martes, 22 de junio de 2010
She was totally conscious of her inheritance. She was the descendant of an old and very powerful family among the Amazons. One of her ancestors was the almighty Penthesilea. She could feel her blood and many other women-warriors like herself running abruptly through her veins, claiming for battle, desirous for being at war one more time.
She looked at the mirror of her room. She didn’t see her reflection, but the battle field in which Penthesilea and many other brave women of her tribe fought the Trojans. Anxious horses ready to gallop to encounter the massacre. Shining shields anticipating scarlet horror. Shouting swords foreseeing flesh and corpses, longing for being freed from the sheaths. Calm warriors enjoying the peace of what could be their last glorious day.
They knew they were different, they were the feared Amazons. The ones that cut off one breast so that they could shoot and throw spears more effectively. They were warriors and their task was to defeat the enemy.
This time, she saw herself in the mirror. She saw powerful hands that had fought through life, strong hips that had continued her clan one more generation. She saw the scar in her breast. Then, she was totally aware of her chore. This time, it wasn’t a battle but a duel. A long and perilous duel, but victory was on her side. She was going to beat cancer.