Cracked

Crackety crack. I walked as quietly as I could. I tiptoed even. The state of my heart and the state of the floors. Was there an echo? The past forgot. The days erased. And yet still standing. A little chipped. A little torn. I tried. I tried to walk as quietly as I could. But the floors were ever so unforgiving.
"Who's there?" asked a grumbly voice.
Silence.
"Who's there I say?"
Silence.
"Why must you make such a ruckus?"
"I want to go outside," I said in my hushed voice.
"Outside? Outside is for lunatics. For madmen who do not know right from wrong, and who, even if they do, plead ignorance. Outside is for monkeys and fruit. Are you a monkey?"
"No."
"Then a fruit?"
I paused, wondering if I could perchance be a fruit. "What kind of a fruit would I be?" I thought. "An apple? Too obvious. A banana? No. That attracts the lazies. A pomegranate? Too difficult. Perhaps a watermelon. Yes, a watermelon."
"I'm a watermelon," I yelled.
"Ok then. That's why you're in here. Now go back to your room. It's almost time for your pills. And don't forget, the Betty By Bakers are coming in to sing at the common lounge tonight."