The Missing Glove

“When are you going to write a really happy poem or story!? One about… butterflies exploding out of a heart-shaped flower floating in the teacup of a lady who just found her missing glove or something. :P” ~ Bethie

Challenge Accepted. ;P

“Pardon me, sir – have you seen my missing glove?” Cecelia held up her bare hand. “It’s about this big,” she explained, pointing at it with her other hand – which, in fact, was gloved, “and it looks like this,” here she pointed her bare hand at her gloved one and tugged at the fingertips. “I’m afraid it wandered off during tea time, and I am ever so worried that it’s cold and lonely without my hand.”

The Grasshopper blankly stared up at her from his little spotted mushroom, which he was using as a comfortable sort of couch.

“Oh, really?” she asked, her hopeful countenance drooping at the reception of the bad news. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you might have seen it.”

The Grasshopper flapped his wings.

“Oh, really?” Cecelia repeated, her face bright and hopeful once more. “You say Mr. Rabbit might know? Oh thank you, thank you, sir!” she bent over and kissed the tiny insect on his head before skipping away, humming a merry little tune as her raven black curls bounced along with the skip of her step.

Though the Grasshopper hadn’t seen her missing glove, she was quite excited to see Mr. Rabbit. He was always so kind, letting her pet and pat his soft white fur – sometimes he even let her kiss his little pink nose, but she didn’t do that often because it made him turn all red and bashful.

Yes, she rather liked visiting Mr. Rabbit, and she especially liked it today. “I do hope he has seen my missing glove,” she told herself, smoothing her dress with her alarmingly bare hand as she walked up to his quaint and cozy rabbit-hole.

Cecelia knocked on the flat rock next to the tunnel. “Excuse me, Mr. Rabbit?” she called, crouching down and peeping into the hole. “Are you there, sir?”

Shuffling footsteps echoed in response, followed by the popping out of an extraordinarily fluffy head and pair of ears.

“Mr. Rabbit!” she exclaimed with delight, desperately fighting back the urge to scoop him up and cuddle him. Instead, she burst into a fit of giggles at his appearance. “I’m so glad you’re home! I needed to ask you a serious question. You’re not busy are you?”

Mr. Rabbit twitched his tiny pink nose.

“Oh good!” she replied, relieved that she hadn’t interrupted her prestigious friend.

Plopping down on the lush green grass, she began her tale. “You see, Mr. Rabbit, my glove has gone missing” – here she pointed at her bare hand again – “and I haven’t the slightest idea where it’s run off to!”

Mr. Rabbit flopped his fuzzy white ears.

“Yes, it is quite awful – it’s dreadful, even!” she proclaimed, her tiny lips anxiously quivering. “Mr. Rabbit, you haven’t seen it, have you? The Grasshopper by the mushrooms said you might have, so I skipped over as quick as I could. Have you seen it?”

Mr. Rabbit twitched his puffy tail.

Cecelia sighed despairingly. “I see. It seems no one has seen my missing glove, the poor thing!”

At that, Mr. Rabbit thumped his large foot and tilted his head.

“What?” Cecelia exclaimed. “You think the butterflies might know?”

Mr. Rabbit thumped his foot again.

Squealing with delight, Cecelia scooped him up and squeezed him tight. “Oh thank you, thank you, Mr. Rabbit!” she cried, her face beaming with joy – and in that moment of joy, she held him out in from of her and kissed him right on his little pink nose.

Mr. Rabbit’s whole body turned bright red.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Rabbit,” she apologized, gently setting him back down in front of his hole. “I didn’t mean to turn you all red like that – I just couldn’t help myself!”

Mr. Rabbit rubbed his face with his paw.

Cecelia grinned. “I knew you’d understand!” she patted him on his fluffy red head, “You always do.”

Picking herself up and waving goodbye, Cecelia then made her way down to the meadow where the butterflies lived, her raven black curls bouncing along as she skipped to where the flowers bloomed. “I do hope they know where my glove is,” she told herself, scratching her dainty little chin with her poor bare hand. But when she finally arrived at the meadow, she dropped her hand and stopped in her tracks.

The butterflies were nowhere to be seen!

