I turn dramatically to the entirety of birds present on this planet. They all stare at me, expectantly, their little birdie faces looking at me in various expressions and emotions. After all, birds are not one unified group.
“I’m sorry guys,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and pained.
One African Grey caws out, “Why are you sorry, Meig?”
I take a long, slow breath, “Tumblr Anon says you’re not real.”
Thousands of voices caw out in unison. The horror in the air is palpable. A Harpy Eagle screeches in fury, while a Little Blue Penguin waddles up to me at the front of the room.
“What do we do?” the penguin asks, even though penguins can’t talk, because I mean, does it matter, since penguins apparently don’t exist?
“We move on, my friend,” I say, patting the penguin on the head, “We move on.”
Slowly but steadily, the birds fly or walk away, all moving out in unison. Some go to universes where they do exist. Others stay here, as ghosts - remnants of an idea that once was.
I change the title of ADAD to A Pseudosuchian A Day. I begin talking about scutes instead of feathers.
But finally, the lies we have all been living under have been exposed.
