Original story: "We are the grand daughters of the witches who could not burn!", by bonzopoe

Mary walked quickly, fleeing from a pair of shadows that had been following her for several blocks. She didn't know who they were or why they followed her, that wasn't important at that moment, the important thing was to be able to get rid of them. One of the shadows was wearing a hat, and the other, a little taller, and the one that was sometimes literally on his heels, a baseball cap.

Mary didn't even turn around when she realized it so as not to alert them. She dodged through human traffic, dodging passers-by faster and faster, as if she were trying to fight a level in a video game or set a new speed record for a cross-country competition.

Just a few moments ago while eating a sandwich on a park bench, she learned on twitter of 3 women murdered that day in various parts of the country.

Precisely on that day when women were celebrated, including the fallen woman, the anonymous woman from the statistics of domestic violence, sexual assault and harassment, unjustified dismissal, lack of opportunity and equity, that faceless woman who lives behind the gaze of all the women in the world, and she did not want to be the fourth.

That day at night the partial total of murdered women of the day that was known, would be announced: five.

As Mary thought about the statistics, she remembered her mother and all the advice she gave her before she left home. She remembered her 16-year-old cousin murdered the year before on her doorstep, and as discreetly as she could, she took her pepper spray out of her bag.

She fought not to run and quickened her pace as much as she could, as if she were late for something, trying to get closer to groups of people to protect herself with them, crossing the streets recklessly dodging cars in order to increase the distance that separated her from those who they cast those shadows that threatened her.

Finally she came to a street whose sidewalks were filled with other women, many in purple with green scarves like her, and she was finally a little relieved that she allowed herself to slow down, but after a couple of minutes the shadows appeared again, following her through the crowd of women.

Mary began to sweat again, a cold sweat that soaked her bones to her soul. Yet her goal was close to her, so close that she seemed to be on the other side of the world. In the distance, chants can already be heard: "This is your fight, listen woman!", "Not one more, not one more, not one more murdered!", "Unity, sisterhood and strength!", "Not one less, not one less, not one partner less!

Mary tightened her grip on the pepper spray and quickened her pace, dodging more and more women like her who were heading for the chants, for that day's march, one that promised to be historic, and she tried not to think about the shadows that despite of the crowd followed behind her.

Despite the panic she felt, the chants somehow fueled the courage that had made her survive a bullying uncle, a beating boyfriend, and a boss who fired her when he suspected she was pregnant. Despite the threat, she knew that, surrounded by so many women, if the shadows complied with her, they would not have an easy time.

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, she finally arrived at the march and joined the first contingent she saw, one of women who, like her, wore purple with a green scarf, and the shadows were still there, which surprised Mary a lot, but surrounded by so many women felt safe and joined the chants: "We are the cry of those who are no longer here!", "We are the grand daughters of the witches who could not burn!".

Mary screamed and screamed as if with each song she expelled from her body all the fear, frustration and impotence accumulated over the years, and from time to time she looked down to see if the shadows were still there. They accompanied her for a while, but the more Maria shouted, they became more and more faint and blurred, until they disappeared completely.

At that moment a tear slid down one of Mary's cheeks as she shouted again "We are the cry of those who are no longer here!", "We are the grand daughters of the witches who could not burn!", and then took out her phone and texted her mom: "I made it to the march mom, don't worry I'm fine, everything is fine."

I wrote this text a few years ago, and it is a humble tribute or homage to the feminist movement in Mexico, Latin America and the world, and an acknowledgment of the reality that millions of women live every day and that should have changed a long time ago, and we have to change, for our mothers, wives, sisters, daughters and female friends.

Thank you very much for reading this post and dedicating a moment of your time. Until next time and remember to leave a comment.