Worried and confused, Cecelia slowly walked through the meadow – which was actually quite lovely! It was filled with all sorts of flowers: there were big ones and small ones, orange ones and blue ones, and that were all sorts of colors at once! But Cecelia’s very favorite were the red ones shaped like little hearts. They always made here smile, and they smelled like fresh cherry pie. She always loved coming to the meadow to see all the pretty flowers, but she loved talking to the butterflies too! It was really quite puzzling that they were all gone.

Suddenly, fear gripped her.

What if they were missing too, like her glove? What if something terrible had happened, or something stole them away?

Clutching her bare hand, Cecelia shouted with all her might.

“Hello? Butterflies? Where have you all gone?”

But she heard no reply.

Lip quivering, she was about to cry, when a sudden whoosh whooshed past her face. And then another, and another! Turning this way and that, Cecelia watched with surprise as all the flowers exploded with butterflies!

There were big ones and small ones, orange ones and blue ones, and even some that were all sorts of colors at once! All the different butterflies fluttered around her in a marvelous cloud of color, making her giggle as they brushed back her hair or touch her face. But Cecelia’s very favorite flowers, the ones that were red and shaped like little hearts, they were the very last to explode, and when they did she jumped up and down, clapping with glee.

“Oh, yay!” she proclaimed as she ran over to where the red butterflies fluttered, “I am so very happy that you all are not missing – I was very worried that you… wait..” She paused for a moment in thought. “You were all sleeping, weren’t you? Oh, I didn’t wake you did I?”

The red butterflies fluttered around her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, you know. And you must believe me, for I am a strong supporter of afternoon naps!”

The butterflies stopped and hovered in front of her.

“Oh, good! I’m so glad you do! But now I must ask you something that is of the utmost importance – something that is very serious indeed. I have already questioned the Grasshopper and Mr. Rabbit, but neither of them knew the answer, so you are my last hope!” She held up her bare hand once more. “Have you seen my missing glove?”

At that, all the butterflies, not just the red ones, swirled around her in one big whoosh.

Cecelia’s gasped with surprise, “You have? Really?” She clapped her hands together, “Oh, this is wonderful!” An eager expression lit up her face, “Can you tell me where it is?”

The butterflies swelled together.

“Oh, you can take me there? That’s even better!”

And so, Cecelia followed after the fluttering throng of butterflies as they led her to her missing glove, but as they traveled along, she noticed that she began to recognize the scenery; there was Mr. Rabbit’s hole, and the Grasshopper’s mushroom… Why, they were leading her straight back to where she started!

“Umm, excuse me,” she called to the swarm of butterflies, “there must be some mistake. I’ve already been this way.” But the butterflies their wavy pattern of flight – Cecelia had no choice but to follow! And follow she did, until they reached their destination, and when they did, they all flew away, save for a single red butterfly, which landed in a small teacup.

You see, the butterflies had led her all the way back to where she was having her tea party on a small blanket next to a tree.

“Mr. Butterfly,” she began as she walked up to him, dragging her feet with weariness, “I’m sorry, but this is where I started. I was having tea, and then suddenly my glove went missing, which is why I had to go…” but her words left her as the Butterfly jumped out of the teacup, revealing what it was sitting on.

There, inside her teacup, was Cecelia’s missing glove.

“My glove!” Snatching it up, she pulled it on over her bare hand – oh, how wonderful it was to have it back on! – it fit her little hand perfectly.

“Oh thank you, thank you, Mr. Butterfly!” she cried, tears of joy welling up in her bright young eyes. “But how did you know it was here?”  She held out her now gloved hand, and the Butterfly landed deftly atop it.

The Butterfly flapped his beautiful red wings.

“Is that so? You saw me having tea as you were flying by, and saw me set it down to go pick a flower?”

The Butterfly flapped its wings again.

“Silly me,” she laughed, “I must have forgotten I had left it here – I tend to do that sometimes. I’m so glad it’s safe though! Thank you again, Mr. Butterfly!” She motioned to the blanket with her other gloved hand, “Won’t you stay for tea?”

The Butterfly fluttered up, landed on her nose, and then flew away.

“It’s okay, I understand,” Cecelia called out to him, waving at him with both of her gloved hands as he flew back towards the meadow. “Goodbye, Mr. Butterfly!” She then turned back to her tea.

“This is such a lovely tea party,” she told herself, taking a sip from her cup, “but it’s missing something.” She turned her head this way and that, and then stopped.

“Where’s that little flower?”