In a small village far away, there lived a man called the flower pot man. His strange name came from a small flowerpot he carried with him everywhere. People gave him strange glances, and children made fun of him all the time. Yet the man never laid down the flowerpot. He would go around the town, the flower pot firmly grasped in one hand. With the other, he would conduct his business. When his hand would grow tired from holding the pot, he would exchange hands but never put down the flower pot. The whole village knew about this strange man and his strange customs.

But it was not always like this. Once upon a time, the man was invisible to everyone. He could go anywhere, and people would not pay him any mind. Once, he stood naked in the middle of a busy street, and yet no one gave him a moment's notice. The passersby went through him as if he were a ghost belonging to another plane of existence.

It was a sad existence. The man would walk through the village, calling out to everyone. He would try grabbing them or throwing stones at them. But nothing worked. The man was invisible, and his actions did not register with anyone.

Just as the man resigned himself to his invisibility, he came across a strange old lady. The old lady was new to the village. She had set up a small shop near the corner of one of the streets and was selling flower pots. The flower pots were empty, yet they drew the man’s attention.

He went up to the shop and stood there, admiring the beautifully crafted pots, when a voice startled him.

“Would you like one?”

The man startled out of his reverie, stared at the old lady. “You can see me?”

The old lady gave a kindly smile and repeated her question, “Would you like one?”

The man, sensing he would not get an answer, nodded his head.

“But these are special pots, you know. I cannot just give them to you.” The old lady continued.

“Then, what do I have to do?”

“You must cross the dark forest at the end of the village. If you can go through the forest without putting down the flowerpot, it is yours.”

The man thought it a strange request. The village people might never go near the forest, but there were no strange rumors about it. Besides, how hard could it be to carry a small pot through the thin forest that lay at the end of the village?

With these thoughts in his mind, the man agreed.

When the old lady handed him the flowerpot he was looking at, he found it surprisingly heavy. It was all he could do to carry it with two hands. The man looked up, astonished, at the old lady, but she had vanished.

For a second, the man thought to bring the flowerpot back to his house. After all, no one could know if he had gone through the forest. But the man was not raised like that. He shook his head and walked towards the forest.

He walked and walked, the world oblivious to him, his palms growing sweaty from carrying the flowerpot in front. But for once, the man did not care whether the people could see him or not. The flowerpot, although empty, held his attention.

By the time the man reached the forest, he had grown used to the weight of the flowerpot. Confident, the man stared at the forest. Dark clouds held sway over the skies of the forest. The path that lay in front of him disappeared into darkness. The tree whispered menacingly, warning him not to come any closer.

The man looked back at the village. The sun was shining, and people were laughing. The forest was cold, and the village was warm. The trees promised horror and fear. The village beckoned coziness and comfort.

The man gazed downward at the beautiful flowerpot and entered the forest.

The forest was even gloomier than the man thought. Under the overcast sky and the canopy of branches, the little light that made it through turned trees into gnarly creatures with a thousand hands, all reaching out to the man.

But the path was in front of him, and as long as he could follow it, he would reach the other side of the forest.

The man took one step, then another, and then another. Slowly, he walked the path in front of him. His gaze was fixed on the beautiful flowerpot, and his mind was thinking of what flower he should plant in that flowerpot. The trees reached out to him, trying to scare him, but he paid them no mind. All that mattered to the man was the beautiful flowerpot in front.

Time passed, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and month after month. Yet the man walked, unwaveringly staring at the flowerpot, till he found himself mired in mud. The man finally raised his head from the flowerpot. The path had ended, and he was within the forest itself.

For the first time since entering the forest, the man looked around and found himself afraid. The trees that he had paid no mind to cackled around him, overjoyed at finally frightening the lone soul in their midst. Their branches grew ever closer to him, making him stumble and tear his clothes.

Frightened, the man quickened his steps. His gaze, which never left the flowerpot before, now darted all around the forest. The flowerpot grew heavy in his hand, but the man, remembering the words from the kind old lady, never let it go.

The deeper he went into the forest, the stranger it grew. The trees became less like trees and more like human faces; their lips curled in sneers as if laughing at some joke amongst themselves. The bright green leaves from the beginning became darker and darker, as if dyed in blood. The branches that stood upright and proud now bowed feebly, twisting and turning every which way they could find.

In the silent forest, his footsteps echoed loudly, and the leaves rustled ominously as if preparing to strike him from above. But then the man heard rustling from behind some bushes, and his heart leaped into his throat.

