I once ran over a bird with my car. I guess I should actually say I once killed a bird with my car because I didn’t just run over it. I also killed it. And if I didn’t say that I killed it I would be lying.
There were actually two birds, but I only hit and killed one of them. If I had killed both of them I would have already admitted it, obviously. But I didn’t kill both of them. I just killed one of them.
I’m pretty sure that the bird I killed was in love with the bird I did not kill. I know this because after I ran over and killed the one bird, the other living bird landed close to the dead bird’s body and started crying.
I know that the living bird cried because I saw the whole thing in my rear view mirror as I sped away. Even though I was driving faster than normal, faster than I should have been driving, too fast to have seen the two birds in time to stop, I could see everything in my rear view mirror.
I suppose the birds could have been siblings, or a mother and child, or maybe even first cousins, because you never know with birds. But from what I saw in my rear view mirror as I sped away, I’d testify that the bird I ran over and killed with my car was in love with the living bird then crying at its side.
If the birds really were related, if they really were siblings or a mother and child combo, then I would have turned my car around, sped back to the scene and killed the other bird. The world just doesn’t need incestuous birds.
