A woman planted a seed because she wanted a kid. A witch down the road gave it to her. Not the scary kind of witch. The kind who knows plants and doesn't explain herself.
A tulip grew. Red and gold, closed tight. When it opened there was a girl inside, no bigger than a thumb.
Thumbelina. Walnut shell bed, rose petal blanket. She sang little songs that sounded like bells.
A toad took her one night. Big, wet, pushy. Had a son who needed a wife. Left Thumbelina on a lily pad in the river. "You're marrying my son."
"I don't want to."
"You'll get used to it."
Fish chewed through the stem. The current carried her away.
A beetle picked her up next. Shiny, buzzing, into her. Flew her to a tree and showed her off to his friends.
"She's only got two legs." "No antennae." "Eh."
He'd thought she was great. But his friends didn't, so he dropped her at the bottom of the tree and left.
Winter was hard. Seeds and dew. Leaves for blankets.
A field mouse found her in November, shivering. Warm little burrow, soup, a spot by the fire. Thumbelina cleaned and sang. It was nice.
"You should marry the mole next door. He's rich."
The mole was blind and hated sunshine.
"He's got a beautiful home. You'd never need anything."
The wedding was set for spring. Thumbelina said okay because she had nowhere else to go.
In the tunnel between the two homes, she found a bird. A swallow, barely alive. Fallen through a crack.
She brought him water in a thimble. Seeds. Covered him with hay. Lay next to him to keep him warm. Every night, all winter.
The mole walked through sometimes and stepped over the bird. "Dead bird. Somebody should clean that up." He wasn't curious enough to look closer.
The swallow got better.
"Come with me," he said one warm day. "I'm flying south."
"I can't fly."
"I'll carry you."
"I'm supposed to marry the mole."
"Do you want to marry the mole?"
She stood there in a crack of sunlight coming through the ceiling. The dress was made. The tunnel was ready. Everything was figured out.
"No."
First time she said it out loud.
He carried her on his back. Rivers, mountains, the ocean below them. She cried, not from sadness. Just from seeing everything she'd been underground from.
He brought her somewhere warm. Flowers as big as houses. Sun everywhere. She met someone her size. They gave her wings.
She flew.
Goodnight to Thumbelina.
Goodnight to the mouse who was kind and wrong. Goodnight to the mole who had everything except curiosity.
Goodnight to the swallow. Almost died in a tunnel. Saved by someone with nothing to give but warmth.
Goodnight.