Tomato is lost.
His sanity is tainted by a question that haunts his dreams, his wishes, his hopes, his imagination. He feels debilitated by an unfair controversy; fruit or vegetable? He knows it shouldn't matter, but his life revolves around finding the answer. He sits under the stars at night and contemplates his purpose in life. He directs his questions at the brightest star in the sky. His soul will remain disturbed until the day he discovers his true identity.
The vegetables are often taunting him, calling him a loser, defiling his reputation. They feed off of his misery like insatiable parasites, scavenging for every last drop of the juicy melancholy that forms the life of poor, unfortunate Tomato. They giggle at his clumsy instability. They guffaw at the squelches he makes when he walks.
They simply love to embarrass him.
Tomato's suffering is almost palatable. In fact, it is so eminent that the vegetables have developed a method for gathering his miserable vibes and converting their energy into a soft, creamy dip in which they like to swim every Saturday afternoon. The vegetables dive into his strife. They bathe in his suffering.
They are mean.
Tomato is so desperate for companionship that he views the vegetables' abuse as a way of including him. He tells himself that the vegetables are swimming in a part of him; a part of his soul. They are becoming close to him.
He convinces himself that the vegetables appreciate him for who he is.
No matter how many times he reiterates these assumptions to himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he is acknowledged fairly, doubts float around in his conscience like lily pads float in ponds, and he finds himself in a helpless, depressing stupor all over again.
These doubts mostly appear when Tomato encounters the worst vegetable of them all:
Baby Carrot.
Baby Carrot is small but extremely aggressive for his size. He has problems. Internal and external problems that fester inside him and burst when life becomes too harsh. He takes all his anger out on poor Tomato.
He does this to look tough. He thinks it's cool.
Baby Carrot is a bully.
And to make matters worse, Tomato bruises easily.
Tomato tries to stay strong. He tries to keep his head above the water. He reminds himself that he has treasured values that not even Baby Carrot can take away.
When life gets really tough, Tomato sheds a tear or two, but he makes sure to keep his candle of hope away from threatening breezes.
Tomato tells himself he isn't the only one. He tells himself that life's hardships are to be learned from. Soon, Tomato finds a kindred spirit.
As they stare into each other's strange faces, Tomato and Eggplant realize that no matter what the problem is, it can always be conquered. They realize that life bestows its hardships on those it really appreciates.
They feel like they've known each other for a million years.
They are friends.