What now? the man wondered as his eyes latched on the bushes to his left. The leaves rustled, and the bushes parted and leaped out a huge lion.

The man was about to scream when the strangest thing caught his eye. The lion was wearing a mask in the shape of a man’s face.

The lion laughed, as if amused at scaring the passersby.

“Fear not, lost traveler." The lion spoke, his voice booming and grating. “I come not with evil intents but to reward you for making this far in the forest.”

“A reward?” The man, who had nothing to his name because he was invisible, found his heart tempted by the offer of this strange creature.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“A reward, yes. For years, I have sat guarding a treasure, waiting for someone just like you to come, so I may give it to you.” The man noticed the lion’s mask looked like that of a kind man, smiling gently. It reminded her of the kind lady.

“Yes!” The man shouted with joy, “Take me to this reward, oh good lion.”

The lion gave a booming laugh once more. "Hasten not, young traveler."The treasure already belongs to you; all that is left is to claim it.”

The man who was dancing in joy, his hands firmly clasped around the flowerpot, stopped and stared at the lion. “Claim it?”

“Yes, I would require a little something in exchange for the treasure.”

The man wondered what it could be that the Lion, the King of the Jungle, could want from a simple nobody like him. “Anything.” He said.

“You must give me that flowerpot.” The kind eyes of the mask turned greedy for an instant. It was as if the mask had given away the face behind it.

“The flowerpot?” The man’s heart wavered. It was a tiny flowerpot. Yes, it was beautiful, but he could buy several with the treasure the lion promised.

“Yes, the flowerpot.” The kind mask drew closer to him. “I must have it, and then the treasure is yours.”

"But what will you do with the flowerpot?" The man stared at the flowerpot, growing heavier in his hand. It was all he could do to heft it with both hands.

“What does it matter?” The lion spoke in a sickly, sweet voice, circling the man. “It is a tiny little pot that caught my attention. Would you not say it is fair trade? Untold riches for just a simple flowerpot."

The man looked up from the flowerpot and saw a strange vision. The mask had started cracking. Where there was a kind face, now a twisted visage appeared.

“Come now, young traveler.” The lion spoke, half its face smiling kindly and the other sneering in contempt. “Do you not grow tired of carrying it around? How long have you walked with that burden? Look at your hands; they grow bruised. It is time you rid yourself of that burden.”

It was a trade that benefited the man, but as he looked at the lion, its mask crumbling away, the man found it hard to trust the lion. “Where is this treasure you speak of?” The man asked, hugging the flowerpot to his bosom.

“What does it matter?” roared the lion, the kind mask slipping away. Now the lion was revealed in all its fury. Its eyes dripped with greed, drool falling from its bared fangs. “Give me the flowerpot.”

The man bolted from the spot. The flowerpot that had grown heavy suddenly became the lightest of the burdens. From behind, he could hear the lion again in its kind voice. “Do not run away, young traveler. I have a treasure for you.”

But the man did not think any treasure was worth dealing with the masked lion. He feared not just for the flowerpot but also for his life.

As he ran and ran, he heard his stomach growl. It had been a long time since he had eaten anything. The man looked around, searching for something to eat—a fruit or a berry—that could satiate his empty stomach.

At that instant, a small berry fell in front of the man. The man looked up and found a monkey sitting on a branch.

“Go on, eat it.” The monkey said, But the man was fascinated by the two tails behind the monkey.

The monkey sensed the man’s gaze and gave him a toothy smile. “Pay them no mind. Are you not hungry? Go on, eat!"

The man picked up the berry and nibbled on it cautiously. He found it sweet and to his liking. He gobbled it up and then looked at the monkey. “Do you have any more?”

The monkey jumped from branch to branch instead of answering until it was barely visible. “My house is full of them. Do you want more?”

The man nodded ravenously. The small berry had only amplified his hunger.

“But I have a condition. You must leave the flowerpot behind.”

The man hesitated, the forgotten encounter with the lion coming to his mind. Suspicion crept into his voice. “Why?”

"Oh, it is nothing.” The monkey had disappeared from view, but its voice came from the thick branches hanging above the man’s head. “I simply do not like flowers.”

“But there is no flower in the pot.” The man argued, clutching the flowerpot tightly. His hand grew sweaty, and he felt the flowerpot could slip from his hand at any time. He clung ever tighter to it.

