And so there once was a cactus which grew on a window sill. The cactus was green from top to bottom though it swore to all that came across it that it was brown, even rejecting the very water which sustained it in order to turn to a pale brown colour. The flesh of the cactus was stiff with dryness and its prickles were much too succulent with a milky liquid to ever pose any sort of danger to anyone who dared to grasp the plant with their bare hands.
The cactus of course had no I’s but could see everything. Through the transparent looking-glass, the cactus gazed upon the arid desert which rolled on and on, endlessly refreshing itself verbatim. To all the humans it was a horrible place to live. Dry, eventless and flat it was to them, so much so that all the humans there grew mad from it. They would insane things which perplexed the cactus. Picking up stones and exchanging them. Ripping souls for fun. Squisihng heart for boredom. Shunning truth for hope. It really was nuts. “It has to be this desert!” they said, “that is foul. It makes us as terrible as it is. For that is what we hope happens!” Either way, their slogan which ran through their collective consciousness was always “at least I am not a cactus. A cactus cannot exchange stones or rip soul. A cactus does nothing.”
Little did they know.
The cactus was indeed ripping its own soul. For in searching for brownness, its own soul had dissipated into nothingness for it too had convinced itself that it did nothing and, as would logically occur next, was nothing.
/* let it be known that in fact the soul of the cactus had not disappeared but instead had elevated and was being pruned quite well by a nice little cloud which lived within the cactus but manifested itself through the environment and thoughts of the cactus */
One day the cactus died and all the humans died too for the cactus was a magical cactus (surprise!) and being the only plant in the arid desert, was the only organism which assisted the humans which respiration and absorbing CO2 while releasing O2 for the humans. And the cactus didn’t really die, instead it just was resting as it tried to come to grips with the fact that its soul was gone but then without even asking permission from anyone (this happens later), the cactus retrieved its soul and came back to life greater than ever, vowing to never lose its soul again but the cactus was transparent this time for it had transcended beyond petty things like colour or prickliness. But when the cactus came to life its prickles were hard so the cactus hid itself but it still hurt the humans around it accidentally and because it kind of like the feeling of human flesh occasionally even though it resulted in human beings smarting. And the cactus was important but no one knew because it was now transparent.
By /u/byconcept (7 and a ½ yaers old – if we measured in grim years which work different from the normal solar years. We grow at our own pace, not at the sun’s pace)