In the middle of the desert, where everything was dry and golden and very far apart, there was a cactus named Prick.
He had not chosen the name. It had just happened.
Prick wanted a hug.
More than water.
More than shade.
More than anything in the entire desert.
Just one hug.
But every time anyone came close —
Ouch.
Ow.
OW.
The spines. Always the spines. 🌵
☀️ Everyone Tries
A lizard tried.
Ouch.
A bird tried.
Ow.
A small desert mouse tried very carefully with her soft nose.
OW.
Even the wind tried, in its own windy way, leaning against Prick’s spines.
The wind hurt itself, which is unusual.
“I’m sorry,” Prick said every time.
“It’s not your fault,” said the mouse, nursing her nose. “Your spines are just part of you.”
“A part I’d swap,” said Prick.
“They’re what keeps you alive in the desert,” said the mouse. “Without them you’d dry out.”
Prick looked at his spines.
Useful. Necessary. Lonely.
🌵 The Camel
The camel came through the desert on a Tuesday.
She was large. She was unhurried. She had the thick padded knees of someone who had sat on thorny ground a great many times.
She looked at Prick.
“You look like you need a hug,” said the camel.
“Everyone says ouch,” said Prick sadly.
The camel considered this.
Then she folded her legs, very carefully, and leaned her great thick neck against Prick’s side.
The spines pressed into her thick camel hide.
The camel didn’t flinch.
She just stayed there. Heavy and warm and steady.
💛 Owen Watches
Owen had been walking the desert path when the camel and cactus came into view.
A camel, leaning against a cactus.
Completely still.
In the yellow afternoon light.
Owen stopped.
Because it looked exactly like what it was:
A hug.
Prick’s spines didn’t get smaller.
The camel’s hide didn’t get softer.
But it worked anyway.
Because the right kind of person doesn’t need you to be spineless.
“Thank you,” said Prick, after a long time.
“Anytime,” said the camel.
And she meant it.
She came back every Tuesday after that. 🌵