In a little workshop that smelled of sawdust, paint, and a pinch of magic, there lived a clever maker named Clara. She could craft anything her mind dreamed up—dancing teapots, giggling picture frames, and once, even a clock that told jokes instead of time (though that one wasn’t a hit).
One rainy morning, Clara decided to create something new. “What about vases shaped like people?” she mused, her eyes twinkling. She got to work, molding clay into the tiniest, funniest human shapes you could imagine. One looked like it was lying on its tummy, chin in hands, as if watching a cloud. Another sat cross-legged, reading an invisible book. They were charming little things, bursting with personality.
But among them, there was one odd creation. It was a vase shaped like a small figure curled up tightly, knees to its chest, head down, as if it had just had the worst day ever. Clara frowned at it. “Oh dear,” she murmured. “You look like you need a hug.” She almost squished it back into a lump of clay but paused. “No,” she said with a firm nod. “You’re special. I’ll call you Puddle.”
Clara painted Puddle in soft, sad colors and gave it a gentle shine. When it was done, Puddle looked like it might sigh if you tickled it. The other vases were lively and cheerful, but Puddle seemed… well, just a bit gloomy.
Clara brought the vases to the market, setting them up on a cheerful little table. Shoppers crowded around, oohing and aahing over the playful shapes. The lying-down vase was snapped up by a poet. The book-reading vase went to a librarian. But poor Puddle sat at the back of the table, looking even sadder as it watched its cheerful siblings leave one by one.
By the end of the day, Puddle was still there, untouched. “Maybe no one wants a sad vase,” Clara said softly as she packed up. “But don’t worry, Puddle. I’ll keep you with me.”
The next morning, a peculiar girl with messy red hair and a smudge of dirt on her nose wandered into Clara’s workshop. She was holding a flower with a broken stem. “Excuse me,” the girl said, “but do you have a vase for this?”
Clara hesitated. “Well, most of my vases are already sold. Except…” She glanced at Puddle. “This one.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “It’s perfect,” she said, clutching the sad little vase. “It looks just like how I feel when my cat won’t cuddle me.”
Before Clara could say a word, the girl placed the broken flower in Puddle’s tiny opening. It was a perfect fit. The vase seemed to sit up just a bit straighter, as if it liked holding the flower. “See?” the girl said. “It’s happier now. I’ll call it Mr. Sad Happy.”
Word spread quickly about the sad little vase that made people smile. Soon, Clara couldn’t make enough Puddles. People came from all over to buy one for themselves or their friends. “They remind us,” one customer said, “that it’s okay to feel a little down sometimes. You just need the right flower to perk you up.”
And so, Puddle and its many new friends became Clara’s best-selling creations. As for the peculiar girl? She brought Mr. Sad Happy back every week for a new flower, and Clara always had a fresh bloom ready for her.1 column layout
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