How Does Anguish Pear Symbolize Emotional Pain?

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

The white rose lay on the floor dripping with blood. A small,shiny blade lay beside it. A beautiful object in such a terrible and painful condition. The blood stain on it did not hide it's immaculate and beautiful nature. She puffed smoke in the air and took a sip of the liquor beside her,as she glared at the bleeding rose with sad and anguish filled eyes,it told a lot about her and her agony. She was as beautiful as the rose in front of her. She took out an envelope containing different photos of different people in it,she stared at the image with a mixture of rage and disgust. “Revenge!!!“ She yelled as she fell to the ground crying” “I'll not sleep,I'll not rest until you all are dead!!”

Rose was a loving child to her mother but didn't seem to exist to her father. Along the line in high school, she met a wolf in sheep's clothing called Prince who was born with a silver spoon. He won her heart with his charm and wealth because anyone who dated him was a queen. Prince and Rose's relationship was kept secret from their parents. Only their friends, colleagues, and some teachers knew about their affair. She lost her virginity to him and got pregnant afterward. She was scared of telling her parents and also being a subject of ridicule so she obliged with Prince's advice of aborting the pregnancy. She ended up aborting many pregnancies for him that the doctor warned her not to go ahead with the last abortion as it might terminate her womb. On Prince's birthday, he had his way with her and impregnated her. She was in a state of a dilemma but still adhered to Prince's advice on aborting the final pregnancy. She lost her womb and the true nature of Prince surfaced as he broke up with her and abandoned her. He cut contact with her but karma caught up with him. He lost peace and stopped attending lectures as he was afraid to face his parents who were aware of his crime. He decided to conceal his whereabouts. His new place was lodging in a remote hotel where he was caught and exposed. His parents who have been looking for him for a long time found him with the help of a hotel receptionist who dialed the police number to expose his whereabouts. He finally met his parents and was instructed to go and apologize to Rose's parents for their loss because she actually committed suicide when guilt and shame were overwhelming for her.

After the Ritualist declared that Amber would not live past 18, I, a perfectly healthy girl, became the Misfortune Vessel. When Amber broke a leg, my left leg was crippled. When Amber tried to kill herself with shards of glass, the tendons in my hand were severed. I could no longer hold a pen. From childhood to the present, every wound meant for Amber landed on my body. She never stopped testing how far she could go. Skydiving from two miles up. Chasing sharks in deep water. Survival expeditions to the extreme North. Every choice courted death. I cried. I screamed that it hurt. My brothers refused to allow it. "Enough already. It's just a small injury. How could it hurt that much? You're too delicate." "If it hurts, then endure it." So I endured until the day I turned 18. That was when the Shared-Sense System found me. I enabled family sharing, and every single one of them went insane.

When I was seven years old, my younger brother went into anaphylactic shock after sneaking a handful of peanuts. Outside the emergency room, my mother slammed my head against the wall over and over, her face twisted with rage. "If you had been watching him like you were supposed to be, this never would have happened! You should be the one with a ruptured stomach, not him!" After that, whenever my brother so much as caught a cold, my mother forced me to eat spoiled leftovers as punishment. I once prepared an elaborate feast. She flipped the entire table and made me crawl on the floor to lick it clean. When I said I wanted to study culinary arts, she poured hot oil over my hands. My father wanted to send me to vocational school to learn a trade, but my mother clutched my brother to her chest and wailed. "She destroyed her brother's health! She owes him a lifetime of service!" When I was fifteen, my brother's gluttony cost my father an important business deal. I took the blame without even being asked, and the furious client forced me to drink more than half a gallon of hard liquor. By the time I was sent home with a bleeding stomach, my father had already scolded my brother. My mother took out her anger on me instead, slapping me so hard my ears rang and my vision went dark at the edges. "You useless thing! You should’ve choked to death at that table! I get sick just looking at you!" I coughed up black blood. From my pocket, I pulled out a piece of sour candy that had gone soft and sticky. It was the only treat my mother had ever given me with a smile, back before my brother's allergic reaction. I put the candy in my mouth and swallowed it down with the taste of stomach acid. The candy was so sour it made my throat burn. Whatever came next, I just hoped I would not have to be my family’s garbage disposal again.

You think of my love as a burden and can't see my pain and suffering. Love ensnares them in a world filled with disappointment. What will the female protagonists in the stories do once they've had enough of being let down?