Horrible Bird

It is sunny outside. I feel the heat, I see the other birds chirping from their perch on a branch. I want to fly, the wind ruffling my feathers, two hundred feet above the ground. I fly up until I run out of oxygen trying to reach the sun, to feel its warmth all over. Eventually, I will tire out and run out of oxygen. I will fall from the sky. The wind ruffles my feathers as I'm falling. I see other birds… No, I see a hand; it places a paper on the desk I'm sitting at. The paper reads ‘Test,’ and all of a sudden, I remember. I'm not a bird, I can't fly. I look out the window and see snow everywhere. I am cold, there is no longer any warmth. At least I didn't have to witness myself dying. After all, I would be a horrible bird.