The boy and the thorns

There once was a shepherd boy who walked through a field. He had to get home for dinner. He knew if he was late for dinner, he would get in trouble. There were two ways home. One way was the long way, along a pleasant stream. The other way was the short way, through a thorny thicket.

He knew if he was late for dinner, he would get in trouble. The long way wouldn’t get him home in time. If he went through the thorny thicket, he could make it. The boy’s mother always told him never to go through the thorny thicket. But she also told him not to be late for dinner…

The boy decided to go down the hill and through the thorny thicket. Along the way, he felt a prick in his leg. It was a thorn from the thicket. It hurts, he thought. The boy stopped for a minute or two to carefully pull the thorn from his leg. Then he kept going to make it home in time for dinner. 

Ouch! Another thorn picked his arm. I’ll just pull this one out later. It doesn’t hurt so bad. The boy kept going. Faster and faster through the thorny thicket. He pushed the branches aside, and stepped over large bushes. Faster and faster, through the thorny thicket. 

When the boy finally reached the other side, he looked down as his body. He had a dozen thorns in his arms, in his legs, in his belly. “Dinner time!” He heard his mother calling in the distance. Almost there, he thought. The boy started running, feeling little pains all over his body as he ran. 

When he reached home, he saw his mother, putting dinner on the table. “Come sit down!” his mother called. The boy slipped inside and grabbed a blanket, to cover up the thorns. “You can’t have a blanket at the table,” the boy’s mother said. “But it was so cold,” the boy lied. “Alright,” his mother said. They sat and ate their soup. 

After dinner the boy ran up the stairs. Time to pull out these thorns, he thought. This time, it was harder. It took him ten minutes to pull out one thorn. He was so tired from his journey. He laid down on his bed for a moment, and promptly fell asleep. 

“Cockle-doodle-doo!” The boy awoke to the sunshine on his face, and a warm breeze through the window. For a moment, he forgot about the thorns. Then he tried to get up. Ouch! He looked down at his body. His heart sank. His skin had started to heal over the top of the thorns. Most of them were completely covered by skin, leaving only subtle scars.

“Time for breakfast!” His mother called. The boy put on a shirt, and looked at himself in the mirror. You can barely see the thorns, he thought, happy his mother wouldn’t find out he went through the thicket. He ran downstairs and sat down at the table. “Not even a hug for your mother?” his mother asked. The boy got up and hugged his mother. Ouch! When his mother hugged him back, she pressed on a thorn in his arm. But he didn’t say a word. 

The boy finished his breakfast. He got up to run out to the field. “Give me one more hug before you go—I hope you know I love you so…” his mother said. The boy slowly walked toward his mother, afraid she would squeeze the thorns. She hugged him. The boy realized, if he pulled his body away a little bit, and didn’t let her squeeze too tight, the thorns didn’t hurt so bad when she hugged him. 

Many years went by. The boy was all grown up. He had tried to hug his mother. He had tried to take a lover. He lost his favorite job with sheep, and lost another and another. Whoever he got close to always bumped his thorns. Whenever people tried to greet him, he turned his back away. When the animals he loved got close, he barked and pushed them back. 

For a long, long time, he lived like this, hiding all his pain. Then one day, he sat in the rain, utterly alone. These thorns keep me from what I love the most, he thought. On his belt, he had a knife. The time has finally come, he thought, not knowing if he had the strength. He took the knife, and held it up, seeing his reflection. I’ve really had enough. 

He took the knife and pushed it into his skin. Blood began to pour. He pushed a little harder, and yelled, and yelled. Ouch! He knew this was it—he found a thorn. After many minutes, and a hundred shouts, he finally dug it out. 

This is the work I must do. It hurts really bad, and it may take a long, long time. But this is the work I must do.