Once upon a time, there was a mango. He lived in a grocery store full of different fruit and vegetables, but he was terribly sad because he didn't have any friends. There was a great big bruise on his skin, and the other mangoes would tease him. Every day, he sat and watched as the customers looked past him and bought the more luscious mangoes instead.

One day, a very busy lady came into the store. She wandered around the fruit section until she stopped the mangoes. Barely looking, she picked five and put them into her basket. The sad mango couldn't believe his luck as she sat him among the others. All of the mangoes fell silent as she carried them to the checkout, but the sad mango wanted to cheer and jump with joy.

The woman left the store and sat the mangoes on the back seat of her car. During the ride, the other mangoes were mean to the bruised mango. They boasted about how delicious they would be, about how ripe and juicy they felt inside. The sad mango didn't even hear them. This was the day he had dreamed of, and not even bullies could ruin it for him.

When she got home, the woman placed the mangoes in a bowl on the kitchen table. Moments later, her five children burst into the room and raced to their chairs. The mangoes stood up straight and held their breath. The four older children were quick to take the bigger, better looking mangoes for themselves. The sad mango, alone in the bowl, waited patiently as the youngest son looked at him. His skin prickled with anticipation.

The boy picked up the bruised mango and put it on his plate. As the mango looked up at the boy, a strange familiar feeling spread through his flesh. Somehow, he felt like he knew the boy. He could hear the other children chatting as their mother cut their mangoes, yet this boy looked to lonely. Could it be that this child had been left out and teased just as he had? For the first time in his mango life, he didn't feel alone.

And, as the knife pierced his skin, the sad, bruised mango became a joyous mango. Indeed, he had the last laugh, for the beauty of the other mangoes was only skin deep. Their flesh was pale and watery, while the bruised mango was bright and firm, dripping with juice and ready to be devoured by a very lucky youngster.