The listening pot (An idea that popped into my head a couple hours back. I have penned down the intro and stopped. Will post in phases once I have written some more.)

As a clay pot was being moulded, the potter got a distressing phone call. After spending sometime listening to the person on the other end of the line, she placed the receiver back in its cradle, effectively disconnecting the call. She sat staring at her wrinkled palms for a minute and then shed a single tear that fell onto the unmade pot. At the touch of the lone tear, the pot came alive, not yet fully formed but completely aware. The woman wore her well-used gloves and got back to shaping the clay pot. As she formed the shape, she spoke to herself. Words that were sad and heavy as they fell into the hollow insides of the pot. Mired in her misery, she forgot to make sure that the width and thickness of the pot were strong, strong enough to hold its weight in water without cracking. This slight infraction will later spell doom. The potter did her job, mindless to her surroundings. Finally, when she was finished, the pot got its conventional shape. It looked like million other pots that were made before. There was nothing special or unique about its shape or form. Except, for its purpose. While the purpose of other pots were to hold liquids and solids, this pot could hold emotions and secrets. It was a safety box without a lid or the square shape. This is how the listening pot came into being.