“But it reminds me of one.” The monkey’s voice had moved behind him. The man turned around to face the monkey, but he found himself staring into the vast, empty forest, the branches ominously swaying in a non-existent breeze. “Come now; it is the least you can do. I am feeding you.”

The man stayed silent.

Hearing no response, the monkey continued. “Are you not hungry, kind stranger? Listen to your stomach growl. It demands sustenance. Would you let yourself wither away for a flower that has yet to bloom? It is a small request for a large favor. Listen to your benefactor and abandon that flowerpot. Come, I will give you so many flavorful berries; you will never go hungry again.”

But the man found himself growing suspicious of the monkey with every word. His hand gripped the flowerpot ever tighter.

“Thank you, kind monkey, but I will find food on my own.”

The leaves rustled, and the man bolted. Just like the lion, the monkey screamed from behind. “Come back, you ungrateful wretch. I fed you and this is how you repay me. Come back and listen, or you will die of hunger.”

But the man kept running, the flowerpot clutched tight to his chest and his stomach rumbling as if displeased at having lost a source of food. The man ran and ran until he found himself in a clearing.

As the man stared at the sun shining on the green grass, he wondered if he had crossed the forest at last. Yet he could see the foreboding trees all around him.

"Come, weary traveler!” The man heard a melodious voice coming from a tree in the middle of the clearing. It was a lone tree standing by a small pond of sparkling water.

“You must be thirsty and tired, traveler from afar.” The tree continued, its leaves shining brightly under the sun. “Come rest under my shade and drink from this pond that I have made from the morning dew.”

The man found his feet heavy and his eyes drowsy. There was truth to the words of the tree. But as the man stepped into the clearing, the tree called out once more.

“Just a moment, tired one. I have a little request. You must leave the flowerpot in the forest.”

The man stared at the flowerpot, wondering just what it was that made it so hated by the dwellers of the forest.

“But why, merciful tree?” The man found himself asking. ‘Are you not kin to this little flowerpot and the life it will give birth to?”

"Of course, inquisitive one. But the flower will whither and die under my shade. You must leave it in the forest with other trees.”

The man grew tempted by the tree’s word. He had abandoned a treasure and food for the flowerpot. Had he not done enough? He deserved just a bit of rest. And it was not like he was abandoning it forever. He would rest just for a minute, quench his thirst a little, and then they would be on their way.

“Come now, weary one.” The tree called out. “The sun beats ever stronger. Can you not feel its harsh light sapping away your strength?"The man found himself growing weaker under the sun. The tree continued. “It is taking away your moisture. Come, come quickly. Drink and rest up so you may complete your journey.”

The man’s throat grew unbearably dry. His fingers shook around the flowerpot, hanging on to it by the barest of margins. The sun grew hotter, and his body was exhausted. Oh, what he would not do to rest under the tree for a bit.

But then the man looked at the flowerpot and found himself enthralled by its beauty once more. He remembered the kind old lady’s words that he must not let go of the flowerpot for any reason. The flowerpot that had nearly slipped from his grasp was now clutched securely to his bosom.

“I thank you, kind tree, but I must be on my way.”

As the man’s feet took him away from the clearing into the dark forest, he heard the tree call out. “What a fool you are. I offered you water and shade, and you rejected me. There is no cure for the foolishness.”

The man walked and walked. The forest threw one strange being after another. But the man walked, his eyes fixed on the flowerpot. Nothing the forest did could faze him any longer. He walked and walked till his shoes wore away. Yet he walked. He walked and walked until the branches ripped away his shirt. Yet he walked. He grew feeble from hunger and thirst, and yet he walked, his gaze never leaving the beautiful flowerpot.

For how long the man walked, he did not know. But at last, his journey came to an end. The trees parted, giving way to lush grass and a kind old lady waiting for him.

“You passed through the forest.” The kind old lady smiled the same warm smile she did at the time she met him.

The man stumbled and fell. Yet he did not let go of the flowerpot. The old lady sat down in front of him.

“But your efforts bore fruit. Look!” The man looked down at the flowerpot and found a small plant, barely the size of his little finger.

His thirst evaporated, and his hunger subsided. The man stared at the little plant in awe. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

The kind old lady stood up and said one last line before walking away. “All because you never let go of the flowerpot.”

And from that day on, the man never let go of the flowerpot. The people made fun of him, but the man was happy that he was no longer invisible. And when the man died, the people buried his small flowerpot and the small plant with him. But overnight, it grew into a large tree visible from beyond the horizon, forever protecting the man’s grave from the sun, the wind, the rain, and everything else.