Scarecrow relentlessly stands by the midpoint of sunflower farm of Mrs. Carpenter in suburb of Sweetwater, hectically chasing all flying lives by his surrendered limbs attached to a dummy corpse. He repeatedly feels nauseous of aroma spilled upon by exotic flora, and green-eyes at birds swimming over his skies on pneumatic bones, diving swiftly into petals and extracting fragrances to ferment honey, miles afar at the shoreline of Lime Sea. Asthmatic landlady exhales inflexible breaths with fleshy hums of esophagus, smokes Indian cigarettes, smells sunflowers, stares at him with her shallow orbs and throws out the butt with her yellowish fingers in decent style. Incredible scarecrow possess no heartbeats, family tree, taxonomy, nomenclature, and birth credential, but a bilaterally symmetrical underdog of sixteen, an age exact to Mrs. Carpenter’s schoolboy. He grudges twenty-four-seven apparently receiving no nickel and dime, yet inexorably defends sunflowers from its predators: bees, arthropods and birds.

At 6:00 p.m.
He is anxious of occidental clouds bursting into torrential downpour, which would weather his body that might end up with his replacement; and yet he won’t be dying at hospital, since he won’t be dying of breathe stoppage. He simply can’t breathe or smoke alike landlady, though he always wished to, ever since he got recruitment on this orchard. Breath escorts anyone to pass away at hospital like Mrs. Carpenter and not before long she will be dying at hospital, complaining breathlessness. Bees, birds and insects rhythmically respire by gills; with modern botany, even plants acquire comprehension to respire through stomata imprinted on their emerald leaves. And henceforth by scarecrow’s hypothesis, they all will be dying at hospital.

At 6:00 a.m.
Scarecrow lame walks the corridor of hospital with his mechanical legs to watch ceremonial deaths, but when security asks for a permit card, which he is restricted of, he hides. From an eyehole, he spots his landlady putting a curious cap on her orifice, lying on white bed of crisscross hospital, along with humming bees, crisping insects and sunflowers reacting to phototropism on waiting lobby. Security tells him off in Ku Klux Klan line of attack, and chases out of the premises until he gasps. By now, scarecrow is footloose by choice, wearing a country hat; with Mr. Chaplin’s moustache he trespasses all walkways of town abuzz with sirens, billboards, boulevards, mosaics and a collective sound of deep breaths. He hears sirens of ambulances, coppers, fire bridges and clampdown pronouncers. At Martin Luther St. he is delimited by chaps wearing khaki trousers, cops in the most humble way with fire arms and sidekicks. They kick, punch and throw him out of Sky Bridge into gutter of night soil, and fire bullets on the bluest sky ever and soon brown cloud assembles. Crows fly, alike deranged jetliners, into multiple angles and disappear. Coppers take deep breaths and neutral the respiratory apparatus of scarecrow.

On daytime TV
They pushed the ’chaotic’ scarecrow into multiple deaths by suffocating him of mustard gases. And our conurbation is hushed, so-to-speak harmless.