The Magic Plastic Pot

Once upon a time, in a town not so different from yours, there lived a merchant who was known far and wide for his marvellous inventions. One day, he unveiled his greatest creation yet: a mysterious black cauldron that could produce endless plastic bottles of any size or shape.

“Just tap it thrice and speak your need,” the merchant declared proudly to the townspeople, “and the pot will create the perfect plastic container!” The townspeople were amazed. No more would they need to carry heavy glass milk bottles or worry about breaking their precious vessels.

Soon, everyone wanted plastic bottles for everything. Tap, tap, tap—water bottles! Tap, tap, tap—shampoo bottles! Tap, tap, tap—butter containers! The merchant became very rich, and the townspeople delighted in their convenient, lightweight containers.

But the mayor’s daughter, a wise young girl named Greta, watched with growing concern as discarded bottles began to pile up in corners and drift along the streets. “Where will all these bottles go?” she asked, but the townspeople were too enchanted by the magic pot to listen.

One day, the merchant’s apprentice, eager to increase production, accidentally broke the pot’s control lever. The pot began spawning bottles uncontrollably—thousands upon thousands of bottles in all shapes and sizes came pouring forth. They filled the town square, spilled into gardens, and clogged the fountain.
The townspeople ran to the merchant. “Stop it!” they cried. “The bottles are everywhere!”

The merchant tried every spell and trick he knew, but nothing worked. The bottles kept coming until they filled every street and alley. Finally, after three days and nights, the mayor remembered the old saying that any magic could be stopped by the touch of a pure heart. He sent for Clara, who placed her hand upon the pot and whispered, “Enough.” The pot shuddered, sparked, and fell silent.

But unlike the Magic Porridge Pot of old, where the townspeople could simply eat their way out of trouble, these bottles refused to disappear. They tried burying them, but they rose from the earth. They tried burning them, but toxic smoke made everyone ill. They tried sending them away, but the bottles just showed up in their neighbours’ towns, blowing across fields, floating down rivers and into the sea.

Years passed, and though the magic pot was locked away in the deepest vault, its legacy lived on. The once-beautiful town became known as Plasticville, where bottles from that fateful day still wash up on their shores and peek through their garden soil. Even their great-great-grandchildren would find bottles made by the magic pot, each one as pristine as the day it was conjured, serving as a reminder that not all magic can be undone.