In Which I Explore the Secret Life of the Pineapple

I wrote this just yesterday. Don't ask me why. I was sitting in study hall in the period between the classes I take, and I just pulled out my iPod and started writing. I call it:
                                                            The Pineapple.

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Pineapples. On the outside, they are spiky, odd-looking fruit that Hawaii is known for. But on the inside, not only are they sweet and juicy, but quite often bored.
Not that this bothers them. Most pineapples are content to hang from their trees all their lives, waiting to be plucked from the safety of their tree, to die at the hands of a backyard barbecuer making shish-kabobs. Such is the fate of the pineapple. Most have learned to accept it.
But somewhere in Hawaii, a pineapple hung in a tree. This may seem entirely ordinary, but this pineapple...well, this pineapple was different. This pineapple was not content with waiting in its tree to be shish-kabobed. No, this pineapple longed for adventure.
It would watch the birds flit in and out of the branches around it, and the farmers working below. "If only I was like them," the pineapple would think. "If only I was anything other than a pineapple. Except maybe a coconut. They don't seem to live very interesting lives either."
So our pineapple spent its days, yearning to move and be free, to see new places, instead of the same pineapple farm.
The pineapple never gave up hope of having an adventure. Never--until they came. They--the men with their gloves and their machines, to pluck every ripe pineapple from its supposedly safe tree, to take them to that dark place our pineapple had learned to fear--the supermarket.
And as a human hand, covered with a rough glove, reached for it, the pineapple cried out in despair,
"No! I did not live every day of my long, though boring, pineapple life sitting in this tree for nothing! I refuse to die without ever having accomplished anything! I will not be shish-kabobed!"
But, sadly, its cries fell on deaf ears. For you see, humans do not understand pineapple. In fact, they can't even hear it.
And so our pineapple died, just like its brethren....except that it was packed into a can, instead of shish-kabobed.


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Yeah. I was that bored.

The ending actually made me sad, while I was writing it. I kinda liked that pineapple. I made it tragic because I realized I'd never written a tragic ending before, and I wanted to try it out. Maybe I should just stick to the happily ever afters.