spaniards had forced Juliana and her people. She became familiar with the sound of a Spanish boot on fertile ground, with the sound of bullets piercing flesh, and the coppery smell of Spanish blood. The Spanish pushed and Tlaxixinca pushed back with the fury of their ancestors at their back, with the sounds of anguish that for so long had been their lullaby under Spanish rule.
There was war, and then there was the quiet determination that burned like righteousness in Tlaxixinca. They fought battle after battle, and no matter how often Tlaxixinca lost, Juliana Guadalupe would always be left standing. She cleansed herself in the blood of her people, and waded across the river of Spanish death to freedom.
On October 31, 1820, Juliana buried Maria Jose in an unmarked grave underneath the branches of a yellow coco. And so, the last promise made to Juliana was fulfilled. Maria Jose Martinez Lopez loved her until her dying day.
Tlaxixinca would be free a year later, but Juliana had become accustomed to fighting. She knew well the sting of untempered rage and the bitter taste of sadness. She heard the Spanish tell of how her skin glowed red with the blood of the conquistadors, how her teeth were pointed and sharp to better tear the flesh of the cultured. Juliana was the daughter of destruction left by the civilized. She belonged to a devil, and destined for hellfire, she had buried the last of her loved ones knowing she might never see them again. The Spanish called her a monster, so that became her tenet, her one unbending belief.
Juliana Guadalupe Sanchez Mena grew fangs, her skin turned red from colonizer blood, and she replaced the devil in the Spanish Bible. At 27 years old, she was burning men at the stake and hanging their bodies from tecojote trees. Until, on September 27, 1821, the war ended and there was nobody left to fight.
Juliana went back home, found a husband, and set about fulfilling her promise to Mixcoatl. From her, the Flores line emerged, women after women born for seven generations, each marked with a coil of hair in the shape of a serpent down their backs. They wore the mark of the god turned devil, and they flourished.
This was what Victoria Juliana Flores Sanchez, the last of the promised, inherited. Over her shoulders was the weight of a rifle that never missed, and in her blood she carried the rage and sorrow of Juliana, the desperation that forced a deal with a serpent one Friday, at the end of the rainy season. Victoria was the last of the promised, and so it was no surprise, that on the day her husband hit her, she responded by showing him mercy and shooting him in the leg. Then, Victoria took her mother's gun and headed North, because there are always battles to be fought up North.
no subject
The picture you paint is powerful. Brava!
no subject
Juliana and all the deeds described above are based on actual women in my family and on the stories that have been preserved and passed on from my grandmother. We do and did, until my generation, have a long history of daughters born with the snake mark, as my grandmother calls it. There's the belief that it's the mark of a death god, or devil to the Catholics, and that the person born with it has to have it burned in order to protect the children born after and before them.
Also, I had a great aunt who fought in the battle of Puebla during the fight for independence from the French. And she came back home from that with a rifle and a cane. She would make people kneel when they asked for her blessing. She was badass. Never married. And my mom's aunt did in fact shoot her husband in the leg when he hit her, and then she packed her bags and went North.
There have been, and are, some inspiring women in my family history. Sadly, most of what's left for a lot of us is just what the family can preserve in writing or orally.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Thank you for reading!
no subject
no subject
This story is kind of a mixure of all the women my family has known who've kind of refused to be pigeonholed. Which is a lot of women, and it just becomes progressively more women the closer to my mom's generation we get. And my cousins and I, forget it, we're first generation Americans so we are scandalous rebels compared to some of the people in my mom's town.
no subject
no subject
no subject
It's a terrible thing to promise the souls or future of people other than yourself, but it appears to have protected them in war for generations onward. And also helped them to seek out war and fighting, as if they don't know how to live outside that context.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
😊✌🐁🐭
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject