THE CROW AND MIMIDAE

The crow flew to another tree to discover a mockingbird named Mimidae,

who, like the rest of his ilk, would mimic other noises and sounds it would hear.

The crow told his fib about his non-existent time with Mariposa, as told in

the previous chapter. Mockingbirds are known to be honest creatures, so

perhaps Mimidae would tell him truthfully how effective his lie would be:

As funerary practices were evolving the world over, the crow, coated in

glossy, pitch black plumage, was going about his business doing...crow stuff

...that crows usually do, when suddenly, he laid, etc. etc., etc., so on, and so on.

After hearing the crow's falsehoods, Mimidae, just like his fellow mockingbirds,

replied by mimicking noises and thoughts. In this case, he copied the sounds

and thoughts of something else: those belonging to you, the reader.

“The story you told me is an obvious lie,” Mimidae answered. “The most

blatant fault is that you and Mariposa formed a strong bond despite only

knowing one another for a few measly minutes. How did the aircraft

that kill Mariposa not harm you physically at all? And how did a

Boeing 747 even kill the butterfly even exist when this whole series

takes place in the ancient past, long before the first flight at Kitty Hawk?

You also could no way in hell have photographs to wrap up in newspaper

after a few minutes of getting to know each other. How would even get

newspaper anyway, given that they don't exist yet? It also defies the logic

of this whole series that you just dissolved into nothing after mourning

the butterfly you barely knew for a very short time. Isn't there like a god

that also rules the world of the dead that takes people there when they die?

Overall, I think your story will fool nobody because of all the obvious flaws

in it, especially with you telling it even though it ended with you dying.

It's very stupid and doesn't make any sense at all.”

The crow was offended by this, explaining, “I took a great long while

to think of all the details. I worked very hard on this, believe it or not!

How could you say that, after all my hard work, my story is impossible

to be taken seriously by passersby?!”

“Well, I am a mockingbird,” replied Mimidae, “and we are known to

be very intelligent.” “Oh, is that so?” answered the crow. With that,

the black-feathered bird got a hold of the mockingbird's neck and

turned it in almost a circular motion, killing him instantly. The crow

then bashed the damaged head now resting on the deceased mockingbird

against the tree branch until it separated from the feather-coated corpse.

Holding the decapitated head of Mimidae in both his wings, the crow

spoke thus to it: “Perhaps, with the aid of your intelligence, my fibs

and stories will now be taken seriously by passersby! I will swallow

your head and, as it digests inside me, your great cleverness will

flow through me, increasing my own. That will teach you to be a

smart aleck and ruin my stories with your logic and reasoning!”

With that, the crow opened his black beak as wide as he could

and threw Mimidae's head all the way back into the back of

his throat, as far as it could go. The crow quickly discovered that

this was a very terrible idea. While he threw the severed head

very far down his throat, the head of Mimidae only ended up

clogging it, restricting the black bird's breathing ability.

The crow could now only produce restricted gagging sounds,

horrible hacking noises, struggling in vain to get the severed

mockingbird head out of his throat. As air failed to run through

his lungs, the crow plummeted from the laurel branch towards the

grass-coated surface below, and finally departed the living world

for the world of the deceased, the body now resting at the forest floor.