The Gift

This is a bittersweet story that wrestles with greed, overconsumption and complicity. The imagery is intense, but with a purpose. This is not a story for children.

The alpacas in this story were beautiful and gentle creatures who lived on a quiet farm. Each year, they allowed their wool to be shorn, knowing it would easily grow back and there was no pain in the giving. The wool was a great gift, soft and warm, and it kept the farmer’s family comfortable through harsh winters.

The farmer and his family, being wise stewards, protected and cared for the creatures with love and affection. They became skilled at weaving beautiful sweaters, blankets, and other goods, which they traded with the village. The creatures lived long, peaceful lives and kept the family warm, as they had done for generations.

The sweaters and blankets were so beautiful that word spread, and the wool became highly valuable. Other farmers began raising the creatures and processing the wool, until a wealthy merchant in a distant land heard of the farms and saw an opportunity.

The merchant bought up the farms, promising prosperity to all, convincing all but the wise farmer to sell. Under the merchant’s distant command, many men were hired to do the shearing, a great machine was built to process the wool, and goods made from the wool were sold far and wide for enormous profit. The farms grew larger, and the machine roared.

As demand continued to increase, quotas grew, and the workers faltered under the pressure. In their haste, kindness and gentleness became less of a priority. The creatures cried out as they were handled roughly, and the men hesitated—as they were not cruel by nature.

Distant and unconcerned with the suffering, the merchant sent orders to give the men a sedative to numb their senses so they would keep the shearing process moving. Desperate to meet the quotas and keep their jobs, the men took the drug.

With their senses dulled, the men’s hands were no longer nimble, and by that time, they had processed so many of the gentle creatures the men had become indifferent to their cries. If the men were aware at all of the torture and maiming caused as they removed the wool, they hoped someone else would bind the wounds, so they set the injured creatures aside.

Some passing villagers stopped to bind the wounds, but there were not enough healers to save them all. The wounded creatures lay dead and dying as more were brought by the truckloads to be shorn. You see, the truckloads became necessary to make up for the shortfall, as the dead creatures could no longer regrow wool for the next shearing.

Of course, by the time the wool was made into goods and distributed far and wide, people’s tastes had changed. The items didn’t sell and languished in a dusty warehouse. No longer in demand, the items lost their value. Eventually, the cost of storing them exceeded the cost of disposal, and the goods were discarded. The beautiful gift given by the innocent creatures now rotted in the sun.

With the value of the wool depleted, the merchant moved on, seeking profits elsewhere, leaving the weary men abandoned in the field. The machine fell silent, and as the drug wore off, the men awoke one by one. As they came to their senses, they saw the blood on their hands and the piles of dead and dying creatures in the field, crying out for mercy.

With the machine silenced, the other villagers heard the cries and gathered at the edge of the farm. Among them was the wise farmer, who stepped forward to lead. The villagers entered the fields, their hearts heavy with grief and guilt for the greed that had driven the suffering. They gathered the dead and built a great pyre that lit up the night sky.

A few of the men threw themselves onto the pyre, unable to live with the weight of what their hands had done. The others lay sobbing in the field. The villagers gathered the men, stood together around the flames, and wept and prayed—not just for the creatures but for themselves, for their blindness and complicity. As they stared into the flames, they vowed never again to place profit or ambition above the sanctity of life.

The maimed creatures were comforted, their wounds bound, and they were carried to safety, while the other survivors were led to the wise farmer’s pasture, where they could live out their lives in peace.

As the days turned to weeks, the villagers reclaimed the discarded items from the landfill, gently cleaned them, and gifted them freely to those in need, honoring the creatures’ sacrifice.

And so, the wise farmer’s pasture became a sanctuary, the villagers became keepers, and the fields a place of quiet once more.

“The creatures, no longer afraid, lifted their heads to the sun, while the people, having reclaimed their humanity, wove a new future from the tattered threads of their past—a future rooted in compassion, humility, and peace.”

Amanda Burris