You die. Your body fills with air and you grow wings and fly into a purple sky like a pigeon. Your hair fidgets like shredded snakeskin. You look like a piece of chicken. You look like a twenty dollar bill because your feathers are green now. You become a monster with ugly cooks holding knives and spoons growing out of your ribs. You become a cheese-eating chimpanzee. You fly ten feet away. You turn around. You rush to center of the Earth and you hurry up talking. You mess up a pile of books. You better clean it up or you will have black teeth. You bust into dust. But you should stop because you can play at lunchtime.
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