With bottles of hot sauce surrounding me, I grabbed one that I hadn’t drunk yet and gulped it down.
When it was empty, I dropped it, and it smashed to the ground. I fell on my back, my throat burning with the heat of a million suns.
I grabbed another full one and poured it into my mouth. I groped around for another, but they were all empty. Then my throat started burning, hotter than ever.
I looked like a fish as I gasped for breath, my throat now closing from all the hot sauce.
I stumbled over to the window so I could call for help, knocking over countless bottles and smashing them.
I opened the window, stuck my head out, and screamed, but all that came out was a painful eeeeck, not even loud enough for my next door neighbor to hear.
Then I fell back down, and I fell into an endless slumber called death.

Three days later, a penguin was found dead, surrounded by smashed bottles, at 246 Blizzard Street.