Very recently, in a not so small place, very close to our world there was Thumbelina. Her existence was slowly happening under the You Poor Thing Tree. Thumbelina was a small doll, her blueberry lips were smiling and her face was clouded with a strange glow. But her eyes were deep blue and sad. Every morning Thumbelina would open those eyes, get up from her bed made of sticks and stones and go around the tree in search of the seeds. She would collect some and then dig a hole in the ground with her tiny hands. Usually, the soil was hard and cracked from the ruthless sun. It would rain a few times, but it would bring only the flood.

“Thumbelina, why do you keep doing that? Aren’t you tired?” You Poor Thing Tree would ask her every day.

“Because I have to,” Thumbelina would answer.

“It’s stupid. You’ll never make it.”

One time when You Poor Thing Tree was laughing at her pathetic existence, Thumbelina said “You are pathetic. I will live, not just exist, like you”.

And Thumbelina walked away to find a better ground so her tiny wild rose could sprout.


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