The chicken crows with pride.

The Sun, predictably, ascends.

The  guy in charge of the chicken's fate chopped its neck, stripped its feathers, and hung it in front of his shop.

Some of the village's ever-lazy and hungry residents walked into the store and gorged themselves on the chicken pieces. They sank to the floor and instinctively gripped their chest.

The chemeleon perched on the compound wall like a bully, ran to the backyard closet to avoid the predictable turmoil that ensued.