Sentence of Honey and Thorns
Guest Piece
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Guest text inspired by “The Bees” / Part 1 of eXis
Author: Erika Bueno
Sentence of Honey and Thorns
There is something magical about this shitty place. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s impossible to get away from here no matter how much you want it with all your strength; the land ties you down.
I’ve been trying to run away for more than 10 years, since that day when my soul broke and everything that made me want to stay was taken from me... but all I manage is to feel even more stuck.
I try to hold on to the little sanity I have left, so I cling to my sacred rituals. If there’s one good thing about living in a town far from God, it’s that nature is still almost intact. You only have to go a little farther south and the landscape changes.
It’s Monday, so I go swim in the river that’s farthest from my house. Everyone is too busy; nobody will notice I’m gone. I like to dive into the clear water and feel the cold on my bare skin. Sometimes I wish I would drown, but I always manage to come out unscathed.
The houses disappear, the murmur fades; I come face to face with stillness, and only there can I hear myself. Between the song of the icy river and the whisper of the birds. I float. I exist.
I come out of the river and feel the droplets of water evaporate on my body. The April sun doesn’t burn; it just warms the heart. I like to lie down on the grass and stay naked for a while, feeling the spring air and the smell of blooming jasmine.
But today something feels different; the birds are not singing and there is a smell of honey in the air that overwhelms all my senses. My skin prickles from the nape of my neck and a tremor runs down my spine. Then they hit me. Buzzing. Thousands of buzzing sounds. I don’t know where they are coming from, but I feel them very close. Those damn bees.
My heart races and they scream louder. I don’t want to listen; I refuse to go through this.
“Get out,” I say firmly. “I’ve already told you I don’t want you near me.”
They dance beside me and whisper in my ear. I feel their wings brushing every inch of my body. I wish they would sting me; it would all be over. But they have never touched me. Their voices chase me like an echo, a constant reminder of the pain that eats away at me. The mandate, the inheritance, the duty to this cursed land.
My mother answered the call, the one that passes from woman to woman in my clan since this land was first inhabited. Messengers, guardians, protectors. As long as they exist, the territory is never fully subdued. But they know that, and that is why they hunt us. Thousands have died, including her. I still don’t understand why they left me alive.
“What do you want from me?” Tears knot in my throat.
And then, for the first time, they land on my body. I feel electricity running through me from the inside; the world disappears, darkness devours me, and I see all my foremothers in front of me, this lineage that carries the curse on its back and claims it as a gift. I hate them, I hate what they represent; I want to tear my name off, let this bloody land that has called me since I was born swallow me up, finally disappear.
“You are the last one who listens,” their soft voice resounds in my belly. “What is not protected is lost.”
I fall to my knees in front of them, sobbing splits my chest open, the soundless scream of the sentence that stalks me. I can’t keep running; they always find me. I cover my ears hard; I can’t stand this hellish sound anymore.
Then, as an answer to my pleas, the buzzing stops. They are gone.
I am alone in the clearing by the river, shaking.
Beneath my feet a scarlet rosebush has sprung up, cutting my skin with its golden thorns; I feel my blood running through its veins. The bond that ties us grows stronger.
This is not a legacy... it is a sentence.
About the Text
“Sentence of Honey and Thorns” is a text that opens with powerful lines and, from there, raises a tired, furious voice deeply rooted in the land. The ritual of going to the river on Mondays, swimming naked, and floating in the stillness builds an intimate space where the body resists while the mind wants to run away. The bees appear first as a threat, then as messengers, and finally as inescapable inheritance: they embody a lineage of women, territory, and defense that turns everything that seems merely intimate into something political. The ending, with the scarlet rosebush fed by her own blood and the phrase “This is not a legacy... it is a sentence,” turns that legacy into a blood pact: not just a story passed down, but a sentence written into the flesh.
Gon Vas
About the Author
Erika Bueno. My name is Erika. I am 30 years old and I am Mexican. I am a writer, artist, and survivor of the corporate world. Writing is my territory of freedom, where I drain, channel, and transform what passes through me. Even though I enjoy fiction, my political and social obsessions always slip in. That is where Rebeldía Poética was born: a project where radical tenderness is intertwined with resistance, where existing is also a form of struggle and community is support. I am starting to teach in-person writing workshops and to build an online community. I confirmed what I already sensed: this is my biggest dream. I am sensitive, passionate, and intense in every way, and sharing myself through words is what sets my soul on fire the most.
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Gon! Muchas gracias! Que hermoso es leer mi texto en inglés!!! Se siente distinto jajaja amo.