Thumbelina and the may beetler

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The summer morning lay bright and wide over the fields, and the grass rustled softly in the breeze. Thumbelina wandered among the stalks, which rose to her like slender towers, their tips glistening with dew like crystals. She was exhausted from the night in which the dew had soaked her and the wind had torn her leafy tent apart. But with every step, she sought new hope, and in her heart burned the desire to no longer have to walk alone through this oversized world. Suddenly, she heard a deep humming, not threatening, but full of vibrant power. Something dark moved among the stalks. A cockchafer, as big as she was, polished its shell with its antennae and crawled leisurely out of the shade of a thistle. Its wings gleamed in the sun, brown and copper, and when it saw Thumbelina, it stopped in surprise. "By all the leaves," he hummed, "what a strange little creature you are! No wings, no antennae, and yet... you are beautiful in your own way." Thumbelina inclined her head politely. "I am Thumbelina," she said in a low voice, "a little human, tiny like her beetles. Thank you for speaking kindly to me." The cockchafer moved closer, its compound eyes sparkling curiously. "Come," it growled, "I want to show you to the others. They've never seen anything like this before!" Before Thumbelina could protest, it carefully wrapped its front legs around her, lifted her up, and carried her a little further through the grass. To Thumbelina, it was as if the ground passed by her like a rolling meadow. He carefully set her down beneath a flower where several cockchafers were already gathered. "Look!" it cried proudly. "I've found this strange girl. Isn't she remarkable?" There was silence for a moment. Then the other beetles began to whisper. "She's strange," one said. "Where are her wings?" another asked. "How is she supposed to fly? She can't even crawl like us!" Finally, a female beetle raised her voice: "She's ugly! Without our beautiful antennae, without a shell!" The beetles' laughter swelled like a cold gust of wind. Thumbelina stood still, her hands pressed to the plain fabric of her dress. She felt each word cut into her heart, yet she tried not to cry. The cockchafer who had brought her looked embarrassedly from one to the other. At first, he had looked proud, but now his antennae drooped, and his shell seemed duller in the light. "Perhaps... you're right," he murmured finally, "perhaps she's not right for us." He turned to Thumbelina, his voice now quieter, almost guilty. "You're certainly kind, but... I can't keep you. The others would laugh." Then he turned away, leaving her alone in the grass, and crawled away with the other beetles, whose mockery echoed long afterward among the stalks.