by: L. Garcia
...The candles flicker in my presence as the visions of my past dream flood my mind repeatedly. The white
dancing flames resemble faces of underworld beasts laughing as if tauntingly saying,
“The time of your people’s rule is at an end. A new age is rising with a sun reborn.”
Will our land ever be as beautiful as it once was? Do all flowers wilt?
The gentle priest stands by, staring at me with a father’s pride. He is not aware of my faltering thoughts. My
blood burns like the incense the priest ignites. The sweet smell of the incense causes my fasting stomach to
I hear the song of a trespassing owl echo within the temples darkness where the sinful priest is running a
thorny vine through his tepulli and tongue.
Tlazolteotl, forgive me of my wrongs. My tonalli is in your hands. If I should fall this day, it is your judgment
alone that may decide if my spirit is to find the wonders of Omeyocan or the darkness of Mictlan.
It is time. All wounds are healed. I’m fully costumed in my eagle warrior garb, new feathers covering my
entire figure. My humble wooden shield, damaged but strong is in my grasp. My father’s wooden sword is
placed in its sheath, the obsidian flakes, still stained from the blood of my father’s killer on the day that I
became a man, are sharpened. No longer will the shame of hiding be a burden on me. I shall earn my feathers
with honor and become the savior of my people. The leader will be captured and sacrificed to Huītzilōpōchtli
so that the sun can shine with life once again and show these disbelievers that their God does not have the
strength to defeat ours. The gentle priest places the wooden eagle-head helmet upon my own.
May Huītzilōpōchtli fill me with strength and courage to prevail.
I arise from the mouth of the temple and see my enemy and the traitor Malintzin drowning in the ominous
darkness of this day, waiting to break my faith and have me follow in their beliefs of the One God… But I shall
not fall to their God as easy as Malintzin. Cursed with her good and trusting heart, Malintzin has abandoned her
native language and now speaks in the savages tongue. Once beautiful to all eyes that gazed upon her, she
grows ugly each time Mētztli touches the ilhuicatl. At night, the goddess Chalchiuhtlicue cries from the
flowing rivers for the unborn fetus within Malintzin’s poisonous womb.
The village tēcuhtli stands at the enemy’s side opposite of Malintzin with a picture-word branded in his face,
resembling the curve of Mētztli when crested. The village has joined the soldier’s forces. Popocatepetl roars
from afar, causing the world to tremble around me. The air no longer perfumed with jasmin, carries a hint of
the metallic scent of blood.
The stench of their presence is nauseating.
The pale general stands fully erect, armored with metal that would usually blind if the sun were to be shining
this day. I search for any weaknesses in his armor. I do not believe this mortal to be Quetzalcōātl.
I notice a nervous twitch in his eyelid. His fancy breastplate and helmet prove that even he fears death. He is
(This story has been altered from it's original version.
The full version will be found in an upcoming literature collection by M.F.R...
OR ORDER THE FULL VERSION IN OUR DIGITAL STORE AND RECEIVE A .PDF COPY VIA
NO LONGER AVAILABLE
.PDF file format
Print Length: 15 page
File Size: 186 KB
Payment via Paypal
A digital copy will be emailed within 24 hours after payment.
There are no refunds for digital downloads.
|© 2001-2015. Property of Middle Finger Recordz.