“What’s a ‘domesticated cactus?’” The boy asked, looking curiously at the display.
The old woman behind the counter chuckled and pulled a little ball cactus from the shelf behind her.
“They’re genetically modified. See? No thorns.” She petted it like a cat. The boy reached out a tentative hand. The cactus was soft and cool to the touch.
“Cacti have thorns for protection, but sometimes we’re better off letting people in.” She handed him the pot. “ Here, it’s on the house.”
He kept the cactus on his desk for years, and it eventually became the symbol of the disarmament movement.

Thanks for reading! You can support me and find links to all my other work via my Linktree!

Advertisement